Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The forest at dawn was alive with whispers. Frost clung to the bare branches, glinting silver in the dim light of early morning. Every sound—the crack of a twig, the stir of a wing, the rush of cold air through the trees—seemed amplified, carrying sharp across the silence of snow.

Zee drew in a deep breath, his senses expanding, sharpening. The wolf beneath his skin stirred, impatient, as though it too could taste the promise of the hunt.

The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders even in this quiet moment. He was not just another hunter moving through the forest; he was the alpha’s heir, the chosen successor to lead his people one day. His father, strong and stern, had ruled the village for decades. Soon, the mantle would pass to him. The expectation of strength, wisdom, and leadership shadowed his every step.

Behind him, the others followed. Net, his most trusted friend, walked with the easy confidence of a second-in-command who knew his place beside the future leader. His dark eyes scanned the undergrowth, his movements controlled, as though nothing could ever unsettle him.

“Smell that?” Net asked, breaking the silence. His voice was low, but laced with energy.

Zee tilted his head, inhaling. The crisp air carried faint notes of deer, somewhere to the east. A fresh trail. He gave a short nod.

Net grinned, his wolf close to the surface. “Dinner won’t escape us today.”

Further behind, Poppy adjusted the strap of his bow. A more enthusiastic figure, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, he was the one who always ensured no detail was missed. Where Net was calm and centered, Poppy was funny and blunt.

“If you two keep the chit chatting,” Poppy said out loud, “dinner will escape us.”

Net shot him a look over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Poppy. We’ll leave you the scraps.”

“You’ll be lucky if you get the chance,” Poppy replied smirking, already stringing his bow.

Zee let the banter wash over him, his focus drawn elsewhere. He was used to the rhythm of his friends—Net with his comments, Poppy with his jokes—but his own thoughts remained elsewhere, heavier. The weight of leadership never left him. Even here, even during the hunt, he felt his father’s gaze like a shadow, watching, measuring.

“Stay sharp,” Zee reminded them quietly, his voice carrying the quiet authority that always stilled the others.

They moved deeper into the forest, the snow crunching softly beneath their boots. The scent of deer grew stronger. Zee shifted slightly, his senses stretching, the urge to release his wolf almost overpowering. But this hunt was not just for instinct’s sake—it was for the village, for his people who relied on their hunters for food and survival. Control mattered more than instinct.

The trail led them toward a clearing, where the sun’s pale light filtered through the treetops. Tracks pressed deep into the snow, fresh and clear.

“There,” Poppy whispered, pointing ahead.

A small herd of deer grazed at the edge of the clearing, their breath steaming in the cold air.

Zee crouched low, the others following his lead. His muscles coiled, ready to spring, his wolf pacing beneath his skin, waiting for his command. For a moment, the world was only silence, breath, and instinct.

And then—

Something else.

Faint. Strange. Almost hidden beneath the stronger scent of deer. But it brushed against Zee’s senses like a whisper, unfamiliar and… magnetic. He froze, nostrils flaring. His wolf snapped to attention, golden eyes glowing in the recess of his mind.

Net noticed the change. “What is it?” he whispered.

Zee didn’t answer at once. He inhaled again, deeper. The scent wasn’t prey, nor predator. It was… different. Fragile, sharp with pain, threaded with something that tugged at instincts he didn’t fully understand. His wolf growled softly inside him, not with aggression, but with agitation—an urge, a need.

He stood, ignoring the startled glance Net threw him, and turned away from the deer.

“Zee?” Net called quietly.

“Something’s out there.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt. “Stay here.”

Before they could argue, Zee was already moving, silent and swift, following the thread of that strange scent deeper into the forest. The deer scattered behind him, but he didn’t care. Something more important than prey was waiting.

The trail led him down a slope, where the snow grew thicker and the trees denser. The smell of blood reached him then, faint but distinct. His wolf snarled, hackles rising, protective instinct flooding his chest.

He broke through a cluster of brush and stopped.

There, half-buried in the snow, was a small shape.

A fox. White as snow, its fur almost blending into the frost around it. Only the faint stain of red at its paw revealed it wasn’t part of the winter landscape. Its body trembled weakly, sides heaving with shallow breaths.

Zee’s wolf surged forward inside him, demanding he act.

It was just a fox. Prey. His rational mind whispered he should finish it, end its suffering, and bring it back to the village. Its pelt alone would be a prize, its meat useful. That was what any hunter would do.

But he didn’t move.

Blue eyes met his golden ones. Bright, startling, too clear, too human.

Zee froze, a strange shiver running down his spine. His wolf went utterly still, then growled, low and protective, a sound meant to warn any who dared come close.

He should have ignored it. Should have ended it. But something inside him rebelled at the thought.

Slowly, carefully, he crouched down.

The fox whimpered softly, curling tighter against the snow, its wounded paw tucked close. Its fur was matted with blood, but its gaze never left him. Fear, yes—but also something else. Something that made his chest tighten.

“What kind of pup are you?” Zee murmured under his breath, almost to himself.

The fox’s ears flicked, as if it understood.

The sound of footsteps crunched behind him, and Net appeared, breathless. “Zee, what are you—” He stopped short, eyes widening at the sight. “A snow fox? That’s rare.”

Poppy arrived seconds later, bow ready, but Zee’s growl stopped him cold. It was instinctive, primal, and it startled even Zee himself. His wolf had taken control, refusing to let anyone closer.

Net frowned. “What are you doing? That’s prey. Injured, easy catch.”

“No.” Zee’s voice was sharp, final.

Poppy blinked. “No? What do you mean, no?”

Zee didn’t answer. He reached forward slowly, carefully sliding his hands beneath the fox’s trembling body. It let out a weak sound, but didn’t bite, didn’t struggle. Instead, it pressed closer into his arms, as though seeking warmth.

The sensation was strange, almost electric. Zee’s chest tightened again, a fierce surge of protectiveness roaring through him.

“We’re taking it back,” Zee said firmly. “Jay can treat the wound.”

Poppy looked incredulous. “You’re bringing a fox to the healer?”

“It’s not just a fox,” Zee said quietly, almost to himself.

He rose to his feet, the fragile creature cradled against him, and for the first time in a long time, Zee didn’t feel like the alpha heir weighed down by duty. He felt like a wolf protecting what was his.

The walk back to the village was slower than usual. Zee carried the small body carefully, mindful of every step. The fox was light, fragile, as though it weighed less than a bundle of furs, but the warmth of its trembling frame seeped into his chest. Each time its shallow breaths hitched, his wolf bristled inside him.

Net followed close at his side, his brows drawn together in thought. He hadn’t spoken since they left the clearing, though Zee could feel his questioning gaze. Rational as always, Net knew better than to challenge Zee outright when his instincts were this sharp.

It was Poppy who broke the silence, trudging through the snow with exaggerated sighs. “We were supposed to bring back venison. Instead, we’re rescuing a fox? Don’t get me wrong, it’s cute—adorable even—but you’ve officially lost your mind, Zee.”

Zee’s jaw tightened. “Jay will look at him.”

Poppy tilted his head, lips quirking. “Ah, so it’s a him now, not an it?” He smirked. “Should I start knitting him a scarf, or maybe a little bed by the fire?”

“Poppy,” Net said quietly, his calm voice cutting through the mischief. “Not now.”

The hunter rolled his eyes but didn’t press further. He might be cheeky, but loyalty ran deep in his bones. If Zee said the fox came first, then Poppy would follow, no matter how many jokes he cracked along the way.

Still, Zee felt the words bite. Why was he calling it a him? Why did it matter so much? He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself. All he knew was that the thought of leaving the little creature behind—wounded, alone—had been unbearable.

By the time they reached the edge of the village, whispers were already following them. The small community was tight-knit; nothing passed unseen. Children stopped playing in the snow to stare, and elders peered from doorways, murmuring at the sight of the alpha heir carrying what looked like prey, cradled like something precious.

Zee ignored them all. His focus was fixed on the healer’s hut at the village’s heart.

Jay met them at the door, his hands still dusted with herbs. “Back already?” His gentle eyes flicked from Zee to the bundle in his arms, widening slightly. “Oh.”

“Help him,” Zee said simply.

Jay’s gaze softened at the command. “Bring him in.”

Inside, the hut smelled of pine resin and dried herbs, warmth radiating from a small fire in the hearth. Zee laid the fox down on the low cot Jay kept for patients, his movements careful, reluctant to let go.

The fox whimpered at the loss of his warmth, curling weakly on the blanket.

Jay crouched beside the cot, his healer’s hands hovering before touching the animal. “Easy now,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “I won’t hurt you.”

The fox’s blue eyes fixed on him, wary but oddly understanding.

Jay blinked, tilting his head. “Strange…” He glanced at Zee. “He doesn’t smell right.”

“What do you mean?” Net asked, stepping closer.

Jay inhaled slowly, his beta senses attuned to subtleties the others sometimes missed. “There’s something… human in it. Not just animal. And…” He paused, frowning. “Omega. Faint, but there.”

Zee’s wolf surged at the word, a low growl building in his throat before he caught it. He forced it down, clenching his jaw. Omega. The word curled in his chest like fire.

Poppy raised a brow. “Wait—are you saying the fox is one of us? Like, us us?”

Jay nodded slowly. “Or at least… part of us. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Silence settled over the hut, heavy and sharp. Zee stared at the trembling creature on the cot, his mind racing. An omega? Here? And not just any omega—a male. That alone was rare enough to cause stirrings in every corner of the pack. But a male omega stuck in fox form? That was unheard of.

The fox’s gaze shifted, landing on Zee. His ears twitched, and despite the obvious fear in his eyes, he let out a small sound—half whimper, half sigh.

Something in Zee snapped. He stepped forward before he realized it, placing his hand gently against the fox’s fur. At once, the trembling eased. The little body pressed into his palm, seeking him.

Poppy’s mouth fell open. “Okay, wow. He just imprinted on you or something.”

“Not funny,” Net said sharply, though his eyes held the same curiosity. “Zee, what are you going to do?”

What was he going to do? The rational answer would be to inform his father, to bring the matter before the council. A creature like this—rare, strange, possibly dangerous—was not his decision alone.

But the thought of handing the fox over, of letting anyone else near him, ignited a fierce rejection deep inside. His wolf’s growl vibrated through his chest, quiet but undeniable.

Zee stroked the fox’s head, his voice low but steady. “I’ll take responsibility. He stays with me.”

Jay looked up, startled. “Zee, this isn’t a small matter. If he’s truly a hybrid—”

“Then I’ll protect him.” The words came without hesitation, ringing with the finality of a vow.

For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the hearth fire.

Then Poppy, true to form, broke the tension with a whistle. “Well. Guess the fox has a new alpha daddy. Congratulations, Zee.”

Zee shot him a look that could have frozen rivers, but Poppy only grinned wider, unrepentant.

Net placed a steady hand on Zee’s shoulder. “If this is your decision, I’ll stand by it. But you know the pack won’t take it quietly.”

“I know.” Zee’s gaze didn’t leave the fox, whose eyes were already drooping shut under Jay’s gentle treatment. “Let them talk.”

The little creature pressed closer into Zee’s hand, sighing softly before sleep claimed him.

And for the first time in years, Zee felt something shift inside his chest. Not the weight of duty. Not the burden of expectation. Something different.

Something his wolf recognized instantly.

Jay worked in silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the crackle of the fire and the faint scrape of pestle against stone as he ground herbs into a thick paste. The snow fox lay on the cot, its chest rising and falling in shallow rhythm. Its paw was swollen, the fur matted with blood where the jagged edge of a hunter’s trap had bitten deep.

The sight made Zee’s stomach twist. He had seen countless wounds in hunts, on both prey and wolves, but this—this small, fragile creature caught in the cruelty of steel—was different. His wolf rumbled restlessly, every instinct demanding he keep watch, ensure no further harm touched the fox.

“Hold him still,” Jay murmured.

Zee obeyed without hesitation. His large hand settled gently but firmly against the fox’s side. At his touch, the little body relaxed instead of tensing, as though it knew, even in pain, that he would not cause harm.

Jay carefully washed the wound with warm water and crushed herbs, then applied the paste, its scent sharp with pine and bitterroot. The fox whimpered once, soft and pained, but pressed closer into Zee’s palm, as though drawing comfort from him alone.

“You see that?” Jay said softly, glancing up. “He trusts you. Instinctively.”

Zee said nothing, though his jaw tightened. He couldn’t deny it.

Poppy leaned lazily against the wall, arms folded, watching with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Trust, huh? Well, lucky for him he picked the future alpha. Anyone else and he’d be dinner already.”

Net shot him a mild look, calm but firm. “Poppy.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Poppy grinned, unbothered by the reprimand. “Though, to be fair, I wouldn’t mind keeping him. He’s adorable. Maybe I should smuggle him away while Zee’s not looking.”

The growl that ripped from Zee’s throat silenced the room. Low, sharp, a clear warning.

Poppy raised his hands in mock surrender, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Kidding, kidding! Spirits above, you’re possessive already.”

Zee ignored him, forcing the wolf back into submission, though its hackles remained raised. His gaze never left the fox.

Jay finished wrapping the paw with soft linen, securing it with a careful knot. “That should hold. He’ll need rest, warmth, and time. The wound isn’t fatal, but it will scar. He’s lucky you found him when you did.”

Lucky. The word didn’t feel right. Fate was closer. Zee couldn’t shake the sense that this meeting hadn’t been chance at all.

The fox’s blue eyes fluttered open briefly, finding him again. They held his gaze for a long moment, too long, until Zee felt something stir low in his chest—a pull, undeniable and fierce. Then the eyes slipped shut, exhaustion claiming him once more.

Jay stood, wiping his hands. “He should stay here tonight.”

“No.” The refusal was immediate, instinctive.

Jay blinked. “Zee—”

“He stays with me,” Zee said, his voice steady, final.

Net studied him quietly, his expression unreadable but thoughtful. Jay hesitated, then nodded slowly, reading the determination in Zee’s face.

“Very well. But keep him warm. His body is weak; the cold will make recovery harder. And…” Jay hesitated, lowering his voice. “If he really is what I think he is, then you’ll need to be careful. A male omega is rare. His presence could stir trouble.”

Zee’s hand lingered on the fox’s fur. “I’ll protect him.”

The words were spoken like an oath, one his wolf echoed with a fierce growl of agreement.

That night, the village lay quiet beneath the silver glow of the moon.

Zee sat in his room, the fire burning low in the hearth. The fox lay curled on a soft pelt near the flames, its breathing deeper now, steadier. The bandaged paw was tucked against its chest, the rest of its body a small, snowy ball of fur.

Zee leaned back against the wooden frame of his bed, arms folded, watching. He should have been exhausted after the hunt, but rest eluded him. His wolf prowled beneath his skin, restless. Each time the fox stirred or whimpered in its sleep, Zee’s instincts sharpened, his body tensing as though ready to defend against unseen threats.

This was not normal. He knew it. He had never reacted this way before—not to prey, not to his own pack. This was something else, something deeper, something he couldn’t explain.

The fox whimpered again, shifting restlessly, its ears twitching. Without thinking, Zee moved closer, crouching by the pelt. His hand reached out, brushing gently over the soft fur. At once, the creature calmed, sighing softly, curling into his palm as though it belonged there.

Zee exhaled slowly, tension leaving his shoulders. His wolf purred low in his chest, satisfied.

He should have been alarmed at how natural it felt. Instead, he stayed there, his hand resting on the small body, until sleep finally crept into his own bones.

Morning light spilled into the room, warm against the wooden floor. Zee stirred awake to the feeling of weight against his side.

The fox had moved sometime during the night. It now lay curled beside him on the bed, pressed close to his warmth. Its head rested lightly against his arm, breath puffing softly through its nose.

Zee blinked, staring at the sight. His wolf rumbled with approval, content.

“Not just a fox,” he murmured, repeating the words he had spoken the night before. And deep down, he knew he was right.

This was the beginning of something he could neither fight nor ignore.

Something that would change everything.

Chapter Text

Morning settled softly over the village, sunlight spilling across wooden rooftops, illuminating frost-covered shingles and the smoke curling from chimneys. The valley, encased by jagged mountains and thick pine forests, held its breath in the early hours. A delicate frost glittered along the edges of rooftops, and the air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of earth and pine sap. Birds called from treetops, children’s laughter echoed from the training grounds, and somewhere in the distance, the steady rhythm of a river wove through the quiet like a secret melody.

Zee moved through it all like he belonged to neither the village nor the wild but to a space between the two. The villagers greeted him with nods and smiles, recognizing the son of the alpha, but Zee barely registered them. His thoughts were with the little fox, curled on a pile of furs in the cabin, small and fragile yet strangely alert, the luminescent white of his fur catching every stray sunbeam.

The little hybrid stirred at the sound of Zee’s footsteps. His ears twitched, and his bright blue eyes locked on Zee’s as he padded forward with tentative steps. Even before Zee reached the cabin, he could sense the tiny heartbeat of the fox, quick and uneven, a reminder that despite all his strength, this small creature was delicate, vulnerable.

“You awake already?” Zee murmured, kneeling at the edge of the furs. The wolf inside him growled softly in acknowledgment, pressing close as if to enforce the unspoken rule: nothing would touch the little fox while he was here.

The snow fox tilted his head, small paws brushing against Zee’s boots, and let out a soft whine of recognition. He sniffed at Zee’s hands, then leaned against him, tiny claws kneading at the fabric of Zee’s coat.

“Breakfast first,” Zee said softly, reaching for the small wooden bowl filled with scraps of meat Jay had prepared the night before. Nunew sniffed the food but didn’t immediately eat, instead pressing closer to Zee, as though seeking assurance that he was safe before touching the meal.

Net appeared in the doorway, calm and steady, as always. “He’s growing more confident,” he observed. “And you’re… spoiling him.”

Zee didn’t reply, only allowed a shadow of a grin. “He’s learning,” he said, voice low. “We don’t spoil something we protect.”

Net raised an eyebrow, lips twitching.

Zee’s wolf growled softly, and Net’s smirk faltered. He glanced toward Nunew, who had now begun nibbling cautiously at the meat, his tail flicking nervously but steadily. “It trusts you already,” Net said finally. “Which is… odd.”

“Not odd,” Zee corrected, voice firm. “Right.”

The day unfolded in a rhythm that was both ordinary and extraordinary. Zee tended to his duties—patrolling the perimeter, checking supplies, meeting with the other hunters—but every action was underscored by the constant pull of concern for the fox. Every so often, he returned to the cabin to check on the little fox, to see him stretch or curl up on the furs, or to catch the glint of curiosity in his wide eyes.

By mid-day, Zee decided it was time for Nunew to learn a few basics of survival. He carried him to the small forest patch near the edge of the village. Nunew padded beside him, tentative but alert, sniffing the ground, ears flicking toward every sound.

“Stay close,” Zee instructed, kneeling as he picked a handful of bright red berries from a bush. He handed one to Nunew, who sniffed it warily before nibbling. The fox’s tail twitched in delight. “Good,” Zee said quietly. “Learn fast. It keeps you alive.”

Nunew’s sharp blue eyes followed every movement Zee made. When Zee picked another berry, Nunew crouched, readying himself, and then pounced with surprising precision, catching it mid-air. Zee’s lips twitched. “Not bad.”

They spent the afternoon moving through the small patch of woods, gathering berries, tracking small prey, and silently testing Nunew’s reflexes. The hybrid was small, but there was an intelligence in his movements that Zee respected, a natural awareness that went beyond instinct.

When they returned to the cabin, Zee set Nunew down with a soft grunt. The fox immediately curled up beside the fire, licking his paws and occasionally glancing up at Zee as if to ensure he was still there. Zee moved to the small stack of blankets by the fire, settling near Nunew, letting his wolf sit feel protective and vigilant.

“Net, Poppy,” Zee called after a few moments, voice low. “Come.”

Net entered first, calm and quiet, followed by Poppy, who bounced into the cabin with his usual mischievous energy, immediately crouching beside Nunew. “Look at you,” he said, grinning. “Little fox king of the cabin.”

Nunew responded with a soft whine, then padded toward him cautiously. Poppy laughed, gently brushing his fur. “You’re going to get spoiled so fast, little guy.”

“Don’t touch him without asking,” Zee said, voice firm. Poppy froze, mock offense crossing his face. “Aye, aye Captain!” he said, leaning back with a grin, hands raised.

Net simply observed, calm as ever. “He’s settling in,” he noted. “Better for the future events.”

Zee nodded slowly. “He’s learning trust. And we need him to be strong.”

The evening passed in domestic rhythm. Zee prepared a modest meal for Nunew, cutting small portions of cooked meat and berries. The fox ate with cautious precision, occasionally pressing against Zee’s leg as though seeking comfort. Zee’s wolf lay across on his belly inside his mind, chest rising and falling in a steady, protective rhythm.

Later, Nunew padded quietly to the small table by the window, nudging a small basket of berries toward Zee. Zee studied him carefully, realizing the fox had been gathering them, learning the routines, mimicking behavior he had watched silently.

“You’re so smart,” Zee murmured, letting the words slip. “More than you realize, puppy.”

Nunew’s ears twitched. He seemed to understand the praise, puffing out his small chest before curling back beside Zee. The wolf growled low and satisfied.

Poppy who was still around the cabin, laughed softly. “He’s definitely chosen you,” he said. “Smart little thing!”

Zee’s lips pressed into a thin line, stoic as always. “He’s mine to protect,” he said, voice quiet but absolute.

The night deepened, and the cabin settled into warmth and quiet. Nunew’s breathing slowed as he slept beside Zee, safe in the glow of the fire and the unspoken promise that no harm would touch him. Zee, still alert, still watchful, allowed a rare moment of softness to brush against him—a faint flicker of something human beneath the stoic exterior.

