Emory Chav’re tracked her prey in the Delcroft Timberland forest, moving with grace that belied her lethality. Her steps were silent, her breath gentle as she scanned for faint signs only a trained hunter could detect. Her fiery red curls tumbled down her back, contrasting against the deep greens and browns.

The soft sounds of the forest—the distant call of a bird, the rustle of small creatures in the undergrowth—filled the air, blending with the gentle whisper of the wind through the trees. Under her feet, a carpet of fallen leaves and moss yielded quietly to her steps. She inhaled the rich and grounding smell of earth and pine as the afternoon sun weaved through the trees, casting patterns of light and dark across the mossy ground.

To onlookers, she seemed part of the wilderness itself, a figure of grace and lethal precision, honed by years of rigorous training.

She’d lived in these woods since she was fifteen, a bittersweet embrace that tore her from everything she knew and loved, while her people, the wolves, and their ancient forebears, the Lycans, fought endlessly for dominance.

Living with Aunt Kinshra in the small, secluded village on the outskirts of Broiia had transformed Emory from a grief-stricken teenager into a fierce hunter. It was supposed to be temporary—a safe place from the war until Emory could shift and defend herself. Even after her first transformation a year later, she never got a recall from her brother, the Alpha-not even when Nolan, her second-eldest brother, died.

Isolation in Broiia took its toll, cutting her off from her past, friends, and pack. A decade had passed, and Emory had flourished under Kinshra’s tutelage. Her life was a cycle of training, hunting, and rare, guarded visits to the pack’s heartlands. The solitude of their daily routine was very different from the vibrant pack life she once knew.

Aunt Kinshra, who was herself a legendary Hunter Wolf, pushed her relentlessly. “Every sense sharpened, every muscle honed, every instinct refined,” she’d say often, her voice as steady as her gaze that missed nothing.

Besides teaching Emory how to fight, Kinshra taught her about the mystical bond between wolves, the moon, the gods, and the forest. Her aunt taught her to interpret the signs of nature, to heed the moon’s whispers, and to honour the balance of life.

On her sixteenth birthday, one year after leaving home, she finally shifted. Her wolf was wild, fierce, and strong—a strength nurtured under Kinshra’s tenacious guidance. No matter how good she got, the call to return to her pack had never come, not even for Nolan’s funeral.

As the sun slowly started to set, painting the sky in shades of fire, Emory knelt by a small stream, the cool water soothing her calloused hands. The reflection that stared back at her from the surface was a mirror of her mother—ebony skin, bright green eyes, framed by the unruly mass of her red hair. Looking up at the stars, she thought about her family. The wolves were doing well under Trey’s leadership as Alpha, but the stability he had brought had come at a price. Nolan’s death two years ago was a wound that hadn’t healed; it was a permanent reminder of her family’s sacrifices. As Ultima of the Morrian wolves, they’d always be a target for the Lycans.

Lost in thought, Emory didn’t hear Kinshra approach until she spoke. “Your focus must never waver, Emory. Not in thought, not in battle,” Kinshra chided softly. Emory turned to look at her—red curls now streaked with gray, striking grey eyes set in a face lined with wisdom and strength. Kinshra’s presence reminded Emory of the family she lost and the new one she had made in these woods.

“I know, Aunt Kinshra. It’s just’” Emory began, but the words trailed off for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder why Trey hasn’t called me back home. Did he forget about me, or does he think I am still not ready?”

Kinshra sat beside her. “It has nothing to do with readiness, Emory. You’re ready. It’s about timing, and Trey wants to protect you from the harsh realities of the war a little longer.”

Emory’s memory of the pack took her back to the past, reminding her that she hadn’t felt that connection in ages. Nodding, she decided not to think about it. Reminiscing about her lost bond with the Whitecrest Pack would bring more pain and longing.

Before Emory could reply, their young wolf attendant burst through the foliage, panting and clutching a sealed letter. It bore the Alpha’s seal, a call Emory had hoped for but also dreaded. Hands trembling, she took the letter and opened it, eyes scanning the hastily written words.

The message was brief, but its words struck like a claw to the chest, leaving her breathless: “It’s time to come home. It’s Larc.”

Somehow, Emory knew before the words confirmed it—Larc was gone, another victim of the war that had defined her exile. It felt like all those years of training and isolation culminated into this one moment of devastating grief. Without words, she looked at Kinshra, who simply nodded.

“We leave at dawn. Your brother needs you, now more than ever.”

Emory sank back down beside the stream. The cool, soothing babble of water, a bittersweet lullaby. The letter hung heavy in her hand. This call home—something she had longed for in countless silent moments—now bore the bitter taste of grief. It was a cruel twist of fate to return home not in celebration, but to mourn another brother.

Broiia was far removed from the Empire’s political maelstrom. Though only a three-hour road journey separated her from her ancestral home, the distance felt insurmountable until now. It was nestled in the Hecark Province whose name seldom reached the courts of the Empire of Morrian’s council, which had offered Emory anonymity and peace. Now the tranquillity of this secluded city could no longer shield her from the call of blood and duty.

Turning to the messenger, Kellan, a young wolf with whom Emory had become close friends over the past five years, she took a cleansing breath. “You heard her. We leave at dawn. Get the transport ready,” she instructed, her gaze piercing through the fading light.

Kellan nodded, his earlier anxiety replaced by a sense of purpose. Then he disappeared into the woods, down the steep steps on the slope leading up to their cabin, leaving Emory alone with her thoughts.

Rising, the cold stones by the stream grounding her, Emory took another breath. It was time to return to Kedar, a place that had become a memory. She was going home to a family that was her strength and her deepest sorrow.

She was going home.