The rogue camp had begun to shift.
Not outwardly—its tents were still frayed, the fire pits still burned low, and the scent of blood still clung to the roots. But Luna could feel it. Beneath the rough conversations and sharpened blades, there was something else blooming.
Possibility.
Wolves were beginning to meet her gaze, not with suspicion, but curiosity. Where once they would have circled wide, now they lingered near her fire. Not to ask, not to challenge—but simply to be near her.
She hadn't asked for followers.
She didn't want a title.
But the rogue wolves had begun to sense something that frightened and intrigued them:
She was becoming more than a survivor. She was becoming a symbol.
And symbols drew attention—both wanted and not.
It was just after dawn when the stranger arrived.
Luna had just returned from scouting the western ridgeline with two young rogues when she smelled it—lavender, honey, and willow bark. A scent she hadn't inhaled in years.
Faint, almost faded.
But unforgettable.
She froze mid-step, her heart faltering.
It couldn't be.
Not here.
Not now.
The camp had gathered near the healer's tent.
Whispers rustled like dry leaves.
"She says she knew her from before."
"Says she came from Moonshadow."
"A healer? From there?"
Luna pushed past the murmuring circle, her chest tightening with every step.
And then she saw her.
Slender. Weathered. Wrapped in a green shawl embroidered with moons and thistles. Her hair, once auburn, had faded to stormy gray. Her hands were aged but steady.
But her eyes—her eyes were the same.
Warm brown, touched with sorrow and kindness.
"Mira," Luna whispered.
The woman turned.
And her expression crumbled into something between grief and joy.
"Luna," she breathed, stepping forward.
Before Luna could stop herself, she was in the woman's arms.
For a moment, there was no camp.
No rogues.
No Goddess or mark or rejection.
Only the scent of willow bark.
Only the arms of the woman who used to sneak her honeycakes and wrap her wounds after Selene's cruelty.
They sat alone in Luna's tent as the morning grew heavy with silence.
Mira poured warm tea from a flask on her belt. Her hands trembled slightly—not from weakness, but from emotion.
"I never stopped looking for you," Mira said softly.
Luna stared at the swirling herbs in her cup.
"You never came."
"I wasn't allowed."
Luna flinched.
Of course.
Alpha Myros. Selene. The enforcers.
"After Orion's rejection," Mira continued, "they told me you ran off into the wilds. That you were either claimed by the curse or… killed."
"They hoped for the latter," Luna murmured.
Mira nodded slowly. "I think so."
Luna looked up. "Why now? Why here?"
"I left Moonshadow six months ago. Voluntarily. After Myros fell ill and Orion took full command, the old guard began to crumble. I was never one for power games, Luna. I was never meant to be in a pack like that."
Her voice softened.
"I left to find peace. But instead… I found rumors."
"About me."
"About the girl with the moon's mark. Who commands ice and flame. Who faced the trials of the grove and stood tall."
Mira reached across the space between them.
"I hoped—prayed—that it was you."
They spoke until the shadows shifted.
Luna learned that Selene had grown crueler after she left. That Orion had withdrawn from the world, taking fewer patrols, speaking to no one. That some had begun to question the Moon Goddess's favor over their pack.
"They're unraveling," Mira said. "And they'll come for you."
"I know."
"Do you hate him?"
It wasn't a question Luna expected.
She thought about it.
About the night Orion's voice had broken her spirit in front of the entire pack.
About how he refused to see her worth, even when it stared him in the face.
"I don't know if I hate him," Luna said. "But I know I won't let him decide who I become."
That night, Mira unpacked her satchel.
Roots, dried petals, salves, tonics.
It was more than medicine.
It was memory.
Luna watched as Mira arranged the items with practiced care.
"Do you remember the first time you shifted?" Mira asked.
Luna smiled faintly. "I was eleven. And terrified."
"You bit me."
"I did not!"
Mira grinned. "You did. Right on the calf. I still have the scar."
They laughed quietly.
Then fell silent.
Mira's eyes flicked to Luna's mark.
"I always knew you were special," she whispered.
"I didn't feel it," Luna said. "Not for a long time."
"And now?"
Now Luna thought of the grove.
The trials.
The echo she faced.
"I feel like I'm becoming."
Before sleep, Mira pressed a small pendant into Luna's palm.
Silver.
Shaped like a curled wolf cub, with a tiny moonstone in its belly.
"It belonged to your mother."
Luna's throat tightened.
"She gave it to me the night before she left on her last patrol."
Luna clutched it, heart aching.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For remembering her when no one else would."
In the forest beyond the camp, a shadow moved.
Watching.
Waiting.
It did not howl.
It did not speak.
But its eyes glowed amber—burning with a hunger deeper than blood.
The Moonshadow Pack was stirring.
And they were not alone.