The moonlight struggled to pierce the thick canopy of Ashgrove, the trees whispering in the silence as if murmuring secrets of an ancient world. The Thornclaw Pride's camp had begun to feel more like a home—though still crude and bare. The logs stacked around the perimeter formed makeshift barriers, and crude dens hollowed from earth and stone dotted the edges. There was no comfort here, but there was progress.
Kael stood alone at the clearing's edge, eyes fixed on the distant trees. His thoughts were tangled—a blend of the throne-shaped dream he refused to relinquish and the shadows of his mounting burdens.
Then he heard it.
A rustle. A snap. A stifled grunt.
His ears twitched.
The sentries hadn't raised an alarm.
"Nyra," he called, quiet but firm.
The black panther emerged from the darkness almost instantly, her eyes gleaming like twin blades in the night. "I heard it too," she murmured. "Just east of the dens."
"Come. Quietly."
They moved in silence, slipping through brush and root. Just past the eastern boundary, beneath a half-collapsed tree, something moved.
And then they saw her.
A creature, blood-matted and trembling, huddled near the trunk. Her fur was silver-white, stained red in places, and her body was lean but mangled—slash marks across her back, one eye swollen shut. She looked feline—perhaps a snow leopard, or some subspecies twisted by Abyssal corruption.
"Stay back!" she hissed, baring fangs.
Kael's muscles tightened, but he did not move closer. "You're on our land. State your name."
She coughed, then spat blood. "I don't have one anymore. My clan is gone. Burned."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Where are you from?"
"Beyond the Ashgrove. Past the Ridge of Bones." Her voice trembled now, weaker. "I ran for days. Something's coming. Something that kills for the sake of killing. I thought I was fast enough... but I wasn't."
Nyra stepped forward, low and threatening. "You expect us to believe you just wandered in, wounded and alone, after a mysterious massacre?"
"I don't care if you believe me!" the silver feline snapped. "I need shelter. I'll serve. I'll fight. Just don't throw me back out there!"
Kael exchanged a glance with Nyra. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her instinct.
"She's a liability," Nyra muttered. "We don't know who she really is. For all we know, she could've led something here."
Kael studied the stranger.
Her breathing was labored. Her wounds weren't fatal, but deep enough to leave scars. She didn't beg—but there was desperation in her posture, in the flicker of hope in her one working eye.
He turned to Nyra. "Rakkan?" he called.
The large panther appeared soon after, dragging a fallen tree trunk behind him. He eyed the newcomer with disinterest.
"You called, Alpha?"
"I want you to test her," Kael said, his tone level. "Not to kill—but to see if she has fight left."
The stranger hissed. "I'm wounded, not helpless."
Rakkan grunted. "You'll find I'm gentle… for a panther."
He lunged.
The brief exchange that followed was savage—but controlled. The stranger lashed out with claw and fang, staggering back but never submitting. She twisted her body to avoid Rakkan's heavier blows, using the trees to feint and blindside.
But Rakkan was stronger, and she finally dropped to a knee, panting.
"Not bad," the panther rumbled, licking a cut on his shoulder. "You've still got fire."
Kael nodded. "Good."
Nyra frowned. "You're letting her stay?"
"She bleeds," Kael said. "She doesn't lie down and die. That's enough for now."
"I'll be watching her," Nyra said coolly.
"I expect nothing less."
Kael turned back to the silver feline. "You will rest tonight. Tomorrow, you work. If you lie, if you steal, if you threaten my pride—I will end you."
The stranger bowed her head. "I understand."
Rakkan scoffed. "We need to call her something."
The feline paused. Then, softly: "Call me Valea."
Kael gave a small nod. "Valea it is."
Later That Night
The campfire crackled low as Kael sat on a smooth boulder, eyes half-closed. Across from him, Valea slept beneath a crude hide, flanked by two wary wolves.
Nyra approached, her gaze simmering.
"You trust her too easily," she said, voice low.
"I don't trust her," Kael replied. "I trust survival."
Nyra scoffed, circling him like a stalking cat. "She's hiding something. That wound on her side—inflicted by something unnatural. Not a beast."
Kael looked at her then. "You're jealous."
Nyra's expression flickered. "I don't get jealous."
"No?" He stood, meeting her eyes. "You've been different since we escaped that pit. You stay close. You challenge more. You want something."
"I want to make sure your kingdom doesn't rot before it grows," she snapped. But the flash in her eyes betrayed more.
Kael stepped forward. "I don't need a mate who guards me like prey. I need someone who can lead when I fall."
She stared at him. "And if I want both?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he touched his brow to hers—brief, a spark. Then turned away.
"Sleep, Nyra. Tomorrow we rebuild."
Elsewhere, Beyond the Grove...
A scent carried on the wind—blood, ash, and smoke.
In the Ridge of Bones, a hulking silhouette loomed before a pyre of twisted corpses. Charred trees crackled under massive hooves. The creature's maw opened, and from it poured a breath of fire tinged with darkness.
Grothak, the Emberlord, had found Valea's trail.
And he was coming.