Elara's legs trembled with the strange mix of weakness and restless energy as she stepped out of the healer's wing for the first time. The cool mountain air brushed her cheeks, crisp and clean, carrying the distant scent of pine resin and snow. Blackridge was quieter than Silvercrest, more disciplined, more purposeful. Every wolf she passed seemed to move with intention—training, hauling goods, speaking in low but focused tones. It felt like stepping into a different world, one where chaos bowed to structure.
Her fingers brushed along the stone wall for balance. Mirael had insisted she shouldn't push herself, but Elara felt stronger than she had in months. Maybe in years.
Or maybe, Lyra hummed softly inside her, we're finally where we're meant to heal.
Elara ignored the warmth that thought stirred in her.
As she walked, she noticed little details: the squared edges of the courtyards, the sparring rings carved into the earth, the faint sparkle of frost clinging to the rooftops. Wolves nodded to her—cautious, curious, respectful—but she still felt like an outsider wandering through a story she wasn't meant to read.
Near the lower courtyard, movement caught her eye. A group of omegas were hauling wooden crates from a wagon toward the supply hall. Most moved quickly, experienced and efficient… but one girl was struggling with a box nearly half her size, wobbling with each step.
Elara paused, then instinctively stepped forward.
"Let me help you," she said quietly.
The omega froze, eyes wide. "L–Luna— I mean—sorry—Elara! No, no, you don't have to—"
"It's fine. Really." Elara offered a small smile and took one end of the crate.
The girl blushed so red Elara feared she'd faint. "I—I'm Ryn. I didn't mean to trouble you!"
"You didn't," Elara said gently.
Together, they carried the crate into the storage building. Inside, two more omegas were sorting bags of grain and bundles of dried meat. Their eyes widened in identical shock when Elara entered.
"She helped me," Ryn whispered to them, as though confessing a crime.
The others stared.
Elara swallowed. "I just wanted to assist. You all looked busy."
For a heartbeat, the room was silent.
Then one omega—a boy with sandy hair—said, "You… helped? But you're… important."
Elara almost laughed. "Not really."
But the omegas exchanged looks. "To the Alpha, you are."
Heat rushed up her neck. She quickly changed the subject.
"Where do these go?" she asked, nodding at the sorted crates.
That opened the floodgates. The omegas, still shy but excited, eagerly showed her how to stack the goods, how Blackridge organized supplies, why each marking was coded a certain way. Elara listened intently, fascinated. She even repeated the process with them, carrying bundles and arranging shelves.
"You're a fast learner," Ryn said timidly.
Elara felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest. It had been so long since anyone said that. So long since she felt useful.
As they worked, the omegas slowly relaxed, even laughing softly when Elara nearly tripped on a coil of rope.
"I think the rope is sentient," she joked, and their giggles filled the air like tiny bells.
By the time they finished the sorting, the omegas were chatting comfortably around her—asking if she liked mountain weather, whether she had ever seen a Blackridge winter, if she wanted to try their traditional spiced stew someday. They didn't treat her as a burden, or a ghost, or a problem.
They treated her like a person.
A packmate.
And without meaning to, Elara found herself smiling… a real smile, the kind she hadn't felt slip onto her face in years.
Lyra purred inside her, warm and proud. See? We can belong. We can build something real here.
Elara's chest tightened. She wasn't ready to admit that—not yet. But she couldn't deny the truth in the feeling settling in her bones as she stepped back into the crisp air.
For the first time since she crossed Blackridge's border in Kael's arms…
She didn't feel like a lost girl.
She felt like she was beginning something. Something she didn't yet have a name for—but it felt like hope.
And hope, she realized, was heavier than any crate she carried.
But infinitely more precious.