Over the couple of days, this rhythm became their life. Mornings in the forest were followed by domestic tasks: preparing food, cleaning the cabin, organizing supplies. Zee observed the little one closely during every activity. The fox’s curiosity and eagerness were tempered by cautious intelligence, and Zee found himself silently proud, appreciating the combination of instinct and understanding.

Evenings were reserved for quiet bonding. Nunew would curl at Zee’s side, warm and small against him. Zee felt a faint stirring of protective instinct beneath his consciousness, subtle and steady, but his attention was mostly on the fox—on the rise and fall of his chest, the way his ears twitched at the soft crackle of the fire, the occasional tilt of his head as if reading Zee’s moods.

Poppy occasionally burst into the cabin with his usual exuberance, teasing both Zee and Nunew, but Zee only observed the fox’s reactions, noting how quickly Nunew adapted to disruptions and returned to a sense of calm when Zee’s presence reassured him.

One afternoon, Zee found himself watching Nunew crouched in the clearing, inspecting berries. The fox’s movements were deliberate, careful, precise. He paused frequently, sniffing the air, ears flicking at sounds beyond Zee’s immediate perception. Watching him, Zee felt a quiet, steady pull—responsibility, yes, but also a strange warmth he hadn’t expected. He admired the fox’s intelligence, his curiosity, his cautious courage.

Returning to the cabin, snow began to dust the treetops. Nunew explored every corner with keen attention, sniffing objects, pawing gently at things that caught his interest. Zee followed, silently approving the fox’s confidence, noting where he hesitated and offering guidance with a soft word or a gentle touch.

At night, the cabin became a sanctuary. Nunew curled against Zee’s side, soft warmth pressing into him. Zee let himself relax, watching the little hybrid fox sleep, noting every small twitch, every content sigh. His wolf lay quiet beneath the surface, alert yet restrained, a subtle undercurrent to Zee’s awareness. He allowed himself to dwell on the quiet companionship, the trust growing between them, and the unspoken understanding that he would protect this small creature no matter what.

The village stirred gently under the morning sun, the soft rhythm of life drifting along the dirt paths. Children ran barefoot past wooden stalls, laughing and shrieking with delight, while merchants called out the day’s prices, voices carrying over the clatter of wooden wheels and the low hum of conversation. In the quiet corners, the villagers murmured of the alpha and his son, words tinged with respect and curiosity.

Most spoke with warmth, praising Zee’s courage and steady presence. Mothers told their children of the alpha’s son who wandered beyond the village borders to keep watch over the forest, a young wolf whose loyalty and strength reflected the father who led them. Yet in whispers, some questioned his prolonged absences, noting how rarely he lingered at the hall.

Not all voices were gentle. The Park family—long known for ambition masked as concern—watched him closely. Elder Mr. Park, thin and tall, his eyes narrow and calculating, often whispered to his wife, who nodded with quiet approval. Their son, brash and impatient, would tilt his head as if measuring Zee, then murmur doubts to anyone nearby. “He spends too much time away,” Mrs. Park hissed to a vendor one morning. “And what of his responsibilities? Leadership requires more than wandering.”

Zee had heard the murmurs from afar, though the wolf stirring inside him bristled subtly. He let them pass, like wind brushing through the trees. Respect was earned through action, and those who whispered out of ambition alone would always grasp at shadows.

Back at the cabin, a different world existed. The small hybrid fox no one else knew about—tumbled across the clearing, white fur catching the sunlight, ears swiveling at every sound. Zee knelt to inspect the berries he had gathered, carefully sorting the ripe from the unripe. “Patience, little one,” he said softly. “Not all the berries are ready.”

The fox chirped, bouncing near his feet, tail flicking in excitement. Zee couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, yes, you’re hungry. But life isn’t only about food. Watch. Learn. Move quietly.” He tossed a handful of ripe berries near Nunew, who sniffed them before nibbling delicately, savoring each bite.

The domesticity was grounding, a tether to calm amidst the ever-present pull of the wolf inside him. Brushing his hand over the fox soft fur, Zee marveled at the fragile trust between them. Every gesture, every shared moment, was a bridge connecting worlds—the human, the wolf, and the secret hybrid that could never be revealed.

Their quiet morning was interrupted by the soft knock of a messenger at the cabin door. A young wolf boy, wide-eyed and trembling slightly, bowed as Zee opened the door. “Alpha Zee,” he said, voice barely steady, “your father requests your presence at the hall.”

Zee nodded, glancing down at Nunew, whose ears twitched in curiosity. “Stay here,” he murmured. “I’ll return soon.”

The walk to the hall was quiet, though heavy with the weight of expectation. Villagers paused to watch him pass, some nodding respectfully, others smiling in recognition. From the edge of the market, the Parks family observed with keen scrutiny, their murmured doubts floating after him. Zee ignored them. Leadership wasn’t a performance for those who sought it; it was service, and he served his people, not their ambitions.

The cabin smelled faintly of pine smoke and the lingering traces of Zee’s wolf scent. He hesitated at the doorway, hands resting on the wooden frame, before stepping inside. His father sat at the table, poring over maps and schedules, yet his gaze lifted immediately. “Zee,” he said, his voice calm but carrying that unspoken authority, “come sit. We need to talk.”

Zee lowered himself onto the bench opposite his father, keeping his posture straight, though a storm of thoughts churned inside him. “You called for me, Father?”

His father’s eyes softened briefly before the familiar sternness returned. “Yes. The village notices your absences. They notice when the heir to leadership spends more time in the forests than among the people he will one day guide. Most speak of your courage and dedication, but you know that there are always murmurs. The Parks family, in particular… they wait for any slip, any sign that you are unfit to lead.”

Zee’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained even. “I understand. I cannot allow their ambition to distract me from my responsibilities. My duty is to the village, not their expectations.”

The elder alpha nodded, leaning forward, hands clasped over the table. “Good. Strength alone does not make a leader. You must balance it with transparency, judgment, and—at times—humility. Which is why I need to ask you: is there something unusual occupying your time in the forest? Something you have not shared with anyone?”

Zee inhaled sharply, his wolf stirring faintly within, but he pushed the urge to shift away. He trusted his father more than anyone in the world. “There is… something. I found a creature injured. It is unlike anything I’ve seen in our territory. It moves like a fox, yet it is intelligent, aware in ways a normal animal should not be.”

His father’s brow rose. “A hybrid, you think?”

“I… I do,” Zee admitted. “I cannot prove it to you, but I am sure it is… he is one of us. He is trapped in this form, and cannot speak yet. I have been caring for him, ensuring he  is fed and safe.” He hesitated. “I thought of bringing him back to the village proper, but… he is vulnerable. I did not know if it could handle the attention.”

His father studied him, eyes calm but piercing. “Zee, you are not a boy anymore. You will be the next alpha. Your responsibility is not only to your people but to the balance of our land. Yet I also know your heart. You do not act without reason, and you do not ignore what is right. I trust you.”

A weight lifted from Zee’s chest, though he remained guarded. “I thought you might not approve of keeping him so close, Father.”

A faint, knowing smile touched his father’s lips. “I am firm, yes. But I try to be fair. Also, I am not blind to the truth of loyalty and care. You must trust in yourself, Zee. And in me. If this creature is as unique as you say, I want to meet it. I want to understand why you chose to protect it rather than leave it to the forest.”

Zee’s chest swelled with relief. “I trust you… more than anyone.”

His father’s expression softened further, though the edge of authority never left his voice. “Then I will meet it. But remember, Zee, a leader must always consider the consequences of keeping secrets. Even the purest intentions can lead to misunderstandings if not tempered with wisdom.”

Zee nodded, the weight of responsibility pressing against his resolve. “I understand, Father. I promise.”

The following morning Zee focus remained on his duties: coordinating hunters with Poppy, checking in with Net and Jay about the village’s health and defenses, and ensuring that every corner of the village ran smoothly. Still, the hybrid’s small presence tugged at his mind, a silent reminder of his personal mission in the shadows of the forest.

By midmorning, Zee returned to his cabin, finding the small fox curled atop a folded blanket. It had grown more comfortable around him, tilting its head curiously as he entered. Its fur shimmered like the first snow of winter, and even in its diminutive form, Zee could sense the strength and cleverness trapped within.

“You’re lucky I trust you,” he murmured, setting down a small basket of berries. The fox sniffed, eyes bright, and began nudging the food with delicate paws. Zee watched silently, feeling an unfamiliar swell of protectiveness that went beyond duty—something deeper, instinctive, undeniable.

For hours, he moved around his cabin in quiet rhythm, preparing food, repairing small supplies, and occasionally reaching out to stroke the fox’s soft fur. The creature would tilt its head, blink slowly, and sometimes let out a soft, hesitant yip. Zee imagined what it might be thinking, this hybrid trapped between forms, and he felt a responsibility heavier than any leadership lesson he had ever been taught.

By evening, Zee’s father called him once again. This time, the conversation was lighter, more personal. “I heard the village talking good today,” he said. “Your people admire you, Zee. Even those who whisper doubt cannot deny your presence commands respect. I am proud of how you handle your duties. But tell me—this creature you’ve found, it intrigues me. When can I meet it?”

Zee silence was lound. He still feels like guarding a little treasure, not sure he wants to share it yet. But he can understand the necessity of letting his father in.

His father chuckled softly, a rare sound that made Zee feel like a child again. “Then I will prepare myself. I trust you, Zee. Show me this little creature that has earned your protection.”

The night descended, and Zee returned to the cabin, where the fox was asleep. He moved quietly, careful not to disturb its rest. Even in its small form, he could feel the pulse of life, the faint stirrings of its hybrid nature. He set beside it, letting his presence be a silent promise: protection, patience, and understanding until the fox could find its own path in this world.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges: routines to maintain, villagers to reassure, and questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Yet, beneath it all, a quiet hope stirred. He would protect this creature, guide it, and maybe, in time, reveal it to the world.

Unbeknownst to Zee, Jay had already begun searching for ways to help the fox shift into its human form, carefully studying methods that would not endanger it. Plans were quietly taking shape, experiments and preparations that would one day bring Nunew into the open—and into the life of the village.

The journey was only beginning. And when the time came, the little fox’s arrival would not just be a revelation—it would change everything.

Chapter Text

Jay had always believed there were few things left in the world that could truly unsettle him. He had seen broken bones mended, fevered children carried into his healer’s hut, hunters brought back half-dead from reckless adventures. Yet nothing in his years of studying the laws of pack medicine had prepared him for the silent weight of the fox curled up in a blanket on the edge of his worktable.

The snow fox. The creature that Zee had carried from the forest like a secret in his chest.

Jay’s hands hovered above the thick parchment sprawled across his desk, lines of ink scrawled in a precise hand. Ancient texts, pulled from the archives beneath the village council hall, lay stacked in front of him. He had begged access from the scribes earlier that morning, claiming research for a rare case of transformation. He hadn’t told them the truth, of course. How could he? That the Alpha heir had stumbled upon a fox that wasn’t truly a fox—an omega hybrid frozen in an incomplete form.

His fingers pressed to his temples as he tried to steady his breathing. The candlelight threw restless shadows across the walls, and every flicker of flame seemed to whisper the same word: impossible.

Hybrids existed. Yes. Wolves and their counterparts had lived with that knowledge since the first tribes. But foxes—snow foxes—were creatures of myth. Faint traces in the records, always written like half-forgotten tales. A fox with fur white as winter and eyes too knowing, too human, to belong only to an animal. They were said to walk between worlds. And omegas—male omegas especially—were rarer still. In his lifetime, Jay had only ever met two.

And now one lay at the edge of his desk, wrapped in wool, fast asleep.

The fox twitched, tiny paws shifting against the blanket, nose pressed close as if chasing something in its dreams. Jay’s chest tightened. It looked fragile in a way he hadn’t expected—delicate bones, thin fur marred by the healing scar on its leg. But beneath the softness was a pulse of energy he couldn’t ignore, something ancient and wild, as though the forest itself had condensed into this small body.

A rustle of boots behind him snapped him back. “You’ve been at this since dawn, JJ” Net said quietly, stepping into the hut. His voice carried calm, the same steady cadence that had soothed both soldiers and children alike. “If you keep staring at those scrolls, your eyes will give out before you find answers, babe.”

Jay didn’t look up. “There’s no record of anything like him in the last century. Nothing. The only mention of fox hybrids comes from before the first wars. Even then, the texts don’t agree. Some say they were hunted out. Others claim they vanished on their own.”

Net moved closer, gaze shifting to the small fox. His expression softened despite his composed nature. “And yet one lies here.”

Jay finally exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you understand what this means, Net? He isn’t just rare. He’s a miracle—and a target. If word spreads, clans will come. Ambitious alphas, desperate packs. They’ll see him as nothing more than a resource to claim.”

Net’s jaw tightened. His loyalty to Zee was unshakable, but his rational mind never ignored danger. “Then the fewer who know, the better. Until Zee decides otherwise.”

At the mention of Zee’s name, the little fox stirred. His head lifted slightly, ears twitching, before sinking back into the blanket. Jay blinked, struck by how he responded—as if the bond, the mere thought of the black wolf, reached him even in sleep.

“It’s not just instinct,” Jay murmured. “He reacts to Zee. Always.”

“Because Zee saved him,” Net replied simply. “Because his wolf already chose.”

Jay wanted to argue, but he knew Net was right. He had seen it in the way Zee carried the fox—never once handing him off, never allowing even Poppy’s playful teasing to break that steady, protective hold. Zee, who had always kept himself apart, stoic and bound by duty, now softened every time the small creature glanced at him with those strange, liquid eyes.

The healer closed one of the heavy texts with a decisive thud. “I think I’ve found something. There are passages about transformations being… disrupted. Trauma, fear, or deliberate suppression can trap a hybrid between forms. Sometimes permanently.”

Net frowned. “And the solution?”

“Reconnection,” Jay said slowly, reading the faded ink. “The body and spirit must align. For most, it happens naturally. For him… it may take guidance. Safety. Trust.” His gaze flicked again to the fox, voice dropping. “We’ll need to help him remember who he is.”

Meanwhile, across the village, Zee carried out his morning duties with the same precision as always, though his thoughts were far from steady. He trained with the hunters, sparred with young alphas eager to prove themselves, oversaw food rations with the council’s stewards. The people greeted him with respect, nodding to the black-haired son of their leader, the one destined to inherit the mantle one day. But Zee barely registered their words. His mind kept circling back to the little fox waiting in his cabin.

Every night since finding him, Zee had returned to that quiet space and found the snow fox curled against his bedding, tail wrapped tight, watching him with unblinking eyes. Every night, something inside Zee—something older than duty, older than rank—settled in the fox’s presence. His wolf, always a heavy shadow within him, grew restless whenever they were apart, demanding they return, pressing instincts he hadn’t felt before. Protect. Guard. Keep.

And Zee obeyed, because for once it didn’t feel like a command but a truth he wanted.

When he finally returned to his cabin at dusk, the air was cool, scented faintly of pine smoke from the cooking fires. He pushed open the door, already bracing for the small weight of eyes on him. Sure enough, the fox was there, perched near the window where the fading light painted his fur silver.

The sight tugged something deep in Zee’s chest. He set down his hunting cloak, crouched slowly, and held out a hand. “I’m back,” he said simply, voice low, steady.

The fox tilted its head, ears flicking. Then, with a hesitant hop, it padded across the floor and pressed against his palm. Soft fur brushed his skin, and Zee exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He gathered the creature carefully into his arms, feeling the way it fit against him, small but not fragile—not weak.

“I don’t know your name,” Zee murmured. “But I know you’re not just a fox. And I know you’re not alone anymore.”

The fox shivered, a sound almost like a whimper leaving its throat, and Zee tightened his hold instinctively.

That night, long after the fires in the village had burned low, Zee sat on the edge of his bed, the fox nestled close. He leaned down, lips near the soft fur, and whispered a promise he hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone else.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not while I still breathe.”

The fox’s eyes fluttered shut, as though the words were enough.

The following morning dawned gray and heavy, a storm pressing somewhere beyond the mountain ridge. Zee woke early, as always, but instead of training his body, his mind was restless. The fox stirred beside him on the bedding, yawning soundlessly before curling closer, as though even in half-sleep it sought the reassurance of his warmth.

Zee lingered a moment, watching. He had never been one for tenderness; duty had carved him sharp, responsibility had stripped him bare. Yet here, with this small creature, his edges dulled.

A knock on the cabin door cut through the silence. Zee rose carefully, placing the fox back on the blanket, and opened the door to find Jay waiting with tired eyes, carrying an armful of scrolls.

“We need to talk,” Jay said without preamble.

Zee nodded, stepping aside. Jay set the scrolls on the table, his movements brisk but edged with urgency. His healer’s calm had frayed, replaced by a kind of intensity Zee rarely saw in him.

“I’ve confirmed it. We had a suspicion that he was one of us, but you have no idea how rare he is.” Jay said, unrolling a parchment, revealing faded lines of script. “He’s not just a hybrid. He’s something we believed gone.”

Zee’s gaze dropped to the fox, who now sat alert, ears twitching as though it understood. “A snow fox and a male omega. Something inside me already knew since I first saw him,” he said quietly.

Jay nodded. “That combination is…” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “Almost myth. I’ve traced records back through three dynasties. The last mention is more than a hundred years ago. The stories say they were hunted for their rarity. Others say their clans kept them hidden, bound by fear of what they represented.”

Zee’s jaw tightened. “And what do they represent?”

“Fertility. Power. A bridge between human and spirit,” Jay explained. “But also weakness in the wrong hands. Alphas—ambitious ones—would do anything to claim him. To control him.” His eyes flicked to the fox. “If they learn he exists, they’ll hunt him again.”

The fox whimpered softly, a sound too raw to be mistaken for anything but fear. He darted under the table, curling against the shadows as if hiding from memories only he could see.

Zee crouched, voice low, coaxing. “Hey… it’s all right.”

The fox peeked out, blue eyes wide, glimmering with emotion. For a heartbeat, Zee swore he saw more than an animal staring back—he saw sorrow, terror, and something that looked dangerously like understanding.

Jay exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “He understands us. Maybe not every word, but enough. He’s not just stuck in form. He’s conscious. He remembers.”

“And he’s afraid,” Zee said, reaching under the table. The fox hesitated before creeping into his hand, trembling.

Net entered just then, silent as a shadow, with Poppy trailing behind. Both froze at the sight—the fox shaking, Zee holding him protectively.

“What happened?” Net asked sharply.

Jay’s mouth pressed thin. “He remembers enough to know the danger.”

The room settled into heavy silence. Poppy, usually quick with jokes, stayed quiet, his eyes wide. He approached cautiously, kneeling to the fox’s level. “Little one,” he whispered, though his voice trembled. “Were you… hurt before?”

The fox buried his head against Zee’s chest, body quivering.

Zee’s grip tightened. His wolf stirred, rising with a protective growl beneath his skin. “Whoever did this… if they come here, they won’t leave.”

Jay lifted a hand. “Careful. He doesn’t need rage right now. He needs safety.”

Zee inhaled sharply, forcing his instincts to settle. He lowered his chin until it brushed the fox’s fur. “No one touches you,” he said softly, for the fox alone. “Not again.”

For a moment, the trembling stilled.

It was later that day when Jay spoke the words Zee had already been dreading.

“We can’t keep this hidden forever,” the healer said as they stood outside the cabin, the wind tugging at their cloaks. “If we want to help him shift back, he needs more than us. He needs guidance. Power. Ritual. And that means the Alpha must know.”

Zee’s shoulders stiffened. His father. The man who carried both the weight of leadership and the burden of judgment. Zee respected him, but trust was not so easily given when it came to matters of the heart.

“He won’t understand,” Zee muttered.

“He has to,” Jay pressed. “The longer we keep this secret, the more danger we invite. If others catch whispers before he’s ready… it could destroy him.”

Zee’s gaze drifted back to the cabin, to the faint silhouette of the fox curled near the window. His chest tightened. He didn’t want to expose him—not yet. But Jay was right. Protection required strength, and strength required unity.

He closed his eyes, then nodded once. “Fine. But I’ll be the one to bring him. On my terms.”

That evening, as dusk settled over the village, Zee prepared. He wrapped the fox carefully in his cloak, shielding him from the cold and the eyes of curious villagers. The little body pressed close, heart racing fast enough for Zee to feel it through the fabric.

“Easy,” he whispered, steadying his stride. “I’m with you.”

The path to his father’s cabin felt longer than usual, each step dragging. Net walked at his side, silent support, while Jay followed, clutching the scrolls that proved their claim. Poppy trailed behind, unusually serious, as though even she understood the gravity of what was about to unfold.

When they reached the Alpha’s door, Zee paused. He adjusted the cloak, feeling the fox shift nervously beneath. His wolf bristled, ready to snarl at shadows.

Then, with a steady breath, Zee pushed the door open.

His father looked up from the fire where he sat, tall and broad even in age, silver streaking his dark hair. The weight of his gaze fell on his son first, then on the bundle in his arms.

“Zee,” he said slowly. “What have you brought me?”

Zee stepped forward, heart pounding. He drew back the cloak just enough for the snow fox’s face to show—white fur gleaming in the firelight, eyes wide, ears pressed flat in fear.

The room fell silent.

His father’s expression did not change, but the firelight sharpened the lines of his face. “That,” he said quietly, “is no ordinary fox.”

Jay stepped forward, bowing his head. “Alpha, forgive our secrecy. But what we have discovered… it is beyond any of us alone. This fox is not just an animal. He is a hybrid. A snow fox. Male. Omega.”

The Alpha’s eyes flicked from Jay to the trembling creature, then back to his son. His voice was calm, but beneath it was a weight Zee recognized as dangerous. “And you kept this from me.”

Zee met his gaze without flinching. “To protect him.”

