The days in Blackridge passed quietly, then steadily, and eventually—comfortably.
For the first time in her life, Elara felt the shape of her mornings and evenings settle into something gentle instead of suffocating. The healers checked her each dawn, insisting she take things slowly…but after the second week, even Mirael stopped hiding her startled awe.
"You heal like you were sculpted from moonlight itself," the healer muttered one morning, palpating Elara's wrist. "Faster than any wolf your size has a right to."
Elara only smiled, unsure how to explain that she had never felt so alive before. As if something inside her—something dormant for years—was finally allowed to breathe.
Lyra purred with strength, prowling beneath her skin.
We are waking, her wolf whispered.Finally.
Once given permission, Elara slipped into a new rhythm—one she found surprisingly fulfilling.
Every morning after her checkups, she walked down to the storage grounds or supply houses, where the omegas were always bustling. At first they stared at her like she was a visiting dignitary or an unpredictable spark that might burn them if touched.
But Elara didn't behave like someone above them.
She behaved like someone who wanted to work beside them.
And that made all the difference.
She listened when they spoke quietly. She helped carry boxes twice her weight—even when the other omegas squeaked in panic that she might injure herself. She scrubbed, folded, lifted, learned.
And she laughed.
Actually laughed.
Something she hadn't realized she'd forgotten how to do.
One morning—several weeks after her rescue—Elara arrived early, entering the main storage building with the crisp mountain air still clinging to her clothes. She found the familiar group already preparing for the day's tasks: sorting linens, repackaging herbs, checking inventories.
A petite omega named Silla nearly tripped over a crate when she spotted her.
"E-Elara! You're early!"
Elara chuckled. "Mirael said I'm fully healed now. No more limitations."
A chorus of relieved cheers rippled through the omegas—soft, polite, but undeniably warm. They had grown attached to her, quietly at first and then wholeheartedly. To them, Elara wasn't just a recovering guest.
She was one of them.
Silla rushed over with a stack of folded cloths. "You can help me double-check these! I always forget which are for the healers and which are for the nursery."
Elara took half the stack. "I'll follow your lead."
The girl flushed. "N-no, you're amazing. You learn so fast!"
Elara smiled, setting to work. "Only because you all teach me patiently."
Her humility made the omegas blush every time.
Barin—one of the older omegas—approached carrying a wooden crate nearly his size. Elara moved to take half—
"No, no," he protested. "You've already done enough today!"
"You haven't seen what I can do yet," she teased gently, grasping the other end before he could argue. "Let's take it together."
Barin blinked, then muttered something about her being "too kind for an Alpha's pack." But he relented, walking with her toward the shelves.
It felt good—being useful, being included, being appreciated for something other than pain.
For once she wasn't a burden.
Or a bargaining chip.
Or a girl waiting for the next strike.
She was simply… Elara.
Capable. Helpful. Learning.
And every evening, when her work with the omegas ended, she returned to her room with sore arms, dusty clothes, and a full heart.
Even Kael had noticed.
Sometimes she caught him watching her from afar while she stacked supplies or carried bundles of cloth—his expression unreadable, but undeniably warm.
He didn't approach her often, not when she was working, not wanting to disrupt the comfort she had built. But she always felt his presence, steady and protective, a shadow that never threatened—only guarded.
Lyra liked that.
He watches because he cares, her wolf hummed.He always cared.
Elara tried not to think too deeply about that… but it was getting harder with each passing day.
Still, she focused on the simple joy of belonging.
Of finding purpose.
Of finding friends who looked at her without pity or fear.
And maybe, in quiet moments between tasks, she allowed herself the smallest, softest hope:
That she could carve a place for herself here.
A place where she wasn't hunted. Or used. Or dismissed.
A place where she mattered.
The omegas called her name from across the storage yard, waving her over with new tasks to share.
Elara tied back her hair, smiled—
—and went to them willingly.