The rain tenderly touched down on Silverpine.
Unlike the strident and unforgiving rain showers associated with a climactic change or an ending, this was light and gentle. This kind of precipitation wrapped trees in silver and nourished the earth. It was the gentle touch of rain that healed wounds, that made even the fiercest warriors step back for a moment and remember how to inhale.
Mia stood at the edge of the southern field wearing a simple canvas hood, pondering the sight of apprentices doing footwork drills in the mud. The ground under the apprentices' feet squelched, and their laughter echoed when their feet slipped. They cursed when they fell, but got back on their feet every single time.
She did not butt in.
She only paid attention.
These were not the same wolves that had joined the Defense Circle during the first the initial overwhelming weeks. They were now moving in a more deliberate manner. Without being told that they were warriors, which no one had to tell them, because they understood – they moved with purpose and instinct.
Ember, with a hood of her own on, approached from behind, sporting a smirk that looked halfway to a smile. "When they asked to train in the rain, I thought they were joking."
Mia's gaze remained fixed on the field. "They're not training for fair weather."
"They never have been."
Ember came closer. "One of the elders said something today. He said, 'When did we stop being the teachers?' And I told him, 'When they started listening to each other instead of waiting for permission.'"
Mia's lips twitched ever so slightly up. "You're enjoying this."
"I am," Ember replied. "Not because they proved anyone wrong, but because they proved themselves right."
Mia gave a single nod. She got it.
It wasn't about rebellion anymore.
It was about belonging.
__
Lucas located her later that day in the archives.
The scent of old parchment and worn leather clung to the room, as familiar now as pine and rain. To Mia, this place was like a dream. She had taken to spending an hour each week cataloging what the council referred to as "non-essential scrolls"—stories, local myths, whispered histories that never made it to official records.
Lucas was in the doorway. "We do have scribes that could do that for you."
"I know," she said while carefully peeling the scroll. She didn't lift her gaze.
"He stepped inside and took a seat next to her. What are you reading today?"
Mia pushed the scroll closer to him. "A letter. Found one tucked inside an old tax log. It's written by a pack mother who lost her daughter during the exile thirty years ago."
After a period of silent reading, Lucas let out a frustrated sigh. "She says, 'I hope one day a girl with no name and no rank walks into the council hall and makes them remember what we forgot.'"
Mia nodded with great effort. "That's the part that stuck with me."
Lucas stared at her with an emotion that was difficult to interpret. "Do you ever wonder if she meant you?"
"I think she meant anyone. Anyone bold enough to stop waiting to belong and just be."
He crossed the scroll and held her hand gently.
"Here, you have created something that even time will be reluctant to erase."
"Then we write it down," Mia said, faintly smiling.
The rain eased by evening, leaving behind a forest washed clean. The trees glistened in the last light of dusk, leaves heavy, earth fragrant. A mist curled along the low trails like breath not quite exhaled.
Before them stood Mia, her boots muddied and cloak wet. No speech came from her mouth, but rather she held the new Pack Ledger, a book of stories, not of taxes or bloodlines.
Wolves came forth and began writing names, capturing their most cherished memories. They wrote the name of the friend whom they had lost, of the brave healer, stoic apprentice, and loyal scout.
There were no titles, no ranks, just names.
Mia had not stepped forth until this very moment. Moments felt like weeks, yet to her surprise, she whispered the name, Lira Thompson. My mother. Who taught me how to embrace silence while guiding me to break it.
Beside her, Lucas added: Mia. Who taught me that leading is listening and love is a decision made every single day.
No one spoke at the end.
Absence of sound felt satisfying.
_-
Mia waited near the tree while others went their way. The bun was still damp where her fingers rubbed, and the runes furrowed into the base had only deepened over time.
Hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, Lucas walked over.
"She would be proud of you," he offered.
"People like her being seen for what they did. It still curtsymal forsoer corntroa. Now I just hope she knows I remember her," she slash said.
Stepping closer, he added, . "She lives in everything you've made. Everything you refused to abandon."
"I tell you one of these grudges."
Mia turned toward him, "And you? Do you still carry yours?"
For a moment, the pair stood wordless and still, framed by skies slowly revealing blue, clear of clouds.
"Every day. I don't see it as a wound anymore. I see it as a reason."
"You sound like Markson's the turn."
Waves of dynamic sky unfurling flames washed over the two.
Then Lucas pulled something from his coat, the very piece he'd let burn at the hands of Ferrowindsatt Jok fires by theylee, blunted cabin on the verge of this nameless disaster.
"I've kept this too long," he said. "It's time to place it where it belongs."
He knelt and tucked it into the tree's roots.
Not as an offering.
But as closure.
Mia placed her hand over his.
For a moment, the past held them both.
And then let go.
___________
That night, the stars returned in full.
Mia lay in her den beside Lucas, wrapped in the quiet warmth of shared breath and steady hearts. Outside, the wind whispered through the leaves like a lullaby made from all the names they had carried, spoken and unspoken.
She thought of the pack, curled in their homes.
Of the borders that no longer needed watching.
Of the wolves learning to trust stillness again.
And for the first time in a long time, Mia slept not as a warrior, not as a leader, but as herself.
Whole.
Home.