The silence stretched, thick with tension. Then the Alpha leaned back, exhaling slowly. “You were right to fear. The moment this becomes known, others will come. They will covet him. They will kill for him.”

The fox whimpered, burrowing deeper against Zee’s chest. Zee stroked his fur, murmuring softly until the sound faded.

His father’s eyes softened just slightly at the sight, though his voice remained firm. “Then we must decide quickly. If he is to remain here, the village must know. Secrets fester. Truth binds.”

Zee’s jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, to shield the fox from the stares, the questions, the weight of expectation. But his father’s words rang true. Protection required acknowledgment. Denial would only make the danger greater.

Finally, Zee spoke, low but steady. “Then we will tell them. But hear me, Father—he is not a resource. Not a trophy. He is mine to protect. And I will not allow anyone to harm him.”

The Alpha held his son’s gaze for a long moment. Then, with a slow nod, he said, “So be it. Tomorrow, we reveal him to the village.”

The fire burned low in the Alpha’s cabin, shadows crawling along the walls. No one spoke for a long while after the decision was made. Only the faint crackle of wood and the soft, uneven breaths of the fox filled the silence.

Zee remained seated, cloak drawn around the small body in his arms. His father’s words echoed in his mind: Tomorrow, we reveal him. The weight of it pressed against his chest, heavier than any duty he had borne before.

Nunew—though they still did not know his name—shifted slightly, peeking out from the cloak. His ears twitched at every sound, his eyes catching the firelight like polished glass. But he did not make a sound. Not even the smallest bark or cry.

The Alpha’s gaze lingered on him, thoughtful, unreadable. Finally, he spoke.

“Does he not speak?”

Jay exhaled slowly, stepping forward. “He hasn’t. Not once since he arrived. I’ve searched through texts, but none explain why. Some hybrids shift and speak as children. Others… remain trapped, sometimes for years, until the right conditions allow them to emerge.”

“Conditions?” Net repeated, arms crossed. “Like what?”

“Trust. Safety. Rituals. Sometimes even… bonds.” Jay’s tone carried careful weight. His eyes flicked briefly to Zee before he looked away.

The Alpha did not miss it. His brow furrowed. “Are you suggesting he requires… attachment to shift?”

“I’m suggesting he requires more than fear,” Jay corrected. “Right now, he’s caged in silence. We need to unbind him.”

Nunew’s small body tensed, as though he somehow understood the attention. He pressed closer to Zee’s chest, nose burying against the fabric of his tunic. The gesture was so childlike, so instinctively trusting, that even the Alpha’s stern gaze softened a fraction.

Zee stroked his fur gently. “No one will force you,” he murmured. “Not while I’m here.”

The fox shivered once, then stilled, eyelids fluttering shut as exhaustion overcame fear.

The Alpha leaned back in his chair, studying his son with the creature in his arms. “You’ve already chosen,” he said quietly.

Zee lifted his gaze. “Chosen what?”

“To bear him,” his father replied. “Not just to protect him, but to tie yourself to him. Even if you don’t realize it yet.”

The words struck deep. Zee did not answer. He simply held the sleeping fox closer, jaw set.

The night wore long. Net and Poppy eventually excused themselves, though not without glances that said they would be standing guard outside. Jay remained, spreading scrolls and books across the Alpha’s table. The older man indulged him with questions, though his eyes often returned to his son and the fox.

“Tell me,” the Alpha said at one point. “If the village sees him tomorrow, what do we risk?”

Jay hesitated before answering. “Curiosity. Fear. Reverence, maybe. But more than that—whispers will spread beyond the valley. Other clans, other Alphas… if word reaches them, they will come. Some to take. Some to kill. We will have to guard him every hour.”

“And if we hide him?” the Alpha pressed.

“Then his silence festers,” Jay said simply. “He’ll never shift. And the secrecy will eat at us until someone discovers him anyway.”

The Alpha gave a low hum, weighing the words. His gaze flicked to Zee again. “And you, my son? Do you agree?”

Zee did not look away. “I agree with only one thing. He stays safe. Whatever it takes.”

The Alpha nodded once, accepting the answer.

Later, when the others had left, Zee carried Nunew back to his own cabin. The night air was sharp, the path lit only by the pale glow of the moon. The fox stirred faintly, but did not wake, as though exhausted by the weight of the day.

Inside, Zee laid him gently on the bedding, pulling the blankets around his small frame. For a moment, he stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

His mind churned. The decision was made—the village would know. But his heart burned with unease. What if they rejected him? What if they looked at this small, trembling creature and saw danger instead of life?

He sat down heavily beside the bedding, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed. His wolf growled softly inside, restless with protective rage. But beneath the rage, there was something gentler, something Zee didn’t dare name yet.

A soft sound pulled him from his thoughts. Not a word, not quite. Just a faint whimper, as if the fox was caught in a dream.

Zee reached out instinctively, brushing his fingers along the snowy fur. “Shh,” he whispered. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

The fox stilled. And though he didn’t wake, the tremor faded.

Zee stayed there until sleep finally pulled him under, his hand resting against the warmth of the little hybrid who had already altered the course of his life.

The next morning came swift and heavy with tension.

The village stirred early, word already spreading that the Alpha would be addressing them at midday. No one knew why, but speculation ran wild. From his cabin, Zee heard fragments of whispers—about border disputes, about possible threats, about strange sightings. No one yet guessed the truth.

Inside, Nunew sat curled on the bedding, watching as Zee prepared. Jay entered with food, but the fox only sniffed and turned away, appetite dulled by nerves.

Zee crouched down, meeting his eyes. “You’ll be with me,” he said firmly. “No one touches you unless I allow it. Understand?”

Nunew tilted his head, ears twitching. He didn’t speak, but his gaze lingered on Zee as though trying to. For the first time, something sparked in his eyes—not just fear, but trust. Fragile, trembling, but real.

Jay noticed it too. His lips pressed together, almost a smile, though shadowed with worry. “That’s the first step,” he murmured.

Zee stood, lifting Nunew into his arms again. “Then let’s see if the village is worthy of him.”

The square was already crowded when Zee stepped into it, the fox clutched protectively against his chest. The morning sun filtered through the canopy, spilling pale light over the stone platform where the Alpha stood waiting. Villagers gathered in restless clusters, their murmurs swelling like restless winds.

When they caught sight of what Zee carried, the sound shifted—gasps, cries, sharp whispers:

“A fox!”
“No… look at his fur—too white.”
“Impossible…”
“A hybrid?”

Children peered around their parents’ legs. Elders muttered among themselves. Fear and wonder tangled in the air.

Nunew pressed his small face against Zee’s tunic, trembling at the sudden wave of voices. Zee’s wolf bristled under his skin, every instinct urging him to shield the little one from their eyes.

The Alpha raised a hand, and silence spread across the square like a tide pulling back. His voice was firm, deep as stone.

“What you see before you is not a beast. He is one of us. Born of rare blood, carrying both wolf and fox. He has come under our protection. From this day forward, he is kin to this pack.”

The words fell heavy, rippling through the crowd. Some shifted uneasily. Others frowned, suspicion etched in their brows. A few whispered prayers.

Zee’s voice cut in, sharp as a blade. “And if any man or woman here thinks to harm him—know this. You will answer to me.”

The threat, unmasked and feral, silenced even the boldest murmur. But tension still coiled thick. Fear never bowed easily.

Then—before the silence curdled into defiance—a frail voice rose from the back.

“Let me see.”

Heads turned. A figure emerged from the throng: bent with age, wrapped in layers of faded cloth, hair white as snow and braided with feathers. Her staff tapped the stones as she walked, each step steady despite her years.

The villagers fell back instinctively, creating space. Whispers followed her:

“The shaman…”
“She hasn’t left her hut in seasons…”
“Why now?”

The old woman approached the platform, her eyes cloudy yet piercing, as though she saw more than flesh. She lifted her face toward the Alpha. “You bring him before the people.”

“I do,” the Alpha rumbled, inclining his head in respect. “He is under our protection.”

The shaman turned then, slow and deliberate, toward Zee. Toward the small bundle in his arms. “Show me.”

Zee hesitated. The fox whimpered faintly, sensing the shift in air. But the old woman’s presence held no malice—only something ancient, vast, like the forest itself.

Gently, Zee loosened his cloak, revealing the white-furred creature curled against him. Nunew peeked out, ears trembling, eyes reflecting the sunlight in liquid amber.

The shaman drew in a breath that seemed to echo with memory. “So it comes at last.”

Her words rippled through the crowd, stirring unease. “What comes?” someone whispered.

The old woman’s gaze never left the fox. “The prophecy spoken long before this village drew its first walls. Of the strong black wolf who would rise as leader—and beside him, the graceful snow-white, a spirit caught between two worlds. Together they would bring a turning of fate.”

A stir ran through the villagers—gasps, mutters, questions tumbling over one another.

“Strong black… our Alpha?”
“No… his son.”
“Snow-white? The fox?”
“What fate? What turning?”

But the shaman only shook her head, lips curving into a thin, knowing smile. “Not all things are meant to be told at once. The river reveals its course only as you walk beside it.”

She raised her staff then, and the square fell silent. Closing her eyes, she murmured words older than memory—syllables that carried the cadence of the forest, of wind through stone, of ancestors long buried yet never gone.

As she spoke, the air shifted. A breeze curled through the square though no wind stirred the trees. The villagers felt it, brushing against their skin, carrying something both strange and sacred.

The shaman touched the end of her staff to the ground, then lifted her hand, palm hovering above the fox’s small head. “Blessed be this child of crossing blood,” she intoned. “Blessed be the snow-white who walks beside the shadow of black. May the pack guard him as kin, for his path is your path, and his breath your breath.”

At her words, Nunew stilled. His trembling quieted, his small body leaning—hesitant but willing—into Zee’s hold. For the first time, he lifted his head, eyes meeting the old woman’s. Something passed between them, a silent recognition, fleeting as a spark.

The shaman lowered her hand, voice soft now. “Do not fear him. He is not curse, but bridge.”

The villagers stood silent, the weight of prophecy settling heavy on their shoulders. Awe flickered where fear had been. Some bowed their heads. Others whispered prayers of reverence instead of suspicion.

Zee’s arms tightened around Nunew, chest swelling with something fierce, protective, unyielding. The shaman’s blessing hadn’t erased the danger, but it had planted something stronger than fear in the people: wonder.

The Alpha stepped forward, his voice resonant. “You have heard. You have seen. He is ours. And from this day, no harm will touch him while breath fills our lungs.”

A murmur of assent rose, tentative but real. The shift had begun.

As the shaman turned to leave, she paused, her cloudy eyes resting once more on Zee. “Guard him well, black wolf. Your lives are already bound, though neither of you yet sees how deeply.”

Then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd that parted reverently in her wake.

In the hush that followed, Zee looked down at the small fox in his arms. The little fox gazed back, blue eyes wide, as though sensing the weight of words spoken about him but not yet understood.

Zee’s jaw tightened, a vow forming unspoken: Whatever fate binds us, I will not let it break you.

The village quieted after the revelation, but the echo of the shaman’s prophecy still lingered like smoke after fire. For a couple of days, whispers followed Zee and the fox wherever they walked. Some villagers bowed their heads in reverence, while others still carried fear in their eyes, clutching their children tighter when Nunew passed.

But in the private circle—Zee, Jay, Net, and Poppy—the unease was sharper, more practical. The blessing was powerful, yes, but it did not solve the most pressing problem: the boy trapped in a fox’s skin.

Jay had felt the urgency clawing at him since the shaman’s words. A hybrid this rare—a male omega of fox and wolf blood—was not only fragile but a target. Old clans would hunt him if they knew. Old enemies would call him an omen, curse, or prize. The sooner they helped him shift, the sooner they could protect him properly.

So Jay buried himself in work.

He began in the archives of the pack house, a room that smelled of parchment, smoke, and the faint dampness of years. Scrolls lay stacked in carved wooden shelves, most so brittle he handled them with cloth-wrapped fingers. Candles burned late into the night as he pored over them, searching for anything on fox hybrids.

At first, he found little more than fragments. Tales of forest spirits, tricksters who took the form of foxes to test the honor of wolves. Mentions of unions between wolf and fox blood, whispered like cautionary myths rather than history. Nothing practical. Nothing useful.

But Jay was stubborn.

Each night, when others slept, he kept turning page after page, chasing threads through the dust of time. And slowly, something emerged.

A pattern.

He found scattered references to liminal-borns—creatures born between two worlds, caught in one form when they should have held two. Many never survived infancy. Those who did often lived half-lives, mute in animal skin or trapped in fragile human bodies. But in every record, there was one key: a ritual of balance.

A ritual that required not just herbs or chants, but the presence of pack.

The hybrid could not shift alone. He needed to be called across the divide. Guided. Anchored.

Jay leaned back from the scroll, rubbing his eyes. His pulse thudded with both dread and relief. If the texts were true, then the little fox condition was not permanent. But neither was the path easy.

The ritual was dangerous. Done wrong, it could tear the soul in two instead of freeing it.

Jay’s thoughts kept circling back to the snow fox himself. The little fox had grown more comfortable with them—he followed Zee with quiet steps, slept curled in his cloak, even tolerated Poppy’s chatter. But he was still afraid of being touched by others, still skittish in crowds, still haunted by shadows in his eyes that spoke of a past running and hiding.

Could someone so wounded survive the tearing pain of ritual?

Jay sighed, closing the scroll with care. The candle beside him had burned low, wax spilling onto the stone table. Outside, the forest was quiet. Inside, the weight of choice pressed heavy.

The next morning, he gathered Zee, Net, and Poppy in the small study. The little one sat in Zee’s lap, curled but awake, blue eyes watching the room as if sensing the tension.

Jay spread the scroll across the table. “I’ve found something. About why he’s stuck.”

Zee leaned forward instantly, shoulders taut. “Tell me.”

Jay tapped the faded ink. “He’s not shifting because he can’t. His blood—wolf and fox—it’s at war with itself. Most hybrids like him don’t live long enough to face this. But he has. Which means there’s a chance.”

Net frowned, tilting his head. “A chance for what? For him to change?”

“Yes.” Jay’s eyes flicked toward the fox. “But not alone. He’ll need a ritual. One older than anything we use now. One that requires pack, bond, and balance.”

Poppy leaned back, arms crossed. “Balance… you mean we’d have to guide him through it?”

Jay nodded. “Exactly. We’d have to anchor him, call him across the divide. Without that, he stays as he is—or worse.”

The word worse hung heavy. Nunew whimpered faintly, burying his head against Zee’s chest. Zee’s arms tightened around him, jaw hard. “What do you mean, worse?”

Jay’s mouth thinned. He hadn’t wanted to say it, but there was no hiding now. “If the bond between his two halves isn’t stabilized, the fox could consume the boy. Permanently. He would never shift. Never speak. He’d remain this way until…”

“Enough.” Zee’s voice cut sharp, protective, eyes blazing. “We’ll do it. Whatever it takes. We won’t let that happen.”

Jay hesitated. “It’s not that simple. The ritual requires strength of will from him too. He has to want to cross over. If he’s too afraid, if his spirit resists, it could break him.”

Silence followed. Only Nunew’s quiet breaths, Zee’s steady heartbeat beneath his ear.

Then Zee bent his head, whispering into the soft fur. “Hear me, little one? You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll be there. Every step. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

The fox stirred, lifting his head just slightly. His ears twitched at Zee’s voice, his gaze locking with his. Something in those blue eyes shifted—not yet understanding, but listening.

Jay exhaled slowly. That bond… maybe it would be enough.

Still, questions clawed at him. He needed more than half-broken scrolls. More knowledge, more certainty before they risked everything. And for that, he would have to dig deeper—into records even older, stories carried by voices instead of ink.

The elders. The shaman.

Jay’s path was clear. If the answer to saving the fox lay anywhere, it was in the memories of those who still carried the old world in their bones.

The decision was made before dawn.

After Jay revealed what he had found, none of them slept much. The words of the old scroll pressed heavy on their chests—“balance, bond, and pack.” And if there was anyone who could tell them what those words meant beyond brittle parchment, it was the shaman.

So, as the first light filtered through the misty forest, Zee stood with Jay, Net, and Poppy at the edge of the village path. The little creature rested in his arms, his snowy coat glowing faintly in the pale light. The fox didn’t stir much, his blue eyes shifting between curiosity and wariness, as though he knew where they were headed.

The trail to the shaman’s dwelling was old, older than the stone markers that lined it, older even than the pack’s written history. No one went there lightly. Even the birds seemed hushed as the group made their way through the forest, the morning fog coiling around their legs like pale smoke.

Net broke the silence first, his voice pitched low.

“JJ, do you think she’ll actually tell us something useful? Last time I saw her, he just muttered about stars and rivers.”

Jay shot him a look. “she remembers what books forget. If there’s an answer, it will be with her. Don’t talk will about what you don’t understand, mister.”

Net pout and his invisible wolf ears flopped hearing his mate scolding him.

By midday, they reached the clearing. The shaman’s dwelling looked less like a house and more like it had grown from the earth itself—wood and stone woven together, moss clinging to its roof, smoke curling lazily from a fire pit outside. Charms made of bones, feathers, and carved wood hung from the branches above, swaying in the breeze with faint rattles that made Nunew press closer against Zee’s chest.

The shaman was already waiting.

She sat cross-legged by the fire, as if she had known they would come. Her hair was long and silver, braided with beads that clicked softly when he moved. Her face was lined not with weakness but with the strength of years, his eyes sharp and dark as if they had seen beyond both sky and soil.

“You bring the snow-fox to me,” she said, voice like gravel ground beneath stone. “The prophecy breathes once more.”

The group froze. Jay stepped forward, bowing slightly out of respect. “Elder… we need guidance. The boy—” He glanced at Nunew, then back. “He cannot shift. I found mention of a ritual, but it is incomplete. We hoped you could tell us more.”

The shaman’s gaze lingered on Jay, then drifted to Zee, and finally to the fox in his arms. For a long moment, she said nothing, only studying the small creature who stared back with trembling ears. Then she reached out a weathered hand, palm up, inviting but not forcing.

The fox hesitated, burrowing into Zee’s chest. Zee bent his head, whispering gently into the fox’s fur. “It’s alright, little one. She won’t hurt you.” His tone was steady, almost commanding in its softness. Slowly, the fox stretched his nose forward, brushing the elder’s palm with a tentative sniff.

The shaman’s eyes closed as if listening to something far away. When she opened them again, they gleamed with both sorrow and reverence.

“The boy is not merely a fox, nor merely a wolf. He is a bridge between shadows and flame. Rare… dangerous… precious. The stars spoke of him long before you were born.”

Net swallowed, exchanging a glance with Poppy. “What do the stars say, exactly?”

The shaman leaned back, her bones creaking. She stirred the fire with a stick, sparks rising into the air. “That a leader of black strength would walk beside a spirit of snow. One to command, one to guide. Together, they would bring balance to a time of fracture. But balance is never without cost.”

Her gaze cut to Zee, sharp and knowing. “Do you understand what I say, boy?”

Zee held his stare. “I understand enough. That he belongs with me. And that I’ll fight anyone who tries to take him.”

The shaman’s mouth twitched, almost like the ghost of a smile. “Spoken like the black wolf of prophecy.” She returned his attention to the little one, her voice lowering into a chant-like murmur. “But the spirit of snow cannot remain bound to fur. His true form is hidden, and without it, he will wither. You must call him across. It is not an act of power, but of bond. The ritual will demand trust—from him, and from you.”

Jay leaned forward, tense. “How? The texts mention balance, but not the method. What is needed?”

The shaman closed her eyes again, breathing deeply as if pulling the answer from the smoke itself. “Moonlight. Water. Blood freely given. And the voices of the pack. The boy must hear that he belongs, that he is not alone. Only then will his soul dare to shift.”

“Blood?” Poppy asked, his voice sharper than intended.

“Not sacrifice,” the shaman replied calmly. “But gift. A mark of kinship. Of tether. Without it, his spirit will drift, untethered. The fox will remain, and the boy will fade.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crackle of firewood.

The shaman nodded once, as though satisfied. Then she dipped his fingers into the ash of the fire and pressed them gently against Nunew’s forehead.

“I bless you, child of shadow and snow. You are no curse. You are no omen of fear. You are a sign that the world has not yet lost its mystery. This pack will hold you, and the spirits will not forsake you.”

Nunew trembled, then went still. His ears lowered, and for the first time, his tiny body relaxed fully against Zee’s chest.

Jay bowed deeply. “Thank you, elder.”

But the shaman only looked back into the fire, her expression unreadable. “The path ahead is not thanks, but trial. Remember: the ritual does not just change the boy. It changes the ones who call him.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks. None spoke as they turned to leave, the weight of prophecy and ritual heavy on their shoulders. But Zee, holding Nunew close, felt the fox’s small heartbeat steady against his chest. And he whispered again, as he had promised, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

The little fox, blue eyes half-closed, seemed to believe him.

Chapter Text

The entire village had begun to move like a single organism, every member aware of the weight pressing down on the night. Even the youngest pups were quiet, sensing what their elders did: something sacred was about to happen.

At the center of the village stood the great firepit, carved long ago into the earth, wide enough for a dozen wolves to circle it at once. It had only been lit for the most solemn of ceremonies—oaths of Alpha succession, mourning rites, blessings of new life. Tonight, it would burn for something far rarer.

One by one, the families of the clan came forward carrying their offerings: wooden logs, polished smooth by careful hands, carved with simple runes or family marks. Some logs were small, others thick and heavy, but each was placed with reverence onto the pile in the pit. It grew until it looked like a wooden mountain, ready to blaze.

Children clung to their mothers’ skirts, elders leaned on staffs, and the circle around the pit grew wider with each arrival. No one spoke louder than a whisper. The village was not merely attending; it was holding its breath.

When the final log was placed, silence fell completely.

The Alpha—Zee’s father—stepped forward. His figure was a silhouette against the dusk, proud and commanding, every movement deliberate. He paused, his gaze sweeping over his people, then lowered his hand to the torch in his grip. The flame kissed the wood, and in seconds, the pit roared to life. The logs crackled, sparks leaping skyward like frantic stars, and the fire illuminated every face gathered, painting them in shades of gold and red.

The scent of burning cedar and sage rolled through the clearing, thick and heady, merging with the smoke that spiraled toward the heavens. It wasn’t just a fire; it was the soul of the pack, burning.

Zee stood just beyond the circle of light, Nunew pressed close to his leg. The little white fox’s fur shone almost silver against the firelight, his eyes reflecting both fear and awe. He hesitated at the ash-marked boundary, ears flat, paws refusing to move forward.

Zee crouched low, speaking just for him. “They built this for you,” he whispered. “All of them. You’re not alone.”

The fox’s body trembled, but slowly—hesitantly—he stepped across the line, into the circle of firelight.

Jay, Net, and Poppy moved with precision, arranging the herbs, feathers, and roots around the pit. They sprinkled ash and salt in deliberate patterns, their murmurs syncing into rhythm. Jay raised the old leather-bound notes of the shaman, his voice carrying over the crackling flames as he recited the words of preparation.

And then came the part that would bind it all together.

“Blood, willingly given,” Jay declared, lifting a ceremonial blade etched with old runes. “Blood to seal the circle. Blood to call the shift.”

The crowd stirred, but no one recoiled. They knew the rite. They knew the cost.

Zee stepped forward without hesitation, his palm open. “Mine first.” His voice was steady, but his eyes stayed locked on the small fox at his feet.

The blade cut quickly, a thin line across his palm, and Zee let the drops fall into the flames. The fire hissed, sparks bursting higher as if fed by his offering.

One by one, others followed. Net. Poppy. Jay. Even the Alpha himself, laying his blood into the pit. Each cut was shallow, but every drop fed the fire until it burned brighter, stronger, fierce enough to throw heat across the entire clearing.

When it was done, Jay’s voice cut through the smoke, calm and commanding. “The way is open.”

The pack shifted their weight, pressing closer, eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight. The circle was closed, the fire alive, the offerings complete.

Now, all that remained was for Nunew to face the storm.

The fire devoured the logs with a ravenous hunger, flames twisting higher and higher as though they sought the very heavens. The air was heavy with smoke and heat, each breath thick with the mingled scent of burning cedar, sage, and the iron tang of the blood already offered.

The shaman stepped forward, her staff striking the earth three times. Each sound was deep, resonant, vibrating in the bones of all who stood gathered. Her face was lined with age, but her eyes shone sharp, unwavering, as though they could see beyond the veil of the night. When she spoke, her voice carried even over the roar of the flames.

“Tonight we call what has been hidden. The fire accepts your offering. The blood seals your will. Now the spirit must answer.”

Around her, the pack began to chant. At first it was low, a tremor in the ground beneath their feet. But the sound swelled quickly, voices merging into something primal and unyielding—like the heartbeat of the earth itself.

Jay joined in, his voice steady, his hands tracing careful gestures to anchor the energy. Net and Poppy circled the fire, scattering crushed herbs—lavender, mugwort, roots that burned with a hiss, releasing smoke that curled upward in shifting forms.

In the center of it all, the little snow fox trembled. His ears were flat against his skull, his silver eyes wide, his tiny body pressed desperately to Zee’s leg as though trying to disappear inside his shadow. The chants, the fire, the eyes of the pack—it was too much for him. His paws refused to move, claws digging into the dirt.

Zee crouched low, his palm still bleeding faintly from the cut he’d given earlier. He let his blood drip again into the soil before the fox, a silent vow carried on flame and smoke. His voice was quiet, meant for the trembling creature alone, yet the fire seemed to carry it so that every wolf heard.

“You are not alone. I won’t let them harm you. You are mine to protect.”

The fox let out a broken whimper, almost human in its sorrow, and the sound cut through the chant like a knife. Some faltered. But the shaman only lifted her staff higher, commanding the rhythm onward, her gaze never leaving the tiny creature.

“Step forward,” she intoned. “The fire will not consume you—it will reveal you.”

But the fox couldn’t. His body shook violently, rooted in fear.

Zee didn’t hesitate. He swept the trembling fox into his arms, rising to his full height, and carried him straight into the blaze’s searing glow. Heat slammed into his skin, but he did not flinch. He stood tall, holding the small body close against his chest, his protective grip unyielding.

“This is where you belong,” he said, fierce as a vow. “With me. With us. With your pack.”

The fire roared in answer, surging higher, then bowing inward, curling toward the fox as though drawn to him.

The little body jerked violently in Zee’s arms, fur rippling unnaturally as though something beneath it fought to break free. The fox let out a keening cry that split the night, half animal, half human. Bones cracked, reshaping, elongating. Fur shimmered, dissolved, then surged back again in flickers, as though two forms battled for dominance.

“Hold him!” Jay shouted.

Zee fell to his knees but never let go. His arms locked tight, anchoring the fox as convulsions wracked his body. “Breathe, little one,” he whispered harshly, his forehead nearly pressed to the creature’s. “I’ve got you. Don’t fight it—just breathe.”

The pack leaned forward, some in awe, some in fear, as the flames exploded upward into a pillar of fire, then collapsed inward in a sudden rush of smoke that engulfed them all.

Inside that choking darkness, the shift reached its crescendo. The fox cried out again, and then—silence.

When the smoke thinned, the fox was gone.

In Zee’s arms lay a boy. Small, delicate, trembling. His skin glowed pale in the firelight, white hair soft as snow, lashes long enough to cast shadows across his cheeks. His lips were parted with ragged breaths, his body shivering in Zee’s hold. He looked fragile, ethereal, almost divine—like the moon had descended into human form.

Gasps tore through the crowd. Some stepped back, unsettled, while others pressed forward in awe. No one spoke. No one dared.

Zee stared down at him, his chest heaving, every part of him locked in place. And in that heartbeat—when the boy’s silver blue eyes fluttered open, glistening with fear and tears—Zee knew.

He didn’t need a name. He didn’t need an explanation. His soul recognized what his mind could not yet speak. This was his mate. The one destiny had carved out of fire and snow for him.

The shaman lowered her staff, her voice softer now but no less commanding. “The snow-white one… revealed in fire. The prophecy breathes.” She extended her hand in blessing over the trembling boy. “He is gift to the pack. Let him be known. Let him be protected.”

The pack erupted—some awed, some fearful, some whispering of omens and fate.

But Zee silenced it all by bowing his head against the boy’s pale hair, whispering with a ferocity that burned hotter than the fire itself:

“You are safe now. No one will touch you. Not while I breathe.”

The boy shivered in his arms, too weak to answer, but his eyes never left Zee’s. And in that blue gaze, the Alpha’s son saw the truth mirrored back at him—this was not chance. This was destiny.

And he would guard it with his life.

For a few heartbeats, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the ragged rhythm of the boy’s breathing. The crowd seemed frozen, caught between reverence and fear, their gazes fixed on the pale figure now cradled in Zee’s arms.

The boy shifted weakly, his long lashes lifting as his blue eyes darted across the circle of faces. The weight of so many stares made him shrink, pressing closer into Zee’s chest, small hands clutching at the fabric of his tunic. It was then that Zee realized the boy was bare, stripped by the flames and left with nothing but his trembling body.

A hot rush of protectiveness—and something far sharper—cut through him. The thought of anyone else’s eyes on the fragile beauty in his arms burned in Zee’s chest like poison. His jaw tightened, and without hesitation, he rose to his feet, shrugging out of his cloak in one swift motion to wrap it firmly around the boy’s slender frame. He pulled the edges close, hiding pale skin and shielding him from the gaze of the pack.

The boy let out a soft, startled sound at the sudden warmth enveloping him. His lips parted, and when he spoke, his voice was so gentle it almost seemed to ride on the fire’s dying whispers.

“…Nunew. My name is Nunew.”

The single word fell fragile but clear.

Gasps rippled through the pack. It was the first sound he had spoken, the first truth he had gifted them. His name.

Zee lowered his gaze, meeting those wide blue eyes. The boy—Nunew—looked up at him as if offering something sacred. Zee’s chest tightened, his breath hitching at the sheer fragility and grace of him. It was otherworldly. Divine. No mortal should look like this.

The shaman, her weathered face lit by the glow of embers, stepped forward and extended a hand as if in blessing. Her tone was softer now, reverent.

“The white one bears a name. Nunew. Let it be spoken with honor. Let it echo as a blessing.”

Nunew’s gaze darted nervously toward her, then to the pack, before returning to Zee as if seeking permission. Zee gave a small, steady nod, tightening the cloak around him as reassurance. Only then did Nunew’s lips tremble into the faintest of smiles, shy and uncertain, yet breathtaking in its purity.

The Head Alpha stepped forward, his deep voice breaking the hush. “Welcome, Nunew. You stand under the protection of our fire, our blood, and our oath. You are one of us now.”

The pack murmured, a swell of sound rising—acceptance from some, hesitation from others, but no outright rejection under the Alpha’s gaze.

One by one, elders and warriors approached, bowing their heads slightly, some whispering their names in greeting. Nunew clung to Zee’s arm through it all, his delicate form hidden under the cloak, his voice soft as he repeated, “Th-thank you,” each word tentative but clear, like drops of water falling into silence.

Zee’s stomach twisted every time a pair of eyes lingered too long on Nunew. He held him closer, keeping his body between Nunew and the pack, his stance radiating a possessiveness he didn’t bother to hide.

Jay, Net, and Poppy finally stepped forward, their expressions gentler than the rest. Jay crouched slightly, his voice calm, careful not to startle. “So… Nunew. That’s your name.”

Nunew nodded faintly, his gaze flicking between them but always returning to Zee. His whisper was so soft they had to strain to hear it. “Yes.”

Jay smiled faintly, though his eyes shone with restrained curiosity. “It’s a good name. We’re glad to meet you.”

Nunew’s lips curved in that hesitant smile again, his lashes lowering as though he wasn’t used to kindness. His beauty was unearthly under the fire’s glow, his pale features carved in such delicate lines he seemed like a being born of myth rather than flesh.

And Zee knew—every eye in the circle saw it too.

His hand tightened on Nunew’s shoulder, grounding him, shielding him. A warning unspoken to anyone who might think to reach closer.

The shaman raised her staff once more, her voice carrying through the cooling night. “The prophecy stirs, though its meaning remains veiled. For now, bless this union of fire and snow. The black wolf and the white fox—threads of fate entwined.”

The crowd stilled, whispers sparking at her cryptic words. But the shaman did not explain further. Instead, she lowered her staff and touched the boy’s forehead gently with her fingers. “Blessed be your steps among us, Nunew. May you walk in safety.”

Nunew’s blue eyes closed at the touch, a soft breath leaving his lips. When they opened again, they found Zee’s.

And in that fragile instant—shielded under the cloak, pressed close to the one who had carried him into fire—Nunew seemed to belong.

Nunew nodded faintly, his hair like white silk against the darkness of Zee’s cloak.

And the pack, bound by ritual and fire, bore silent witness to a destiny already written.

The Alpha’s deep voice eventually rose, steady and commanding. “Enough for tonight. The fire burns, the blessing has been given. Nunew will rest under my son’s care. Tomorrow, the work begins.”

The command rippled through the villagers like a stone tossed into still water. One by one, they bowed their heads in acknowledgment, some stepping forward to add final greetings. Children peeked from behind their mothers’ skirts, wide-eyed and whispering about the “white fox boy,” until their parents ushered them gently away. Elders offered soft words of blessing; warriors merely inclined their heads, measuring, respectful.

Through it all, Nunew stayed pressed against Zee, his soft voice no louder than a feather brushing glass.
“Th…thank you,” he whispered to each who addressed him, his tone fragile yet achingly polite.

Zee couldn’t stop watching him—how the firelight kissed pale skin, how each hesitant smile lit his face with an otherworldly glow.

At last, the villagers dispersed, drifting back toward their homes and tents, murmurs trailing behind like faint echoes of the ritual. The massive firepit still glowed at the center of the village, logs cracking softly, embers spiraling into the night sky as though carrying prayers upward.

Zee shifted, dipping his head close to the white crown tucked under his chin. “It’s over now. Let’s get you away from these eyes.” His voice was low, tender, yet firm with possessiveness.

Nunew blinked slowly, exhaustion heavy in his gaze, and whispered, “Stay… with you?”

Zee’s throat tightened. “Always.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He rose to his full height, securing the cloak tightly around Nunew, lifting him as if he weighed no more than a whisper. The boy didn’t protest, only curled against him, trusting, as though some instinct recognized what neither had yet spoken: that this was where he belonged.

Jay gave a small, knowing smile but said nothing, simply placing a steadying hand on Zee’s shoulder. “We’ll handle the rest. Take him.”

Zee nodded in gratitude, his focus already narrowed to the fragile warmth in his arms.

The path back to his cabin was lined with quiet shadows, the remnants of firelight flickering along the ground. Above, the moon carved silver edges into the world. Each step carried them away from the noise, the whispers, the weight of curious eyes—until at last only the night air and the steady beat of Zee’s heart remained.

He pushed open the door to his cabin with his shoulder, stepping inside. The moment the door closed behind them, the silence was absolute, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

Zee lowered Nunew carefully onto the furs laid by the hearth, kneeling to tuck the cloak around him as though it were armor. The boy blinked up at him, lips parting as if to speak, but no words came.

Zee brushed damp strands of white hair gently from his forehead. “Rest now. You’re safe. I’ll watch over you.” His voice was little more than a whisper, but it carried a vow stronger than steel.

Nunew’s lashes fluttered, his soft features easing into sleep, a faint smile ghosting across his lips as though the promise had reached him even in dreams.

Zee sat back, never looking away, the fire casting shadows across his sharp jaw. His heart thudded heavy with realization: the shaman’s words, the prophecy, the name whispered like a blessing—none of it mattered more than this simple truth burning in his chest.

Nunew was his.

Chapter Text

Life in the village slowly began to adjust around the presence of the snow fox who had revealed his human form.

Nunew’s transformation had not only been a miracle; it had been a shockwave. The villagers whispered about him when they thought he could not hear, calling him “moon-born,” “a gift from the spirits,” “the soft light beside the black wolf.” Though the shaman had blessed his presence, there was still curiosity, a hunger to understand who this boy was, and why fate had tied him to their future Alpha.

On his first morning, it was Jay who came for him, practical as ever, carrying a neat bundle of folded tunics in his arms. Nunew sat on the edge of the bed, hair still tousled from sleep, wrapped in one of Zee’s blankets, blinking as though he could not quite believe someone would bring him such a thing.

“For… me?” His voice was hesitant, uncertain.

“Yes, for you,” Jay said with a small smile, dropping the clothes onto the bed. “You can’t keep walking around in blankets. Come, I’ll help you.”

Zee, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, tensed at once. He didn’t like that someone else was the first to see Nunew dressed in village clothes, even if JJ was his second in command mate. But Nunew only looked at Jay with wide, trusting eyes, allowing the man to guide his hands through the unfamiliar ties and laces. He fumbled more than once, embarrassed by his own clumsiness, but Jay was patient, explaining each knot and cord, steadying his fingers when they shook. When at last Nunew stood, tunic hanging neatly over his slim frame, Jay adjusted the collar and grinned.

“See? That’s better. Now you look like you belong here.”

Zee’s throat tightened. He pushed off the wall and said, voice rougher than he intended, “You look perfect, pup.”

The words made Nunew duck his head, his pale lashes lowering to hide the faint color rising in his cheeks. Jay smirked but let it pass, and so began the strange balance of their days: Zee ever watchful, ever protective, and Jay quietly slipping into the role of mentor and guide whenever the Alpha was called away.

The first time Jay brought him to the communal hall, Nunew nearly stopped at the threshold. The air inside was warm and heavy with smoke and spice, voices overlapping in chatter, laughter bouncing off the beams. For someone who had eaten scraps in the silence of caves, it was overwhelming. His steps faltered until Poppy looped his arm through his and tugged him forward.

“If you just stand there, I’ll eat your share,” he teased, and Nunew’s eyes went round with alarm.

Jay chuckled and pressed him gently into a seat. “Don’t listen to him. No one will take your food here.”

Even so, Nunew sat very straight, hands folded tightly in his lap until the bowls and platters were placed before him. He stared at them with reverence, as though he didn’t quite believe they were meant for him. When he finally reached for a piece of bread, his movements were so careful it made Jay’s chest ache. One bite, then another, and slowly, wonder bloomed across his face.

“It’s… warm,” he whispered, as if tasting fire itself.

Poppy nearly fell off the bench laughing. “You sweet thing, what did you eat before? Air?”

Nunew tilted his head, honestly considering. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, and for a moment the whole table fell silent. Then Net leaned forward, his expression soft, and pushed the bowl of fruit closer to him.

“Not anymore,” Net said, voice steady. “You’ll never go hungry here.”

Those small moments built the foundation of his new life. Day after day, Jay guided him through the village, showing him the herb gardens where women knelt among rows of green, the old well where children leaned over the stones to toss in pebbles, the market stalls where hunters bartered with furs and hides. Nunew’s curiosity was endless. He lingered too long at the blacksmith’s forge, eyes wide as sparks danced into the air; he crouched with children to watch wooden tops spin on the packed dirt, clapping softly when they toppled over. Each discovery felt like a miracle.

One afternoon, Jay brought him to the river where women stood with their skirts hiked, beating wet cloth against rocks. Nunew knelt at the edge, dipping his fingers into the rushing current. He gasped and laughed all at once. “It bites!”

Jay grinned and splashed him lightly. Nunew yelped, retreating with wide eyes and a grin. “Cruel!”

“You’ll get used to it,” Jay said, amused. “Everything here depends on the river. You’ll learn.”

Poppy often joined them, sharp-tongued as ever. “Careful, Jay,” he called once, watching Nunew’s earnest attempts to weave baskets. “If you teach him too well, he’ll surpass you. Then what use will you be?”

Nunew’s head shot up, alarmed. “I would never! I only want to learn, not… not leave anyone behind.”

Jay blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. He ruffled Nunew’s pale hair gently. “Relax. You couldn’t leave me behind even if you tried.”

Through it all, Net remained a quiet pillar. When Nunew struggled with the laces of his boots, Net crouched silently to tie them, like a caring big brother.

And always, always, there was Zee. If he was not by Nunew’s side, he was watching from a distance, eyes sharp, arms crossed, a silent reminder that the boy was never unguarded. He bristled when Poppy tugged Nunew into a game, smirked with satisfaction when the boy inevitably returned to his side. It was possessiveness, yes, but it was also fear — fear that the fragile, luminous creature who had stumbled into his life might slip away again.

It was on the fourth evening that their fragile peace cracked.

The long tables were crowded, laughter echoing. Nunew sat between Jay and Poppy, cheeks pink from his first tentative sips of spiced wine. His smile was shy but real, his eyes alight. That was when Park walked in.

Tall, sharp, with a smile like polished stone, Park’s presence quieted the hall. He sauntered over, gaze sweeping, and fixed directly on Nunew.

“So this is the miracle,” he said, voice smooth. “The snow fox who stole the fire.”

Nunew blinked, startled but polite. “I am Nunew. It is… good to meet you.”

Park’s smile sharpened as he leaned one hand on the back of Nunew’s chair, lowering his voice. “The pleasure is mine. You’ll find our village full of wonders. Some more… interesting than others. If you grow tired of your current company, I’d be glad to show you.”

Nunew tilted his head, confusion flickering. “But I am not tired. It is already very beautiful here.”

The table went still. Net’s hand tightened around his cup. Poppy bristled, ready to snap. Jay’s eyes narrowed. But it was Zee’s growl, low and dangerous, that cut through the hall.

“Enough.”

The word rolled like thunder. Park straightened, mocking bow on his lips. “As you wish, Alpha.” He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving a trail of tension behind him.

Nunew looked around, bewildered. “Did I… do something wrong?”

Jay leaned forward, tone calm but firm. “No. Not you. Him. You just need to be careful, Nunew. Not everyone here is your friend.”

“But… he smiled,” Nunew said, still puzzled, innocence untarnished.

Jay exchanged a glance with Zee, sharp and wary. Later that night, by the firepit, he murmured, “Watch him. Park is circling like a vulture. Nunew doesn’t see it. You’ll have to keep him close.”

Zee’s answer was a low, dangerous rumble. “He won’t touch what’s mine.”

That night, after the hall had emptied and the fire burned low, Zee found Nunew standing at the edge of the village. The boy’s face was turned to the trees, pale hair glimmering faintly under the moonlight, his posture quiet but restless.

“You want to run,” Zee said softly, stepping close.

Nunew startled, then relaxed when he saw him. “The forest calls. I… used to sleep under its branches when the wind grew too loud. It feels strange to stay away from it now.” He paused, eyes wide as if fearing reproach. “But I will not go without your word.”

Zee’s heart ached at that, at the instinct to ask permission, as though freedom were something fragile that could be taken from him at any moment. He lifted a hand and brushed pale strands of hair from Nunew’s cheek. “You don’t need my word. But if you walk into the forest, you don’t walk alone. Not anymore.”

Nunew’s lips parted, the faintest sound escaping him, something between relief and wonder. “Then… will you come with me?”

They left the village behind, moving beneath the canopy where silver light spilled in broken shafts through the leaves. The forest was alive with whispers: the distant rush of water, the rustle of branches, the chirp of unseen insects. Nunew moved with unthinking grace, bare feet almost silent against the earth. Zee followed close, never letting more than a hand’s reach stretch between them.

At a clearing, Nunew paused. The grass was damp with dew, flowers curled closed in sleep, but the sky above opened wide, stars scattered like spilled salt. He dropped to his knees without hesitation, tilting his head back, eyes luminous.

“I used to watch them alone,” he whispered. “Every night. They were the only ones who answered me. I would ask… if there was a place where I belonged. If there was someone who might find me.” His throat worked, fragile and bare. “Now I think… maybe they answered.”

Zee knelt behind him, broad chest pressing lightly to his back, his arms curving around him without thought. “They did,” he murmured into the pale crown of hair. “They brought you to me.”

Nunew leaned into the hold, trembling with something that was not fear but the weight of being seen, of being claimed. His hands rose, hesitant, and rested on Zee’s arms where they circled his waist. For a long while, neither spoke. The forest held them in stillness, the beat of Zee’s heart steady against Nunew’s spine.

When Nunew finally turned, it was slow, like the moon’s rise, his eyes wide, reflecting starlight. He looked up at Zee as if afraid to break something fragile. “Why do you stay so close? Even when Jay shows me the gardens, even when Poppy drags me into games, you are always… there.”

Zee’s hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the softness of his cheek. “Because you are mine. Because if I look away, even for a moment, I fear the world will steal you back.” His voice dropped, rough with honesty. “I don’t want to lose you, little omega.”

The boy’s breath caught, innocence warring with a dawning understanding. “Yours,” he echoed softly, as though testing the word. Then, with a small, unsteady smile, he pressed his forehead against Zee’s chest. “Then I am safe.”

Zee exhaled, arms tightening around him, anchoring him to the earth. They stayed that way until the stars wheeled further across the sky, until Nunew’s breathing slowed and softened, his body heavy with sleep against him.

Zee gathered him up, lifting him easily, and carried him back through the trees. In the hush of the night, he thought of Park’s gaze, of the dangers still circling, and his hold on the sleeping fox tightened. Nunew might believe he was safe because of him — and Zee swore to himself, with every fierce beat of his heart, that he would make it true.

The night pressed in around them, gentle and alive. Zee had thought Nunew had slipped into sleep against his chest, but as he carried him through the clearing, a small voice stirred against his neck.

“Alpha,” Nunew murmured to Zee, barely more than a breath.

“Yes?”

“Sometimes I fell like don’t know how to be… human anymore.” He shifted slightly in Zee’s arms, the pale strands of his hair brushing Zee’s chin. “I don’t know the words to say, or the way to walk without stumbling. Sometimes… I feel like I will never belong the way the others do.”

Zee stopped walking. The trees whispered overhead, but the world seemed to hold still for him. He tilted his head, making the boy look at him. “You belong,” he said firmly, not allowing even a sliver of doubt in his tone. “Not because of what you know. Not because of what you can or can’t do. You belong because you are you. And that is enough.”

Nunew’s eyes softened, shimmering faintly in the moonlight. His lips parted, almost as if he wanted to argue, but then he let out the smallest laugh. It was fragile, but real, and Zee felt it like a blade sliding between his ribs — sharp, sweet, unstoppable.

“You speak as if you’ve known me forever,” Nunew whispered.

Zee lowered his forehead to touch Nunew’s, the contact achingly simple yet impossibly intimate. “In my soul, I have.”

Nunew drew in a shaky breath and closed his eyes, surrendering to the closeness. He leaned fully into Zee’s chest, arms curling around his shoulders in a gesture that was almost childlike in its trust. Zee felt the protectiveness inside him deepen into something heavier, more primal. No matter how many days it took, no matter how many dangers circled them — this fox, this luminous, fragile soul, would never again be alone.

For a long time they stayed in the clearing, wrapped in the hush of the forest. Nunew asked questions in his soft, curious way — about the names of constellations, about why Zee’s eyes burned golden when he was angry, about whether wolves dreamed differently than foxes. Zee answered with patience, his voice low and steady, while his thumb brushed unconsciously over Nunew’s wrist. Each question seemed to peel away a layer of distance, weaving them closer in invisible threads.

At last, the weight of the night grew heavy, and Nunew sagged again in Zee’s hold, eyelids fluttering shut. Zee adjusted his grip and carried him back to the village. Passing the silent homes, he felt more than saw the shadows of his people watching from doorways, their gazes curious, their breaths hushed.

But none of it mattered.

At the threshold of his own dwelling, he lowered Nunew gently onto the bedding, pulling a woven blanket over his bare shoulders. Nunew stirred, blinking up at him, lips curving faintly. “Stay,” he whispered, so soft Zee almost thought he imagined it.

The Alpha’s chest tightened. He settled down at Nunew’s side without hesitation, stretching on the outside of the blanket, close enough that their shoulders touched. The boy turned, seeking him even in half-dream, and tucked himself into the line of Zee’s body as if he had always belonged there.

Zee lay awake for a long time, watching the rise and fall of his breath, listening to the fragile rhythm of his heart. And in the silence of the night, with the fire crackling low and the moon slipping westward, he made a vow to the spirits, to the shaman’s prophecy, and to himself.

Nunew was his. His true mate. His heart’s answer.

Chapter Text

The morning was quiet in the Alpha’s cabin, the kind of silence that stretched deep into the bones of the wooden walls, broken only by the faint creak of the wind outside and the even rhythm of breathing beneath the heavy fur blankets. Zee lay awake long before dawn, as was his habit, but for once he didn’t rise. Instead, he remained still, arms curled protectively around the smaller body nestled against his chest. The warmth of Nunew’s form was fragile yet constant, the little hybrid fitting against him as though molded for that space. The fox’s snowy hair fanned across the pillow, catching faint silvery light from the window. Zee closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling slowly, letting the delicate scent rise—snow and rain mixed with the faint sweetness of wild berries. It wasn’t overpowering, but it called to something primal in him.

When Nunew stirred faintly, Zee whispered near his ear, voice low and rumbling.
“Stay still a little longer. I want to explain something to you.”

The hybrid blinked sleepily, eyes heavy with dreams, his voice softer still. “Explain… what?”

Zee shifted slightly, so his chin brushed the crown of white hair. “About mates. About why my wolf is restless every time you’re close.”

That earned him a small blush on Nunew’s pale cheeks. He turned his face, trying not to meet Zee’s gaze directly. The innocence in him was disarming; every reaction was unguarded, unpolished. “Mates… like bonds?”

“Yes.” Zee’s fingers moved gently, not quite touching skin, more a hover of warmth tracing over Nunew’s wrist. “Among wolves, a mate is more than a lover. It is someone chosen by the Moon herself, someone who completes us. The bond isn’t just in the heart—it runs deeper. Through scent, through instinct. When wolves meet their true mate, everything inside us knows. Our wolf recognizes before our mind does. That’s why… every time I breathe you in, my chest tightens.”

Nunew’s lips parted, as though to speak, but no words came. His lashes lowered, hiding the storm of emotions in his eyes. Zee smiled faintly, not to ease tension but to ground the trembling he felt through the fox’s body.

“Scenting,” Zee continued, lowering his mouth close to Nunew’s temple without touching. His breath stirred pale strands. “It’s the way wolves claim, reassure, and calm each other. By brushing our scent, by letting it cling to skin, we say—‘you are mine, and no one else will harm you.’ But… I won’t do that without your consent.”

Nunew’s heart pounded fast, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. For all his fragility, there was a longing there too, a desire to belong somewhere, to be wanted without condition. His voice trembled. “If… if you scent me… everyone will know?”

“Yes,” Zee admitted. “Everyone in the pack would recognize my claim. But for now, this—” his hand cupped the side of Nunew’s neck briefly, warmth steady, thumb brushing the line of his pulse, “—this is only for us. A promise. I won’t push you further until you’re ready.”

The silence that followed was thick with something unnamed. Nunew closed his eyes and leaned ever so slightly into the touch, as though surrendering to safety rather than passion. Zee’s chest tightened with something fierce—an oath forming in him, silent but absolute.

By the time the rest of the pack gathered outside—Jay, Net, and Poppy already teasing one another as they waited—the sky had turned a pale morning gold. Zee and Nunew emerged together, though Zee kept a protective hand at the small of the fox’s back. The day would not be easy. Today, Nunew would attempt to shift under guidance, to master the form that had once been instinct but now eluded him.

The forest swallowed them quickly, trees rising high, roots coiling like veins across the earth. The scent of pine and damp moss filled the air. Jay carried a satchel of supplies, while Net and Poppy walked in loose banter. Nunew followed in wide-eyed wonder, pale hair catching the light, his small steps uncertain but eager. He gasped when the group stopped in a clearing ringed by tall oaks.

“This place,” Zee said, lowering his voice, “is sacred for training. It’s safe here. No one will disturb us.”

Jay nudged Nunew with a playful grin. “And it’s about time you saw what real wolves look like.”

With that, Jay shifted in a smooth ripple of movement. Bones cracked, muscles lengthened, and fur burst along his skin until a sleek gray wolf stood where the man had been, eyes bright and mischievous. Net followed, his form larger, darker, exuding steady power. Poppy laughed as he shifted too, his coat sandy and swift, tail flicking like fire. The clearing filled with wolves of different sizes, circling Nunew with playful bows and low growls of welcome.

Nunew froze, breath catching. His eyes shone, reflecting awe and disbelief. “They’re… beautiful,” he whispered. His hands trembled as he reached out, not quite daring to touch. 

Zee stepped closer, his presence grounding. “And I?” he asked quietly.

The fox turned, eyes widening as Zee shifted last. His body expanded, fur black as midnight spilling over muscle, massive and regal, eyes glowing gold. The Alpha wolf towered above the others, a force of nature embodied. Nunew’s lips parted in wonder, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

“You’re… magnificent,” he whispered, voice fragile with awe.

Zee’s wolf rumbled deep in his chest, a sound that was neither growl nor purr but something between, meant only for Nunew. He lowered his massive head, brushing his muzzle near the boy’s hand in silent invitation. Slowly, timidly, Nunew touched the fur, his fingers sinking into thick black softness. Tears stung his eyes without warning, overwhelmed by belonging and beauty.

The training began with encouragement. They urged Nunew to find the part of himself buried within, the fox that had once been his only identity. Hours passed. He tried, again and again, body trembling with effort, but the shift came only in flashes—ears twitching into fur then fading, his tail appearing then vanishing. Frustration grew, until exhaustion left him collapsed on the ground, breaths ragged, tears brimming.

Nunew sat between the roots of a great tree, his small body trembling as the last of the sunlight bled gold through the leaves. The day had stretched him thin—his muscles ached from the failed attempts to shift, his chest still burned with frustration, and his fox form remained stubbornly distant. Around him, the pack gave him space, but he felt their eyes on him: warm, protective, patient. Yet the weight inside him, the memories he had carried alone for so long, began to rise. He couldn’t hold them back anymore.

Zee crouched at his side, steady as a mountain, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. The touch was grounding, yet not demanding. “Nunew,” he said softly, his voice lower than the rustle of the forest, “you don’t have to force yourself. Not with us. But if there’s something you’ve been holding back… you can let it out now.”

The little fox looked at him, eyes wide, luminous, wet with tears he hadn’t realized had gathered. For a long time, he couldn’t speak. His throat felt locked. But Jay came closer and sat cross-legged in front of him, his face gentle. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” Jay whispered. “No one here will ever hurt you.”

That cracked something in him. Slowly, haltingly, words began to spill.

“I wasn’t always free…” Nunew’s voice was fragile, but it carried in the hush of the forest. “The clan I was born into… they called themselves strong, but they were cruel. I was born an omega—male, and… different. Rare. From the moment I could remember, the elders whispered that my blood and body would bring power. That I wasn’t mine to own.”

The forest seemed to still, listening. Even the evening breeze quieted as he spoke.

He closed his eyes, and the memories surged.

Flashbacks

He was small, no older than seven, curled in a corner of a cold hut. The walls were wooden but heavy with iron chains, meant for those who shifted too easily. He remembered the clinking of metal, the way the elders laughed softly outside.
“Keep the little fox there,” one voice had said. “He’ll learn soon enough that he doesn’t belong to himself.”

Through the cracks in the wood, Nunew had watched other children run—wolf pups tumbling in play, learning to hunt. He had pressed his small hands to the bars, longing to join, but whenever he cried or called out, the whip of silence came. His caretakers didn’t hit him then—they only ignored him, which was sometimes worse. He learned quickly: to be quiet, to make himself small, to endure.

--

He was ten when the alpha of the clan, a towering man with eyes like cold fire, called him into the great hall. The room reeked of blood and roasted meat. The long tables were crowded with warriors laughing loudly, drunk on power.

The alpha’s son sat at his father’s side, smug, his gaze lingering on Nunew with something between hunger and cruelty.

“This one,” the alpha had said, gripping Nunew’s chin with rough fingers. “This little snow fox is special. Our omen, our blessing. When he matures, he will serve our bloodline.”

The hall had erupted in cheers. Someone poured wine onto the floor as an offering. Nunew had stood there, frozen, his heart thundering, not fully understanding yet what those words meant. But he had seen the glee in the alpha’s son’s eyes—and something deep inside him recoiled.

That night, lying awake, he heard whispers among the servants. “They’ll make him a breeder. The boy won’t have a choice. He’s too rare to be free.”

Nunew had pressed his hands over his ears, but the words lodged in his chest like knives.

--

He remembered trying once to run. He couldn’t have been more than twelve. He had shifted—just barely, his fox form tiny and trembling—and darted into the woods. For a moment, he felt alive, the wind slicing through his fur, the forest vast and full of possibility.

But they caught him. The hunters dragged him back, their jaws twisted in cruel grins. They didn’t beat him with fists—they didn’t need to. Instead, they tied him in front of the others, wolves circling him as if he were prey.

The alpha’s voice thundered: “You belong to this clan. Try to run again, and your legs will be broken. Remember who owns your life.”

For weeks afterward, Nunew couldn’t shift. His little body had locked up in fear, his fox buried beneath trauma. And still, the alpha’s son would look at him across the fire with that same hungry smile.

End of flashbacks

Back in the present, Nunew’s breath was shallow, his fingers clutching the fabric of his knees. Tears streaked his cheeks. “I couldn’t stay. If I did… when I grew, they would have taken me. Used me. I… I couldn’t bear it.”

His voice cracked, and the forest around him blurred. Zee’s arms were suddenly around him, strong and steady. He didn’t squeeze too tightly, but he held him as if anchoring him to the earth itself.

“You’re safe now,” Zee whispered fiercely against his hair. “Safe. No one will ever take you from me. From us.”

Nunew shivered, half-sobbing, half-relieved. His head pressed into Zee’s chest, inhaling the alpha’s grounding scent, warm like earth after rain.

Jay leaned forward, voice steady, though his eyes burned with anger at what he’d heard. “You don’t ever have to go back there, Nunew. You’ve escaped the worst. Now you have us. You have a family.”

Net, usually quiet, placed a hand over his heart and gave a nod. “The Alpha heir’s word is law here. If Zee claims you, no one can touch you.”

Poppy, soft for once, crouched close and brushed a tear from Nunew’s cheek with a gentle finger. “And even without that, you’re ours. Little fox, you’re pack now.”

Nunew looked at them all, his heart breaking and mending at once. “I don’t… I don’t deserve—”

“Yes, you do,” Zee cut him off, voice low, protective, certain. His eyes burned with something primal, something deeper than words. “From the moment I saw you, I knew. You’re mine. My mate. My equal. Nothing less.”

Nunew’s breath caught. His tears slowed, though his chest still heaved. He had no words—only the warmth of their circle, the promise in Zee’s voice, the steady beat of his heart pressed against his back.

For the first time since he had fled, Nunew believed it might be true: he was safe.

The moon had already climbed high by the time they made their way back from the forest. Nunew was quiet, exhaustion heavy in his small frame, his steps dragging as though each one took more from him than the last. Jay offered to carry him more than once, but Nunew shook his head, stubborn pride in his soft eyes. He wanted to walk, to finish the day on his own feet, even if they trembled beneath him.

Zee stayed close behind him the entire time, his large hand hovering protectively near Nunew’s back, ready to catch him if he stumbled. Net and Poppy walked a little ahead, talking in low voices to give space, while Jay kept casting glances over his shoulder, his expression soft with worry.

By the time they reached the cabin, Nunew’s face was pale and his lashes heavy, but there was a strange light in his eyes too—something freer, as though releasing his past into the night had stripped him raw but also lighter.

Inside, the room was warm, lit by a soft fire that flickered against the wooden walls. The moment the door closed, Nunew let out a shaky sigh, as if he had been holding himself upright for the sake of the others. His knees buckled, and Zee caught him easily, sweeping him into his arms without asking.

“You’re exhausted,” Zee murmured, his voice both stern and tender. “You should have let me carry you.”

“I wanted to… walk with everyone,” Nunew whispered, half-asleep against his chest.

Zee’s lips curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried warmth. “Stubborn little fox,” he muttered, carrying him to the bed.

The fire in the hearth had died to glowing embers, casting the room in soft shadows. Zee held Nunew close, backhugging him, feeling the delicate rise and fall of the younger’s breath. The little fox was quiet for a long while, his fingers curled loosely around Zee’s arm. Then, in a voice so soft it was almost afraid to be heard, he whispered, “Alpha… I think—I love you.”

Zee’s chest tightened, but he didn’t jolt or startle. He pressed his nose gently into Nunew’s hair, breathing him in before answering. “You think?” His voice was calm, teasing only lightly, meant to steady him.

Nunew turned slightly, enough for Zee to catch the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I… I do. It’s strange to say it, because I never thought I’d feel this. Not after everything. But when I’m with you, Alpha, I feel safe. I feel… wanted. And I’ve never had that before.”

Zee’s arms tightened around him, steady as stone. “Pup,” he murmured, the word low with affection. “You don’t have to be afraid of what you feel. Not with me. I know your past wasn’t kind to you. I know they tried to convince you that you had no choice in your own life. But that’s behind you now. With me, with this pack, you’ll never be forced, never be used.” He shifted slightly so he could look Nunew in the eye. “You’ll be free to love, if that’s what you want. And I’ll never take that for granted.”

Nunew’s throat worked, his voice breaking. “Sometimes I still hear their whispers. About what I would’ve been made to do. About how I wasn’t enough unless I served their plans. It makes me afraid that I’ll never really belong anywhere.”

“You belong with me,” Zee said simply, no hesitation. His thumb brushed Nunew’s jaw, grounding him. “You belong here, in this pack, in this home. And if you love me, pup… then I’m the luckiest Alpha there is.”

Nunew blinked, startled. “Lucky? Me?”

Zee smiled softly, the rare warmth that only Nunew ever drew out of him. “Yes. You. You’ve been through hell, and still you’re standing here, still you’re kind, still you’re beautiful. And you chose me. That’s more than luck—it’s fate.” He leaned closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I love you too, pup. More than I ever thought I’d love anyone.”

Nunew’s lips parted, his eyes wide, trembling with relief and wonder. “Alpha…”

Zee pressed his forehead to Nunew’s. “We’ll build something new together. Not like the past you escaped from. A future that’s ours—safe, strong, and real. That’s my promise to you.”

The words loosened something inside Nunew, like chains falling away. He leaned forward, tentative but sure, brushing his lips to Zee’s in a soft, lingering kiss. It was gentle, unhurried, filled not with fire but with warmth, the first thread of something lasting.

When they parted, Nunew exhaled shakily, whispering, “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours,” Zee answered, steady and calm. His hand cupped the back of Nunew’s neck, holding him close without pressure. “Sleep now, pup. Tomorrow, we start working on your future together.”

With that, they settled back into each other’s arms, the bond between them no longer unspoken but acknowledged, a quiet promise sealed with their first kiss.

Chapter Text

The morning sun spilled over the rooftops of the village, golden light stretching across the dirt paths and wooden houses, painting the air with warmth. The dew still clung to the grass, sparkling like tiny crystals. The pack had risen early, as they always did, the scent of smoke from breakfast fires drifting lazily in the air. But this morning, for Nunew, there was a nervous anticipation thrumming beneath his skin.

For days now, since the ritual that had given him his human form back, he had lived under the protection of Zee and the kindness of Jay, Net, and Poppy. Every face in the pack was familiar, but only in passing, always under the weight of their stares — not cruel, but curious. He had been the little fox rescued, the one who enchanted the firelight during the ritual, the mate Zee claimed in spirit if not yet in public vows. Everyone knew him, but he didn’t yet know who he was to them.

This morning, that began to change.

Jay had coaxed him gently, his voice steady, warm, the way only Jay could be. “Come with me,” he said, tugging Nunew’s hand as they walked down toward the open square where children usually played under the eyes of mothers and older sisters. “You’ll see. They already adore you — they just don’t know it yet.”

Nunew’s heart beat quickly in his chest. He still wasn’t used to this: walking freely in a place where eyes followed him but didn’t judge, where no one whispered of his weakness or plotted his future as something he didn’t want. His feet felt light and unsure, but Jay’s grip was grounding.

When they arrived, the children were already tumbling about, a few chasing each other barefoot, squealing as dust clung to their skin, while others sat in circles with wooden toys carved in the shapes of wolves. The moment they noticed Nunew, silence fell for a heartbeat — then a small boy with hair sticking up like wild grass ran straight to him, eyes shining.

“You’re the fox!” the boy declared, pointing with both hands as if unveiling a secret.

Nunew froze, lips parting, unsure whether to laugh or retreat. But the boy only grinned wider and tugged at his sleeve. “Can you play with us?”

Nunew didn’t know when exactly the shift had happened, before he could answer the pup he was being pulled. One moment, he was standing stiffly in the open square, feeling every eye on him, and the next, he was sitting on the ground with children climbing over him as if they had known him all their lives. It wasn’t something he planned — it just unfolded naturally.

The first game they invented together was simple. One boy had found a rope, tied into a loose ring, and dragged it over. “Fox runs, we chase!” he declared.

Nunew blinked, caught between confusion and amusement, but before he could protest, the boy had looped the rope lightly around his arm, tugging him to stand. The other children were already gathering in a circle, chanting in their small, uneven voices.

Jay, standing nearby, chuckled. “Looks like you’re the prey.”

Nunew shook his head in disbelief, but his lips curved into a smile. “Alright, but you’ll have to catch me.”

He darted away then — not too fast, but quick enough to make the children squeal with delight. They chased him, their feet slapping against the packed dirt, their laughter rising above the rooftops. Every time they got close, he would let them tug at the rope or graze his sleeve before slipping just out of reach. To them, he was impossibly fast; to him, it was like remembering a piece of his fox self in human form.

After several rounds, they all collapsed together in the grass, panting and giggling. A girl with braids leaned against him, her face flushed from running. “You smell nice,” she murmured absentmindedly, nose wrinkling as she tried to place it.

Nunew felt his ears burn. “Do I?”

“Like the forest after rain and berries,” another boy added, blunt as children often were. “Different from us, but good.”

He didn’t know how to answer, so he just laughed softly and patted the boy’s head.

When one of the mothers approached with a basket of fruit, Nunew instinctively helped pass the pieces around. He peeled fruit for the youngest ones, cutting it into smaller chunks so they wouldn’t choke, wiping sticky hands with the hem of his tunic without hesitation. It was an automatic care that came from somewhere deep, a place he had never been allowed to use in his old life. No one had trusted him with gentleness before.

This time, though, the mothers noticed. One of them, older with streaks of gray in her hair, murmured to another, “Look at him. Soft hands, patient voice. The little ones never sit so quietly for anyone.”

Another replied, more thoughtful, “Maybe that’s what the Alpha saw in him. Not just beauty. There’s something steady in the way he watches them.”

Zee heard all of it. He stood at the edge of the square, arms folded loosely over his chest, appearing calm but listening to every word. His gaze never left Nunew.

It wasn’t only pride that filled him. It was also possessiveness, sharp and quiet. The way the children curled around Nunew, the way the adults softened when they saw him, the way the air itself seemed lighter with him in it — Zee felt the instinctive need to guard that. To make sure no one misused it or thought they had a claim on it. That light belonged with him.

Nunew caught his eyes once in the middle of the afternoon. Just a glance, while he was crouched down helping two boys build a pile of stones into a crooked tower. His smile came naturally, small but real, as if to say, I’m alright here.

And for the first time in years, Zee felt something unclench inside his chest.

The games continued through the day. They shifted from running to a clumsy imitation of wolf wrestling, the children trying to pin Nunew down while he wriggled out of their grasp, laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. He let them win a few times, sprawling dramatically in defeat, which earned cheers and triumphant howls.

Later, he showed them how to weave small crowns from long grass. It was a skill he had picked up long ago, during lonely afternoons when weaving kept his hands busy enough to drown out darker thoughts. The children gathered around him, watching intently as he bent and looped the blades. One by one, he placed the finished crowns on their heads.

When a little boy shyly asked, “Can I make one for you?” Nunew hesitated, then nodded. His fingers fumbled, but Nunew guided him patiently, until at last the boy proudly set the uneven crown on Nunew’s dark hair.

The sight made several of the watching adults smile in spite of themselves. Even those who had been wary of the fox were beginning to accept that he wasn’t a threat.

As dusk approached, the square grew quieter. Parents gathered their children, who clung stubbornly to Nunew’s sleeves and legs. “Stay,” one girl begged. “Come tomorrow?”

Nunew crouched to her level, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Yes. Tomorrow. I’ll be here.”

That promise seemed to satisfy them. One by one, they left, looking back over their shoulders until the last of them disappeared into the fading light.

Nunew stood slowly, brushing dust from his knees. His body ached pleasantly from running, his hair was mussed from little hands tugging at it, and his heart… his heart was fuller than it had ever been.

He didn’t notice Zee approaching until a strong hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

“You did well,” Zee said, his voice low, steady.

Nunew looked up, caught off guard. “I didn’t… do anything special.”

“You did exactly what they needed,” Zee replied simply. His eyes softened, though his tone carried that same quiet authority that always made Nunew’s chest tighten. “You found your place.”

For a moment, Nunew couldn’t answer. He only lowered his gaze, his lips curving into a small, shy smile that he didn’t try to hide.

And Zee thought, not for the first time, that this little fox was going to undo him completely.

Zee watched him, feeling a protective heat in his chest. This fox, small and vulnerable to the world, had become the center of something larger — not just for the children, but for the entire village. And Zee knew, as he always did, that he would guard this light with everything he had.

The day faded toward evening, the square quieter now. Nunew walked alongside Zee back toward the cabin, occasionally glancing up with that uncertain, still shy smile. The villagers’ voices carried in the distance, some murmuring in admiration, some in quiet acknowledgment of the bond that had begun to form. The pack, silent but observant, knew what the Alpha had known all along — that this little fox was no ordinary presence.

Zee’s hand brushed Nunew’s gently, a grounding, protective touch, not demanding but claiming in the quietest, most intimate way. Nunew leaned slightly into the touch, comforted, reassured. This was the beginning of something larger, something that would soon be tested, but for now, the day had ended with trust, safety, and the first real sense of home.

The sun crept up slow that morning, painting the sky in pale shades of gray-blue before the heat of the day burned through. The village was already stirring when Nunew stepped outside. He had not slept well—dreams had tangled through the night, half memories and half fears—but his body refused to stay in bed once the sound of children reached his ears. Their laughter carried clear in the air, light and unguarded. It drew him in before he could think too hard about why.

The square at the center of the village was open and flat, bordered by huts and small gardens where herbs grew in neat clusters. Smoke curled from early cooking fires, mingling with the scent of warm bread and drying meat. A few women sat together on benches or low stools, their hands busy with mending or shelling beans, their children running circles around them. An older woman stirred a pot slowly, her sharp eyes following the little ones even while her hand never stopped its work.

Nunew lingered at the edge for a long moment, unsure if he should intrude. His palms felt damp, his heart unsteady. He had no place here—he reminded himself of that constantly—but when one of the smallest children spotted him and shouted his name, all thoughts scattered.

“P’Nunew!” the boy called, running at full speed with arms outstretched.

Nunew barely had time to bend down before the child slammed into him, hugging his waist tightly.

“Come play!” one girl cried, tugging at his sleeve.
“Race with us again, please!” another said.
“Show us the trick again—the fox trick!”

Nunew blinked, overwhelmed. Slowly, almost shyly, he crouched down to their level.

“What do you want to play?” he asked, his voice quiet.

A flood of answers followed—chase, hide-and-seek, balancing on the logs, climbing the low fence. They argued with each other loudly, shoving and pointing, until Nunew lifted a hand. The motion surprised him; it came naturally, like something he’d once seen mothers do to calm pups. To his surprise, the children fell quiet.

“One game at a time,” Nunew said, managing a small smile. “Let’s start with racing. Everyone line up.”

The children squealed, running to form a crooked line across the square. Nunew walked with them, correcting their places gently, making sure the smaller ones weren’t pushed to the back. The mothers looked on from their seats, some hiding smiles behind their hands, others shaking their heads in disbelief.

When he gave the signal, the children took off, their bare feet kicking up dust. Nunew jogged alongside them, deliberately holding back his true speed, laughing softly when one of the older boys nearly tripped and had to steady himself on Nunew’s arm. They made it to the far end of the square and back, and by the time they collapsed at the starting point again, everyone was breathless and laughing.

“You cheated,” one girl accused another, pointing.
“I did not!” the other protested.
“You pushed me!”

Nunew crouched down between them, his tone calm but firm. “Races are about running, not pushing. If you want to win next time, use your legs, not your hands.” He patted their shoulders lightly. “Do you want to try again?”

Both nodded, chastened but eager.

The morning unfolded slowly after that. Nunew moved from one game to another, sometimes leading, sometimes letting the children take charge. He helped one of the smaller girls climb onto a fence rail, steadying her until she could balance without holding his hand. When she jumped down, she threw her arms around him in delight. He carried another child on his shoulders for a lap around the square, the boy’s laughter ringing in his ears.

What struck him most was how natural it all felt. He had never been trusted with something so simple, so ordinary as play. In his old clan, children were kept apart from him; he had been treated as a curse, a burden, a tool. Here, these little ones pulled at his arms, begged for his attention, and when he gave it, they rewarded him with smiles that felt brighter than the morning sun.

The women noticed too.

“He’s gentle,” one mother whispered to another.

“He reminds me of how Thida’s eldest used to be with the little ones—always calm, never harsh.”

Their tones carried respect, even approval. None of it reached Nunew directly, but he felt the difference in the air. The usual weight of suspicion, the wary glances, had softened.

He lost track of time. When one boy scraped his knee, Nunew knelt quickly, checking the wound. It was shallow, barely more than a scratch, but the boy sniffled anyway. Nunew tore a strip from his own sleeve without thinking, tying it gently around the scrape. The mothers murmured again, softer this time.

The square had filled with warmth. Even the older wolves passing by slowed to watch, their expressions curious, some surprised. And among them, unnoticed at first, was Park.

He approached slowly, his steps deliberate. His eyes narrowed as he watched Nunew with the children, the approval surrounding him, the mothers’ quiet nods of satisfaction. Park’s jaw tightened. He had expected the fox to remain an outsider, fragile and unwanted. Seeing him here, welcomed and even celebrated, stirred something ugly.

“Quite the little caretaker,” Park said suddenly, his voice sharp enough to cut through the laughter.

The square quieted instantly. Nunew froze, his body going rigid. The children sensed the change and drew closer to him, some hiding behind his arms.

Park stepped closer, his smile thin and mocking. “Do you think playing with pups makes you one of us? You don’t belong here.” Then he put his face close to Nunew’s ear and whispered only for him to hear “You nothing but a little dumb thing that likes to play house, if you want I can show you what a real alpha looks like”

The words sliced straight into Nunew’s chest. His throat closed, memories surging—echoes of harsher voices, punishments, the constant reminder that he was less than nothing. He tried to breathe, but his lungs refused to fill.

Park moved again, too close, reaching out as if to grab his arm. “Let’s see how long this little game lasts.”

That was all it took. Nunew’s vision narrowed, sound warped, his body shaking violently. The square spun around him. He stumbled back but his knees gave way, and he dropped to the ground, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. His hands clawed at his chest as panic seized him fully.

The children cried out, frightened, and rushed to their mothers. The older women rose quickly, their faces turning hard, protective. They didn’t move toward Park, but their disapproval was clear.

From the far side of the square, Poppy came running. He had heard the commotion and saw the collapse. In seconds she was at Nunew’s side, crouching low.

“Nunew! Hey—look at me, foxy, I’ve got you!” His voice was steady, firm but warm. He slid his arms under him with ease, lifting his trembling body against her chest. His hands clutched at his tunic instinctively, his breathing shallow and uneven.

He turned a glare on Park. “What the hell did you do?”

Park opened his mouth to protest, but the surrounding silence swallowed him. Every mother, every grandmother, every passing villager stared at him with cold eyes.

Poppy didn’t wait. He carried Nunew quickly toward the healer’s hut, murmuring reassurance as she went. “You’re safe. No one will touch you now. I promise.”

Inside the hut, Jay was already moving, clearing a mat and bringing water. The smell of herbs filled the small space. Poppy lowered Nunew carefully, brushing his damp hair from his face.

“He was fine, then Park showed up and pushed at him,” he explained quickly. “He panicked. Full collapse.”

Jay crouched beside Nunew, speaking softly. “Listen to me. In… out. Just breathe with me, Nunew. You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with us.”

Nunew’s chest heaved, but slowly the rhythm of Jay’s words anchored him. His trembling eased slightly. Poppy stayed kneeling at his side, one hand on his shoulder, steady and reassuring.

“I’m calling Zee,” he said, his voice low but certain. “He needs to see this with his own eyes.”

Jay nodded, never looking away from Nunew. “Do it. And tell him to come quickly.”

Outside, the square had transformed. Where laughter and play had filled the air not long ago, now the space bristled with tension. Mothers held their children close, whispering among themselves, while elders exchanged heavy looks. Park stood stiffly in the center, his expression sour. He had tried to retreat, but the wall of eyes on him kept him rooted. No one moved to defend him—not yet—but neither had anyone spoken outright. The weight of judgment pressed down, and Park shifted uneasily under it.

Poppy’s voice cut through the murmur. “Zee!” he called, striding across the square with fury in his step. “Zee, get out here now!”

From the far side of the village, a tall figure emerged. Zee had been working near the storage huts, sleeves rolled high, his arms dusted with flour from measuring grain. At Poppy’s shout, he straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing. He didn’t rush, but every step was purposeful, the crowd parting instinctively as he approached.

“What’s happened?” His voice was low, controlled, but carried enough authority to still the square completely.

Poppy didn’t waste a breath. “Park happened” he snapped, jerking his head toward the healer’s hut. “One look at him, one shove of his poison, and the boy’s down on the ground gasping like he’s being strangled.”

A ripple went through the crowd—mothers shaking their heads, elders muttering. Zee’s expression darkened. He turned his gaze on Park, sharp as a blade.

“Is that true?”

Park squared his shoulders, trying to mask his discomfort with bravado. “I didn’t touch him. I only spoke. If he’s too weak to stand a word, that’s not on me.”

The murmur rose, sharper this time. Some faces turned away in disgust.

Zee’s jaw worked as he restrained his temper. “You think words can’t wound? You think fear is weakness?” He stepped closer, and Park instinctively shifted back. “Tell me exactly what you said.”

Park hesitated, but under the pressure of silence, he muttered, “I told him he doesn’t belong. Because he doesn’t.”

The mothers erupted at that, their voices overlapping:

“You saw how gentle he was!”
“He treats the children with more care than half the men here.”
“Shame on you, Park—bringing fear into the square where pups should feel safe.”

One grandmother—her hair long and silver, her back straight despite her years—rose from her bench. Her voice cut clear above the others. “I watched with my own eyes. That fox boy is kind, patient, and good. You? You are the danger here.”

Park flushed, his mouth tightening.

Before he could answer, a woman pushed through the crowd—Park’s mother. Her face was taut with anger and fear, her hands clenched in her skirts. She rushed to his side, glaring at Zee.

“This is absurd,” she said sharply. “He is my son. He spoke no worse than any of you whisper about that outsider behind closed doors. And now you want to turn the whole village against him?” She pulled Park by the arm, trying to shield him with her body. “Enough of this.”

Zee’s gaze was unflinching. “Your son terrorized someone already carrying more scars than he’ll ever understand. Don’t hide him behind your skirts.”

The woman bristled, pulling Park closer. “If that fox is so fragile, maybe he doesn’t belong here. What happens when real danger comes? Will you protect someone who collapses at a word?”

The air went cold at that. Elders shifted; mothers tightened their arms around their children. The cruelty of her words hung heavy.

Poppy returned then, striding from Jay’s hut with fury radiating off him. He didn’t bother with words at first. He stepped directly between Park’s mother and the rest of the square, his stance wide, his eyes blazing.

“You call Nunew fragile,” he said, his voice low and shaking with rage. “I call him brave. Brave for standing here at all after what was done to him. Brave for smiling at your children when he had every reason to keep to himself. He has more strength in that small frame than your boy has ever shown.”

Park’s mother opened her mouth, but Poppy snapped, “Don’t. Not another word. You won’t shame him further.”

Zee raised a hand, his tone hard. “Enough. This will be settled properly. Not here, not shouted across the square. Park will come with me. We’ll hear every account, and there will be judgment.”

The silver-haired grandmother nodded firmly. “Good. Let it be done the right way. But mark my words—this village saw what happened. We will not forget it.”

Park stiffened, his mother clinging to his arm. But under the unyielding stare of Zee and the silent condemnation of the crowd, neither moved to argue further.

Zee turned then, his voice quieter but carrying. “See to Nunew. He is the one who matters now.”

Poppy nodded once, his chest still rising and falling hard. He turned back toward the healer’s hut without another glance at Park.

Inside, Nunew was sitting upright now, supported by cushions. His face was pale, his hands still trembling faintly, but he was breathing evenly. Jay had a hand on his wrist, counting the pulse, his expression calm but stern.

When Poppy entered, his eyes flicked up. “He’ll be all right. But he needs rest and no more shocks today.”

Nunew looked up at Poppy then, his lips parting as if to speak. No sound came, but his eyes—red-rimmed and raw—shone with both fear and gratitude.

Poppy crouched beside him again, softer now, his hand finding his. “You don’t have to thank me. You are pack.”

Zee’s shadow filled the doorway a moment later. He ducked inside, his eyes scanning Nunew quickly, taking in every detail. His face softened just slightly, though his voice remained steady.

“Pup,” he said quietly. “I heard what happened. I swear to you—it will not happen again.”

Nunew swallowed, his throat dry, and gave the smallest nod. He believed him—or wanted to.

Jay leaned back, satisfied that Nunew was stable. “Then let it be so. But words won’t be enough. The boy needs proof.”

Zee inclined his head. “He’ll have it.”

By the time the sun slid lower in the sky, the square was filled again—but this time with a silence so heavy it pressed against the chest. The same space that had held children’s laughter that morning now felt like a court. Benches had been dragged into a rough circle. Mothers sat with their little ones close, elders straight-backed in their seats, their gazes grave. The younger men lingered at the edges, shifting uneasily.

At the heart of the circle stood Park, his face set in stubborn lines, though sweat had begun to bead at his temple. Beside him, his mother hovered protectively, her lips pressed tight as if she could hold back the tide with sheer force of will.

Zee stood opposite, tall and calm, his presence commanding the square without raising his voice. Poppy and Jay flanked him like sentinels. Near the healer’s hut, Nunew sat quietly on a bench under the shade of an awning. His body was still fragile, but Jay had insisted he be present if he wished—so long as he didn’t overstrain himself. Nunew had agreed, though his hands twisted nervously in his lap. He needed to see this through.

When the last murmurs faded, Zee’s voice rose, even and clear.

“We are gathered because harm has been brought into the square. Not with claws, not with teeth, but with words. Words meant to wound. The one harmed is here. The one accused is here. We will hear the truth, and then we will judge. All will have a voice—but only truth will stand.”

The square seemed to exhale. The rules were spoken. The gathering had begun.

Zee turned first to the silver-haired grandmother who had spoken earlier. “You saw. Speak.”

The old woman rose with dignity, leaning lightly on her cane. Her voice carried across the circle with the authority of decades.

“I sat with the mothers as the children played. The fox boy—Nunew—was gentle with them. He laughed, he guided, he never raised his voice. I saw joy in their faces, trust in their eyes. Then Park came. His words were poison. He said the boy did not belong. He said he was wrong to stand among our children. And when the boy faltered, Park’s face showed no regret. Only scorn.”

She sat again, her cane striking once against the ground as if to punctuate her testimony.

Another mother stood then, cradling her toddler against her chest. “My child reached for him, clung to his leg. Nunew bent down, stroked her hair. She was happy. Then Park’s words frightened her as much as they did him. She cried all night after, asking if the fox would come back. If it is a crime to comfort our children, then let us all be guilty.”

Her words drew nods and soft agreement from others. One by one, the mothers and grandmothers spoke. Their voices wove together a picture of what had been witnessed: kindness answered with cruelty, gentleness crushed beneath venom. Each account was simple, unadorned, but the weight of them accumulated until Park stood alone under the mountain of their words.

Zee let the silence hang when they finished. Only then did he turn to Park.

“You’ve heard their words. What say you?”

Park swallowed, his bravado thinner now. Still, he lifted his chin, his voice brittle. “I spoke the truth. He is not one of us. He hides behind smiles, but what do we know of him? How can we trust someone who comes from outside, who is not bound by our blood? If he falls at a word, what good is he to the pack?”

His mother clutched his arm, adding fiercely, “My son only said aloud what many whisper. Do not punish him for speaking what others dare not. Shouldn’t we question the place of outsiders before we hand them our children?”

A murmur stirred at that, but it was not agreement. It was anger—disbelief at the gall of her words.

Poppy stepped forward, his jaw tight. “Whispers are the refuge of cowards. This boy has stood before you openly, given you his hands, his laughter, his heart. And you, Park, chose to break him in front of children. That is not strength. That is cruelty.”

Jay added quietly, “If we call ourselves a community, then the measure of our strength is how we guard the most fragile among us. A pup does not choose to be fragile. Neither did Nunew. Yet he stood with the pups today, protecting them in the only way he could—through kindness. If we cast out kindness, then we are no better than beasts.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and true. Park shifted uneasily, but his mother hissed at him to stay silent.

Zee’s gaze swept the circle. “Does anyone here support Park’s claim?”

The silence that followed was absolute. Even those who might once have murmured doubts held their tongues, cowed by the weight of the testimonies and the stares of the mothers.

Zee nodded once, final. He turned back to Park, his voice low but unyielding.

“You say Nunew is not one of us. I say he is more one of us than you proved today. Our strength does not lie in blood alone. It lies in how we bind together. How we protect. You struck at that bond. You brought fear where there should have been trust. For that, you will answer.”

Park’s face went pale. His mother began to protest, but Zee raised his hand sharply. She fell silent under his stare.

“Judgment is this,” Zee continued. “For one full cycle of the moon, Park will serve under the mothers. He will carry their water, gather their firewood, tend their tasks. He will see what it means to nurture instead of tear down. If he fails, if he scorns them, his punishment will be doubled. And until the mothers say he has learned, he will not stand equal among the men of this village.”

The reaction rippled through the crowd—surprise, approval, murmurs of satisfaction. Some even smirked at the thought of Park bent under the command of stern grandmothers.

Zee’s gaze hardened. “This is not humiliation. It is correction. If he has strength, let it be proved in service. If he has none, then he has no place among us at all.”

Park trembled with outrage, but under the eyes of the entire village, he could do nothing but bow his head. His mother’s grip on his arm was tight, her face blotched with anger, but she too knew resistance was useless now.

Zee turned then, his eyes softening slightly as they found Nunew. “And you. You are part of this pack. Not by blood, but by choice—and by ours. Let no one question that again.”

Nunew’s throat tightened. He bowed his head, unable to form words, but the tears that welled in his eyes spoke for him.

The square was silent, but it was not an empty silence—it was filled with the weight of something new, something decided. For better or worse, Nunew’s place had been carved into the heart of the pack that day.

The evening after Park’s humiliation and the harsh judgment that followed, the pack settled into a quiet rhythm. The voices that had roared inside the hall just hours earlier now drifted in hushed tones through the village lanes. Mothers ushered children home. Hunters prepared for the morning, speaking lowly of routes and snares. Smoke curled from chimneys as stews thickened over fire, carrying with them the scent of hearth and belonging.

To anyone glancing in from outside, it might have looked like peace had returned. But beneath the still surface, tension pulsed—thin, stretched, and waiting.

The old woman, the shaman of the pack, knew better than anyone that silence often carried more weight than thunder. Her hut stood at the far edge of the village, leaning toward the dark forest where the trees whispered long before the wind touched them. She had lived long enough to hear patterns in the rustling, and tonight those patterns had changed.

She had been sitting before her low fire, feeding dried herbs into the flames, when the first sound reached her. Not sound, exactly—more the trembling echo that sank into her bones when the spirits pressed too close. The whispers came with the crackle of pine needles, carrying images instead of words. Snow, deep and endless. Chains, rattling in cold air. Eyes—amber eyes like predators—searching, prowling, hunting. And at the center of it all, small white fur streaked with shadow, trapped but burning with defiance.

The shaman closed her eyes, drawing breath through her teeth. She had feared this from the moment the little fox stumbled into their lives. Nunew was no ordinary stray. His aura had burned differently in the ritual; she had seen it even if she’d kept silent. And now the whispers were growing louder, clearer.

The clan of cruelty, the one that broke boys into breeders and drowned their own weak, had noticed his absence. And they wanted him back.

The shaman’s old hands trembled as she gripped her staff and pushed herself upright. She didn’t bother with words of prayer or offerings. Some nights were not for soothing spirits. Some nights were for warning the living.

Zee answered her summons before the second torch burned low outside her hut. He arrived with his usual steady gait, his jaw sharp with alertness though his shoulders carried the weight of the long day. The scent of smoke and pine clung to him, mixed faintly with Nunew’s—Zee had been hovering around him all evening, protective even when silent.

The old woman gestured for him to sit. Her eyes, still sharp though filmed with age, held his without wavering.

“You feel it too,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Zee leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “I feel… unrest. My pack is restless after the judgment. But this isn’t about them, is it?”

The shaman shook her head. Her voice carried the dryness of stone but the certainty of earth itself. “The whispers tell me the boy’s clan has woken. They search. They call for him.”

Zee’s eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw flexing once. He didn’t speak immediately, as if weighing the words before giving them power. When he finally answered, his tone was low, steady, dangerous. “They won’t touch him.”

The shaman pressed on, undeterred by his possessiveness. “This isn’t only about him as your mate, Alpha. This is about the pack. If they track him here, they will not come with hands open. They will bring steel and hunger. We must prepare.”

For a moment, the fire popped between them, filling the silence. Zee’s gaze drifted down, then back up. “You’re saying I must bring this to my father. To the council.”

“Yes.” Her fingers curled tighter around her staff. “And you must be honest about what he means. Not just as your chosen, but as something older. That boy carries more in his blood than he knows. I have seen it. I felt it in the ritual, when his fox form first surfaced. He is a thread tied to forces that move beyond clans. And they will not rest until they have unraveled him.”

Zee exhaled slowly, controlling the growl that threatened to rise. His instinct was simple: protect, guard, keep. But he was not just a mate. He was Alpha. And Alphas could not afford instinct without reason.

“I’ll speak to my father,” he said finally, voice a firm promise. “And I’ll triple the patrols near the borders. No whisper, no chain, no spirit will take him from me.”

The shaman’s eyes softened, almost weary. “Do not speak only as his mate, Zee. Speak as the Alpha of all. If you blur the lines, your enemies will twist it against you.”

He gave a short nod, acknowledging truth even when it stung. But the heat in his eyes remained, steady and unbroken.

Nunew knew nothing of these whispers.

That night he fell asleep curled against the edge of Zee’s chest, lulled by the steady heartbeat beneath his ear. His breaths came easy, his lashes fluttering faintly with dreams. But somewhere between night and morning, the dreams shifted.

He stood in snow. Not the gentle white that he had imagined from stories, but biting, endless, devouring cold. His small fox paws pressed into drifts higher than his body, chains clinking around his limbs. He tugged, teeth bared, but the iron only cut deeper. Shadows loomed—men with laughter that scraped like knives, voices calling him pet, breeder, toy. And beyond them, unseen but felt, a hunger that stretched further than the storm.

Nunew twisted in the dream, whimpering without sound.

Zee stirred awake at the movement, instantly alert. His arm tightened around the smaller body. “Pup,” he whispered against his hair. “Wake.”

Nunew gasped, jolting upright, his chest rising too fast, eyes wide but unfocused. Zee’s hands steadied him at once, one on his back, the other on his shoulder. “Breathe,” Zee instructed, voice calm but commanding. “You’re safe. Look at me.”

It took long seconds before Nunew’s gaze locked onto his, trembling but grounding. His lips parted, words struggling. “Snow. Chains. They were—”

“I know.” Zee’s voice dropped even lower, reassuring but edged with iron. “It was a dream. They can’t touch you here.”

But as he drew Nunew close, pressing the boy’s temple against his throat, Zee’s eyes flicked toward the dark window. He said nothing more, but inside he knew. Dreams were not always just dreams, not when the shaman’s whispers already walked the village.

He stroked Nunew’s hair, calming the tremor in his body, but his thoughts were already moving ahead. Patrols. Strategy. Defenses. And above all: how to keep his pup from ever feeling those chains again.

The rest of the night was uneasy, though Nunew eventually drifted back to sleep, curled tightly into Zee’s chest like the small fox he often became when frightened. Zee remained awake longer, his arm firmly wrapped around him, his eyes open and fixed on the shadows of the ceiling beams. He listened to the faint noises outside—the shift of guards at the edge of the village, the creak of branches in the wind, the occasional bark of a distant fox in the forest. Every sound carried new weight. Every silence pressed down with a different meaning.

When dawn finally edged its light across the window, Zee was already prepared. He slid out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb Nunew, who stirred but did not wake. For a brief moment, standing by the door, Zee looked back at him—small, fragile, yet somehow stubbornly alive in ways that defied everything. Then he left to face what waited.

The council hall smelled of smoke and old wood when Zee entered. His father was already seated, broad and grave, his hands folded on the heavy table before him. Around them, elders and senior hunters leaned forward, eyes sharp, waiting for the Alpha’s son to speak.

Zee wasted no time. He laid the truth bare: the shaman’s whispers, the restless visions, the weight of what Nunew’s presence had begun to stir. He spoke not as a lover defending his mate but as a leader mapping danger for his people. His voice was even, his jaw firm, his words deliberate.

“They will come,” he concluded, after recounting the shaman’s vision. “Whether in days or weeks, they will come. And we must not be caught waiting.”

For a long moment, silence ruled the hall. Then murmurs began, low but urgent. Some friends of the Park family argued that the boy was a burden, a spark that would ignite war. Others countered that he had already proven his loyalty, that to abandon him now would be cowardice and dishonor.

Zee’s father lifted a hand, cutting the noise. His voice carried the weight of finality. “We do not abandon those under our roof. But neither do we invite war blindly. Preparations will be made. Patrols doubled. Scouts sent farther into the borders. And if they come, they will learn what it means to trespass.”

The murmur settled, though not all faces looked convinced. Some carried doubt Zee saw them, noted them, but did not waver.

When the meeting broke, he lingered only long enough to exchange a quiet word with his father. Then he left, steps heavy but resolved.

Nunew had woken by the time he returned. He sat outside Zee’s hut, the early sun brushing his skin, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looked smaller than usual, almost lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the children playing nearby. They waved at him and he lifted a shy hand back, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Zee crouched before him, studying him closely. “You didn’t wait inside.”

Nunew shrugged faintly, his voice soft. “The air helps. After last night…” He trailed off, eyes flicking away.

Zee reached forward, catching his chin gently, guiding his gaze back. “Dreams can’t chain you. Not here.”

For a moment, Nunew just looked at him, searching his face as if measuring how much he could believe. Then, quietly, he said, “I know. I just… sometimes it feels like they never really let go.”

Zee didn’t argue. He didn’t press empty reassurances. Instead, he sat beside him, letting the blanket fall over both their shoulders, grounding him with silent presence.

After a while, Nunew leaned lightly against him, his head resting near Zee’s shoulder. The children’s laughter carried across the square. The village bustled with the beginnings of another day. To any stranger, it might have looked like nothing at all was wrong.

But beneath the calm, both of them knew something had shifted.

The shaman’s whispers had opened a door, and last night’s visions had pushed it wider. The outside clan was searching. The storm was coming.

And when it did, they would have to stand together, or not at all.

Chapter Text

Five days changed the rhythm of the village in small, practical ways that mattered. Patrols stretched farther into the timberline. The night watch doubled and rotated with fewer gaps. Children played closer to the square, not because they were told to, but because the adults kept their conversations and tasks nearer to the heart of things. None of this happened with panic. It was an adjustment, a tightening of lines. And inside those lines, Nunew found steady ground.

He woke before the sun most mornings, after the Park incident he felt the obligation to earn his place on the clan, even when the pack reassured him of it. He pulled on a loose white tunic in the dim light and moving quietly so as not to wake Zee. The alpha slept like someone who had taught himself to rest between edges—still, ready. If Nunew paused long enough, he could feel Zee come awake without opening his eyes, one arm drawing across the space as if to check the bed was not empty. Most days, Nunew would lean back, put his hand over Zee’s, and whisper, “I won’t go far.” The hand would tighten once—understood, permitted—and he would slip out.

The square at that hour belonged to stove smoke and the low voices of the first to rise. Nunew started where there was need: small things that made the morning smoother for everyone. He stacked wood beside cooking pits before the older women came out to coax coals alive. He drew water and left full jars by doors. He gathered the stray toys that had scattered across hard-packed earth and set them in baskets so no one twisted an ankle in the dark. He didn’t make a show of it. He didn’t announce what he had done. People just started noticing that mornings were easier, and the pattern stuck.

By the time the sun climbed over the ridge, the children came in waves. They didn’t hesitate anymore. They called for him by name—P’Nunew or P’fox, and chased him through familiar games: tag around the herb beds, balance-walking on the low fence, races from the bread ovens to the well and back. He kept it orderly without dampening the joy, stepping in when tempers flared or someone pushed too hard. The mothers stood together with their work in their hands, talking while keeping a quick eye on their pups, but when Nunew was there, their attention didn’t snap as often to fear. He had quick hands and quick eyes. He spotted trouble at the edge before it reached the center.

He learned small preferences: who tired fast, who needed a nudge to join in, who would play rough if not checked, who hid when scolded. He learned which grandmother favored a hard peppermint for skinned knees and which one cursed at the weather while handing over a clean cloth to wipe dusty cheeks. He learned the cadence of their thanks and he never took it for granted.

It wasn’t only play. Jay quietly handed Nunew a bundle of odd jobs that belonged to a healer’s helper: sorting dried leaves by smell and texture, tying small pouches for bruises and cuts, learning which resin soothed a cough and which root slowed bleeding if you packed it right. Jay didn’t waste words. He demonstrated once and expected competence the next time. Nunew appreciated that. It treated him like someone who could learn and carry weight. He kept notes in his head because that’s how life had trained him: remember, adapt, get it right.

On the second day, a boy fell from the fence and twisted his ankle. Nunew was there before the cry peaked. He supported the joint without jostling it, lifted the child properly, and walked him straight to Jay’s hut. Jay checked, nodded once, and said to Nunew in front of the boy’s parents, “Good handling.” The public acknowledgment mattered. People watched and filed it away. That night, the child’s father crossed the square to place a small bundle of smoked meat outside Zee’s door with a quiet, “For our future Luna.” It wasn’t ceremony. It was how wolves said we see you. Nunew had never blushed so much on his entire existence.

By the third day, elders started asking for Nunew by name. An old man needed help moving a cedar chest for his daughter—Nunew organized two teenagers to do the lifting and made sure they didn’t drop it. A widow wanted someone to grind dried corn because her wrists ached—Nunew sat with her through the task, asked about her late mate, and listened while the rhythm of the stone and her voice filled the space. He didn’t rush her. He didn’t perform grief with her. He stayed until the work was done and left with the same quiet he brought in.

He wasn’t loud, he was often gentle and quiet, so people found themselves speaking softly when he was near. He pulled the room toward care without explaining how. It was the first thing Zee’s father said to Zee when they stood at the edge of the square on the fourth evening and watched Nunew settle a nest of sleepy children under a shade cloth.

“They change their tone around him,” the older alpha said, voice low, arms folded. “Not because they’re cautious. Because he is.”

Zee didn’t answer immediately. He studied the scene—the smallest pup at Nunew’s knee holding a woven doll by one frayed leg; a six-year-old drifting from the group to chase a moth; Nunew’s hand lifting once in a simple signal that brought her back without breaking the calm. He took in the mothers easing shoulders, the elders nodding to each other with a look that meant this is right. When he spoke, it was simple. “They trust him.”

“They trust you,” his father said. “And they see that you trust him.” He let the silence run a moment longer. “I’m calling the council in three nights. It’s time to begin the path to transition. When we do, you will need to name your Luna.”

Zee didn’t let relief or pride show. He kept his voice even. “I have one.”

“I know.” The older man’s eyes followed Nunew for another breath. “He’s young. He was hurt. He comes from a clan that will come looking. These are facts. You’ll carry them on your back and still ask the pack to carry him. You must be clear about that.”

“I am.” Zee’s gaze didn’t shift from Nunew. “And if any of them doubt, they aren’t watching what’s in front of them.”

His father grunted. “Most are watching. A few aren’t. Leave the Parks where they’ve put themselves: on the margins. Don’t give them more attention than they deserve. But don’t forget them, either.”

Zee was not a man who forgot.

Poppy drifted up behind them, hands in his pockets, a grin he didn’t bother to hide. “You two look like wooden statues,” he said, bumping his shoulder into Zee’s arm. “Blink or you’ll scare the babies.”

Zee didn’t blink, but his mouth shifted half a notch. “He’s got them organized.”

“He’s got the whole square organized,” Poppy said. “Jay’s a smug rooster about it. Says Nunew learned three salves in two days and sorted a week’s worth of herbs in an afternoon. Net says the boy runs like water around obstacles. I say I’ve never seen a pup quiet this many toddlers without bribery. You should thank me. I taught him nothing.”

Jay joined them then, a cloth bundle under his arm, calm as always. “You taught him to laugh when you’re being a menace,” he said, and Poppy blew him a kiss he didn’t mean. Jay looked to Zee. “He’s picking up field skills fast. I’ll start him on splints tomorrow. And simple stitching. He doesn’t freeze when he sees blood.”

“Why would he?” Poppy said, and then his face sobered a touch. “He’s seen worse than blood.”

Zee didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

The Park family moved through these days like thornbushes that kept their shape no matter how the weather shifted. Park performed his penance under the grandmothers with a blank face that fooled no one. He carried water, he scrubbed surfaces, he hauled wood. He did all of it a beat too slow and a shade too sullen. When he crossed the square and Nunew happened to be there, he kept a measured distance. The grandmothers watched him like hawks, and once, when he paused too long to stare, one of them snapped his name and pointed to a bucket. He went.

People saw. People remembered. But no one fed the Parks with open conflict. They were left on their island of pride, small in a sea of shared purpose.

On the fifth morning, Nunew started something that became a ritual without anyone naming it. After the children had spent their first burst of energy, he gathered them in a loose circle under the tree at the square’s edge. He sat cross-legged and the smallest climbed into laps or against shoulders. He told them a story—not a grand saga that needed drums, just a practical tale with clear edges: how to cross a stream by testing stones first; how to move as a group when a game took them near the road; how to recognize a plant that would sting fingers and what to do if it did. He didn’t make fear out of it. He made quiet rules out of it. He used his hands when he spoke: palms down to show “settle,” two fingers to point a direction, a light tap to cue “your turn.” The children copied him. The mothers watched and learned the signals too. After a week, no one had to shout as much to keep order. The square held itself together like a woven mat: flexible, firm.

That afternoon, the elders called Nunew to the shade of the council hut for tea. They didn’t make speeches. They poured, offered him the good cup, and asked what he needed to keep the children safe when play spilled toward the edge. He asked for two more rope lines to mark safe areas and three extra baskets to store toys so the ground didn’t become a mess in a hurry. He asked if the elders could spare two apprentices to help him teach the older children to mind the little ones without throwing weight around. “Give them tasks, not the feeling of power,” he said, and all three elders nodded at once, almost smiling.

When he left the hut, a woven sash hung over his forearm. It was simple—undyed, strong—but one of the grandmothers had added a small white fox stitched at the end in pale thread. “Wear it when you need people to look to you,” she had said, as if telling him how to use a tool. “It will save you calling your voice raw.”

He wore it that evening. It did exactly what she promised.

Zee watched all of this, when the time permited a rest, with the steady patience of someone cataloging a map. He didn’t interfere. He didn’t hover. But there was a new way he stood near Nunew at the end of day—close enough that anyone thinking of interrupting thought twice, far enough that Nunew’s space wasn’t crowded. When a child barreled into Nunew’s knees hard enough to rock him, Zee’s hand reached out and steadied him without thought. When a group of teenagers swung too fast with a practice staff a little too near the little ones, Zee’s voice cut across the square without volume, and the staff dropped at once. The message was plain: Their soon to be Luna was not only beloved. He was guarded.

Two nights later, Zee’s father called the private talk he had promised. It wasn’t a formal council yet, only father and son and a quiet fire. The old man laid out the path as he saw it. “We announce the transition at the next new moon,” he said. “I’ll remain in the seat through harvest. You’ll carry more of it day by day. At the first snow, I step back and you take it. That gives the pack time to settle and watch you in the chair.”

Zee nodded. It was sensible. It avoided drama. “And Luna?”

“If you intend to name him, name him before the first snow,” his father said. “Not as surprise. As certainty. Make it public and make it practical. Give him responsibilities that match what he’s already doing. Don’t call him symbol. Give him work.”

“He already has work,” Zee said.

“Good,” his father replied. “Then put a name to it. Names carry weight. If we only whisper them, they can be taken. If we say them out loud, they become ours.”

Silence for a time. The fire shifted down to coals. The older man’s face softened a shade that only Zee ever saw. “He reminds me of your mother,” he said. “Different in form, same in effect. Rooms settled when she walked in. Men who liked to hear themselves speak found better uses for their mouths. She didn’t win arguments. She made them unnecessary.”

Zee absorbed that without letting the ache of it open. “The Parks will grumble.”

“The Parks grumble at their own reflections,” his father said. “Let them. They’ve shown the pack what their voice stands for. The pack chose otherwise.” He reached across and gripped Zee’s forearm once. “Be firm. Be fair. Be seen. That’s all.”

The shaman came to Nunew the next morning. She didn’t dress it up with smoke and chants. She walked into the square the way she always did, staff tapping, eyes on him like a flint she trusted. “With me,” she said, and Nunew went.

Her hut was dark and smelled like sharp leaves and earth. She set a clay bowl on the low table and poured clear water into it. “The pack is steady now,” she said. “Time for you to learn what your steadiness holds back until it doesn’t.”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “The dreams.”

“The visions,” she corrected. “Dreams are random. Yours aren’t.” She gestured to the bowl. “Hands here. Palms down. We’ll start with simple things. We test the edges and teach you how not to drown when they rise.”

He placed his hands above the water. The surface wobbled, settled, wobbled again. He exhaled slowly. The shaman said, “When it pulls you, you stop it by naming where you are. Out loud. ‘I am in the shaman’s hut. My hands are above water. It is morning.’ You give your body hooks to hold.”

The first exercise was nothing like the strapped-down forced “training” his old clan muttered about. There was no raised voice, no threat in the room, no expectation that he turn power into spectacle. The shaman asked him to notice simple things: the ring of wet around the bowl, the smell of mint in the corner, the feel of reed mat under his knees. She asked him to say them aloud when the flicker came at the edge of his vision. It came—like a shadow—from the corner of the water. He named the room. It withdrew. It came again—showing a flat silver sky—he named the mat under him and his stomach unknotted. He practiced until his hands stopped shaking.

“You’re not stopping it,” she explained. “You’re telling it you’ll meet it on your terms. Power isn’t only in thresholds. It’s in pacing.”

He left her hut with a small piece of woven cord around his wrist—plain, tied in a firm knot. “Touch it when your chest lifts too fast,” she said. “It’s not magic. It’s a reminder of rhythm.” He thanked her with both hands. Gratitude meant more when it didn’t land as ritual.

By midday of the same day, he was back in the square. People made room the way water does for a vessel: without fuss. The children ran to him; the mothers gave him the quick glance that meant all right? and he gave the small nod back that meant yes. When a toddler started to cry over nothing he could name, Nunew picked him up and walked, saying the names of the things he saw in a low voice: sunlight on a bowl, a bright thread in a rug, a slow dog sleeping in the corner. The child quieted. Jay, watching from the clinic doorway, marked how the boy did it.

That evening, a group of hunters—men who didn’t tend words—brought him a brace of rabbits and a strip of cured venison. They stood awkwardly near him until he looked up. Their leader cleared his throat. “For the Alphas mate,” he said. “For the little ones.” Nunew thanked them without dropping his eyes. One of them, a man who was always careful with everything, put a hand just once to his chest in the old sign of respect usually reserved for elders. People saw that too.

Zee was present when it happened, measuring grain rations with Net and assigning the next day’s border routes. He didn’t comment. He didn’t have to.

That night, quiet filled Zee’s house, the way it does when two people who are tired trust the space between them to hold. Nunew sat on the floor while Zee checked a map, copying a route with a pencil and a sure hand. They didn’t speak for a long stretch. When they did, it was because Nunew wanted to ask something he had been circling.

“If your father calls the council for transition,” he said, “what does that change for me? Not how people see me—I don’t mean that. What do I do differently?”

Zee looked up, considered the question, and set the pencil down. “Nothing changes in the parts you’re already doing,” he said. “You keep children safe. You keep mothers supported. You keep the square steady. But when it’s named, you’ll carry the authority to ask for help without offering apology. If you say ‘I need three older boys to move those benches now,’ you won’t have to explain why. And people will have the right to ask you for decisions that belong to your side of the house: where children are during training drills, which elders are paired with which apprentices, what days of the week certain tasks rotate so no one is burned out. And above it all… You will be my Luna. People already calling you as their future Luna. But it will be official. You will be the heart of our pack.”

Nunew nodded shyly. “And with the shaman?”

“You listen to her,” Zee said. “You tell me what she asks for if it affects resources or timing. If you need space cleared for her work with you, you get it. If it makes people nervous, we speak to them together.”

“You and I,” Nunew repeated, tasting it.

“You and I,” Zee said. “Not one pulling the other. Standing.”

Nunew curled his fingers into the woven cord at his wrist and exhaled, a tight breath loose now. He moved up onto the bench, pressed his shoulder to Zee’s for a moment, and let that be all that needed saying.

Two days later, the council met—private, controlled, not for spectacle. The elders already knew the shape of things. Zee’s father named dates. He didn’t ask for permission. He asked for readiness. When it came time to discuss the Luna, he didn’t waste words. “He is already in the role,” the older alpha said. “This is naming what exists. If any of you intend to make this harder than it needs to be, say so now.”

No one did. Even those who might have hesitated found that the last week had made their hesitation stale. People weren’t responding to a rumor. They were living in a changed pattern. The Park matriarch tried to draw breath to speak, but her mate put a hand on her wrist under the table with the smallest shake of his head. Their son stared at the board in front of him and said nothing, jaw tight. The council recorded what needed recording and moved on to routes, stores, and the outer lines.

Afterward, Zee walked back through the square with Net and Jay on either side. Poppy joined at the well, hooked an elbow through Jay’s, and demanded to know if the council had served any honey cakes. Jay said calmly, “We were not five, Poppy.” Poppy said, “A pity you weren’t. Five-year-olds know to bring honey cakes.” Net smiled with the corner of his mouth and shook his head.

Nunew was under the tree again, finishing the afternoon circle. He sent the older ones to tidy up the rope lines and coaxed the small ones into a last round of the “quiet fox” game: eyes closed, listen for a bell, point together. He didn’t teach it to be mystical. He used it to show them how to hold still without fear. Zee waited until it ended to cross to him. When Nunew looked up, Zee didn’t have to say anything. Conversation tends to show in the lines of the face before it reaches the mouth. Nunew scanned his eyes, and his shoulders loosened.

“Soon?” he asked.

“At new moon the announcement,” Zee said. “Before first snow the naming. The pack is ready.”

The rest of that day unfolded in small scenes that marked a shift from affection to expectation. A mother brought a ledger to Nunew and asked him if the schedule for shared child-minding on market days made sense now that three families had newborns. He adjusted blocks without apology. An elder asked him to mediate a disagreement between two teenage girls over whose turn it was to watch a toddler during a weaving lesson. He listened, gave each girl one line to say without interruption, and divided the task in a way both shrugged at but agreed to. A hunter asked him if it would make sense to move practice staff sessions to late afternoon on days when toddlers napped in the shade so the square didn’t hold heavy swings while little feet ran. Nunew said yes and told him which days that would be. The hunter nodded as if he had expected that answer and wandered off to tell his set.

No one asked, “Do you have the right?” They asked, “What works?” The right was assumed.

On the seventh day, the shaman asked Nunew to meet her at the boundary line in the early morning before the children rose. She didn’t explain. He didn’t ask. They walked to the edge where trees began and stood in the shade. She told him to breathe and name what he felt. He did. Damp earth. The sap smell of pine. The subtle metallic edge that meant a deer had passed not long ago. The shiver he felt wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even the old pull of panic. It was awareness expanding and contracting like a lung.

“Good,” she said. “Now stand still and let it come.”

It came—not as a flood; as a thread. Nunew didn’t get dragged. He watched it. The shaman pointed to a low bush and said, “Tell me if anyone brushed that in the last day.” He waited. The picture rose slowly: a boy’s height, right hand grazing the leaves, morning light, a hum in his throat as if he were singing to himself. Nunew said, “Yes. Left to right. Before noon.” She nodded. A test passed. Another. She pointed farther in, where a small track curved. “Did a rabbit cross here last night?” He waited, sifted, felt the echo of his own shape inside the smaller one as if he were looking into a mirror that carried different angles. “Yes,” he said quietly. “He was young. He stopped twice to listen.” She nodded again. They went back to the village without speaking. It wasn’t spectacle. It was a working session like any other: a teacher giving a student narrow tasks and the student rendering competent answers.

That afternoon, Nunew felt the difference this practice made. When three children barreled toward the well at once without looking for who was already there, he felt the shape of the collision before it happened, stepped sideways, and put out a hand at the right moment so a small skull didn’t meet the stone. The watching mother said, “Thank you,” like a reflex. Nunew kept the water from slopping and passed the cup to the child who had waited first. “Order,” he said gently. “We keep each other upright by watching.”

The same day, the Park matriarch tried to pluck a string. She approached a group of mothers who were mending in the shade and said, tone too light, “It’s sweet that the boy keeps the little ones entertained. We’ll see how he fares when winter argues with nerves.” A grandmother didn’t lift her head from her stitching. “We’ve seen how he fares already,” she said. “We’ll see how your boy fares when the last of his chores ends.” The Park matriarch’s mouth tightened. She left. The mothers kept sewing. The air didn’t carry the insult far. It died at the edge of their bench.

That evening, the village shared meat and root stew in the square. The children sat close together on woven mats and Nunew moved among them with a towel over his shoulder, wiping a mouth here, refilling a cup there, making sure no one tipped a bowl into a lap or stuck hands into the fire. Adults traded news in low voices. Zee crossed the space to sit at Nunew’s side. He didn’t do it to mark territory. He did it because that’s where he belonged. People made room around them without instruction. Net and Jay settled a short distance away, talking quietly about a pregnant woman’s due date. Poppy sprawled on the ground with two older girls and taught them how to flick pebbles into a small target without sending them flying wildly into faces. His “instruction voice” sounded like mischief wrapped around careful rules. The girls adored him.

When bowls emptied and the square cleaned itself with a familiar rhythm, Zee stood and helped stack benches with two hunters. Nunew took the last of the sleeping toddlers to their mothers and returned woven mats to a storage stack. Nothing grand happened. It didn’t need to. The act of ending a day well is a kind of ceremony.

Late, when the night had thinned the voices and the wind carried the last whispers of the village, Zee and Nunew went home. Their steps were unhurried, like the day itself had pressed its weight into their bones. Inside, the space felt familiar in the way it was becoming theirs—clothes folded in a neat pile for the morning, a jug of water waiting on the table, the window left open just enough for the night air to soften the edges of warmth. They didn’t speak of plans or tomorrow; they didn’t need to. When they lay down, Zee curved his body around Nunew’s smaller frame, pulling him close until their breathing began to match. Nunew pressed his face against Zee’s collarbone breathing his alpha scent, letting the steady thrum beneath his skin soothe him, a sound and rhythm that felt safer than anything he’d ever known. Zee’s hand stayed firm at his waist or the curve of his hips, his touch caring. The tightness that had clung to Nunew all day melted in the heat of that embrace, and he slipped into sleep with the quiet certainty that he belonged.

The vision came near dawn.

It didn’t announce itself with panic. It slid in like a weather change. The room thinned. The fabric of the quilt under his cheek felt like something remembered from long ago. The weight of Zee’s arm across his ribs remained, heavy and real, but the air carried another scent: old leather, iron, wet wool. He was not standing. He was not lying in his bed, either. He was seeing as if through a window held a foot from his face.

A camp. Not neat. Functional. Hard edges everywhere. The ground had been churned into mud and then hammered flat by boots. Fires burned low and mean. No one sat close enough to the light to be seen well. They preferred edges. They preferred looking outward with backs protected by dark.

He saw marks on canvas—sigils that had once been clean but had been splashed with something that stained like oil. He saw a rack that might have been used for drying meat being used for drying leather strips stiff with something that wasn’t water. He saw a man with a shaved head stand briskly and kick another awake with the toe of a boot. He saw hands that didn’t mind striking to get small tasks done faster. He listened. People didn’t speak about weather here. They counted and named. They marked distance and time like a ledger that could cost flesh if wrong.

A voice cut through the function. It was not raised. It didn’t need to be. Gray coat, not fancy, clean. A face built by sharp choices and dominance exercised early enough to become habit. He didn’t shout orders. He asked questions that were instructions. “How far did you reach.” “What signs did you gather.” “How many passed the marker at river bend.” Answers were numbers, not stories. One scout said, “Two small parties, not our mark.” Another said, “A fox trail near the brook, not long and not deep.” The gray coat asked, “White?” The scout swallowed. “Yes.” The gray coat nodded once. “Direction.” The scout pointed wrong. The gray coat didn’t argue. He marked it on a small board with a black line and said, “We don’t chase single lines. We follow convergence. We wait for three.”

Nunew watched a map he didn’t understand sharpen under a hand that did. He watched a woman check a bag of shackles and frown at a weak link like a seamstress finding a bad stitch. She tapped it aside and made a note to fetch another. He saw a boy—too young—carry two buckets of water and set them down with care like a person who had learned the weight of sloshing over his shoes meant a hand would find the back of his neck. He saw a man clean a knife with detail that had nothing to do with ritual and everything to do with the next time it would need to cut without snagging.

He felt the hunger in the place. It wasn’t food hunger. It was ownership. How people looked at each other told him what he needed: value flowed in one direction—up. Everything else came down with conditions attached. He heard the word “asset” used with the same tone villagers used for “child.” It landed like a bruise. He knew who the asset was.

The gray-coat man turned his face toward the dark at the edge of camp as if he could see through the trees into Nunew’s room. He didn’t. But the sense of reach stung. He said, “We don’t come home without what’s ours.” Another voice asked a question that Nunew couldn’t catch, and gray coat answered, “Yes. If we must,” with flat certainty. If we must implied damage to things between there and here. It did not take many steps to understand where damage would land.

The map. Nunew made himself look at it. He named the things in his body that would keep him from slipping. Quilt. Zee’s weight. The scarf on the chair back. He counted breath. Then he looked. Three lines drawn. Convergence pulling toward a shape that felt too close to his own hut to be coincidence. The distances were wrong—the angle off a byway, the bend of a creek—and yet. They were closer than last week. The gray coat would sleep an hour and then send two more small parties out like dogs on leashes cut long. Not random. Directed. He understood at least that much: they didn’t need luck to find him if he stayed still and trusted luck to hold. They needed method. They had it.

He pulled back because he could. The shaman had taught him the handholds. He reached for the cord at his wrist and pinched it hard enough to burn. He said aloud, hoarse, “I am in Zee’s house. It is almost dawn. His arm is across me. The window is open one finger.” The room thickened. He was fully in it. He breathed.

Zee woke with the noise a body makes when the room changes by half a degree. He didn’t lurch up. He lifted his head and looked at Nunew’s face in the thin light. “Pup,” he said, soft and alert. “What did you see.”

Nunew told him without trying to shape it into something more palatable. He talked about the gray coat, the way he asked instead of told. He described the map lines. He repeated the sentence about not going home without the asset. He didn’t need to say who the asset was. He gave distances and details as best as he could. He didn’t cry; he didn’t swallow it either. He reported like a scout because it would help more than shaking.

Zee listened without interrupting, his hand steady on Nunew’s shoulder. When Nunew was finished, Zee nodded once, a deep affirmative. “You pulled yourself back,” he said. “Good. You did it right.” Nunew exhaled shakily. Zee’s second hand came up and bracketed Nunew’s jaw for a moment. “You did it right,” he repeated, slower, making sure it landed.

“What do we do,” Nunew asked. Not what do you do. What do we do.

“We tell my father and the shaman now,” Zee said. “We extend the line here, here, and here.” He pointed in the air in three cardinal directions out of habit, mapping even without the parchment. “We don’t pick a fight outside the line. We don’t let them step inside it without knowing they crossed something they shouldn’t. We move the children’s morning time to the far side of the square for a week. We keep water jars full. We rotate more pairs to dusk and dawn.”

Nunew nodded. Practical again. He could hold practical without tipping. Zee saw the nod and softened his tone. “And we don’t stop what we’ve been doing,” he said. “We don’t train them by fear. We don’t make them listen for boots. We make them listen for bells and for each other. That’s what makes a line hold. Not shouting—threads tied.”

Nunew pressed his forehead briefly to Zee’s shoulder. “You’ll talk to your father.”

“I will,” Zee said. He kissed Nunew’s hair once. “And I’ll talk to the shaman with you. She’ll want your words, not mine.”

They dressed in the same steady way they always did. Zee left first, moving with purpose. Nunew drank a cup of water, then another. He touched the cord at his wrist and felt the roughness of the fibers and the fact of being in his skin. He stepped outside to air that smelled like morning and wood smoke and the simple work of people starting a day. He looked at the square and saw how it could be moved like a board with pieces that knew their roles. He was not a general. He didn’t need to be. He was what he had become here: the still place in the middle where panic ran out of breath.

By the time the sun cleared the ridge, Zee had spoken to his father, and runners were already in motion with new assignments. The shaman stood in her doorway with her staff and nodded to Nunew when he approached. She didn’t ask if he was sure. She asked, “What did you see,” and he told her from the beginning to the end without decoration. She listened and then took a breath that sounded like she had heard something she had known was coming. “Good,” she said. “You saw the hand that holds the leash. That matters.” She looked toward the line of trees. “We’ll do this by making our circle smaller and thicker. Harder to cut.”

Back in the square, mothers came out with baskets and children ran in loops that could be gathered fast if needed. Jay added three extra pouches of salve to the clinic shelf and set a second tin of needles where he could grab them without stepping across a room. Net checked the latch on the grain store and walked the perimeter twice, not because a latch kept men out, but because order starts with the little things. Poppy climbed to the top of the storage shed and sat there for ten minutes scanning the tree line with idle chatter for the girls below, then hopped down and swiped an apple from a fruit bowl with a wink at a grandmother who pretended she hadn’t seen.

Park carried water to the grandmothers and didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to hear the council to know something had tightened. He could read a square that shifts. He could see who stood closer to Nunew now and where his own feet weren’t permitted without eyes turning flinty. He slopped a little water and bent to clean it without being told. The grandmother watching him didn’t offer praise. She didn’t need to. Praise wasn’t the currency being traded at that bench.

Zee returned to Nunew’s side after talking with his father and the shaman. He didn’t announce anything. He stood and looked at the square and then looked at Nunew. “Did you eat yet,” he asked.

Nunew blinked, almost smiled. “No.”

“Eat,” Zee said, and handed him a wrapped flatbread with a slice of soft cheese. It wasn’t an order pitched to an army. It was an insistence pitched to the person who would forget his own body if not reminded. Nunew ate half and pressed the rest into Zee’s hand. Zee took it and finished it. Simple. That’s how they held each other in place.

The day moved with intent but not fear. The children’s morning circle met on the far side of the square where there was a clearer line of sight. Nunew wore the undyed sash with the pale fox stitched at its end. When he lifted his hand, heads turned. When he said, “We go here first and then here,” feet went. Hunters checked knots without yanking them twice to show they had done it. The feeling across the whole of it was what happens when a room agrees we will not let this fray.

Near dusk, with the square settling, the shaman stepped to the center and set her staff down once, hard enough to be heard. People paused without being told to. She didn’t make a speech. She said, “We are smaller than the world. We are bigger than one man’s hunt. Hold fast. Sleep when it’s your turn. Watch when it’s your turn. Do not multiply fear. Do not waste strength.” Then she walked away. It was what the pack needed to hear, and nothing more.

That night, Nunew did not try to hold the vision away with will. He did not invite it either. He lay down with the cord at his wrist and the solid weight of Zee’s arm and told his body what it had learned: we meet what comes with names and breath. If it comes, we use it. If it doesn’t, we rest. He fell asleep faster than he expected.

No vision came that night. The camp he had seen would move, with leashes let out and pulled back, with maps adjusted as lines converged. The pack would hold, with lines tightened and eyes outward and children’s games relocated by three rows of benches. Between those two circles, a space existed where preparation and patience lived. That’s where they slept.

In the blue hour before dawn, when sound travels farther, a pair of owls called back and forth above the trees. Nunew shifted in his sleep, turned toward Zee, and breathed deep. Zee’s hand traced one slow line down Nunew’s back—absent, grounding. He didn’t wake fully. He didn’t need to. He had made his decisions while the sun was up. Morning would bring more decisions, and they would make them again.

The vision would come again soon. And when it did, it would carry more detail than a map and more threat than a line on cloth. It would carry a choice. For now, a village that had chosen its Luna closed strong around the center. And a hunter who would be alpha watched the edge with a promise in his chest that didn’t need words: no chain. Not through me.

The outside clan was not a story anymore. They existed, moving across their own map with clean boots and colder math. They had drawn lines and waited for convergence. They would find it. Wolves in this valley knew the land better than the lines on a stranger’s board. They’d meet them with something the gray coat didn’t feed his people: a reason that doesn’t break when you pull it.

Chapter Text

The day of the new moon dawned clear, the kind of morning that felt as if the whole village had been waiting for it. The sky was pale and cloudless, the air still cool from the night, carrying the smell of damp earth and pine from the forest. The houses were already alive before the sun had reached its peak. Doors opened, smoke curled from chimneys, and voices echoed across the village. The ceremony would take place at dusk, under the new moon, but there was too much to do for anyone to waste the daylight hours.

Children were the first to run out, barefoot in the packed dirt, eager to spy on the decorations being set in the main square. Young men were tasked with erecting tall wooden posts where silks and garlands would be strung, their laughter mingling with the creak of rope and the hammering of mallets. Older hunters carried heavy benches and arranged them in wide arcs around the space where the ritual would be performed. Women prepared baskets of herbs, woven flowers, and jars of oils, their chatter bright but purposeful. The whole village felt caught between celebration and duty, united in the knowledge that tonight they would witness something rare: the passing of leadership from father to son, and the recognition of a luna who had walked into their lives with a quiet grace none of them had expected.

Despite the rhythm of work, the air carried a tension under the surface. Whispers had circulated for days — about the outsiders, the whispers of a ruthless clan that might come searching for the snow-fox who had once been theirs. But people pushed those thoughts aside with deliberate stubbornness. They decorated. They smiled. They carried on. Fear had no place in the heart of their unity, not on this day.

By midday, the square had been transformed. Ribbons of silk fluttered between posts. Tables were laden with food: roasted meats, baskets of fruit, bread fresh from ovens. Children chased one another around the benches while their mothers scolded half-heartedly. The elders sat in clusters, speaking of tradition, telling stories of ceremonies past. Every face carried anticipation. This wasn’t just a ritual of leadership. It was proof that their pack endured, that unity bound them stronger than fear.

Nunew, unaware of much of the bustle at first, woke in the small house he now shared with Zee. His mornings had been growing steadier, less haunted, but the ceremony was a weight he couldn’t ignore. He lay still for a while, listening to the low hum of the village beyond the walls. He knew what was coming: he would be presented before everyone not just as Zee’s chosen mate but as their luna, a role that carried responsibility and reverence. He had been accepted, slowly, tenderly, but this would be different. It meant standing before them dressed not in the plain clothes of an outsider but in the silks of someone chosen.

When the women of the village came to fetch him on the day of the ceremony, they didn’t ask if he was ready. They simply smiled and beckoned. He followed them into one of the larger houses, a place already transformed into a chamber of preparation. The room smelled of flowers and warm oil. Sunlight filtered through woven curtains, painting patterns across the floor. On low tables, folded silks of deep blue, white, and pale gold waited. There were boxes of ornaments, combs for hair, and bowls of paint for hands and face.

“Sit, child,” one of the older women said, patting a cushion. Nunew obeyed, folding his legs under him, feeling suddenly small under their watchful eyes.

They began with his hair. Fingers combed through it with patient care, separating strands, weaving them into simple yet elegant waves that framed his face. They spoke to him as they worked — not loud chatter, but warm reassurance. “You’ll shine tonight,” one whispered. “The moon will envy you,” another said, laughing softly. He flushed, unused to praise spoken so freely, but he let them work.

They draped the first layer of fabric over his shoulders, a robe of soft white silk that clung lightly to his frame. Over it went another layer, silver, embroidered with threads of gold that caught the light like starlight. A belt of pale gold silk tied it at his waist, drawing the fabric close but allowing it to flow around his legs when he moved. The effect was subtle yet otherworldly.

They painted his hands next — lines of white running across the back of his fingers and wrists, patterns that symbolized protection and blessing. His face was touched with only a faint shimmer at the temples and beneath his eyes, nothing that masked his features, only enough to highlight them. He looked into the small bronze mirror one of the women held and almost didn’t recognize himself. He looked… mystic and divine.

“Beautiful,” one of the grandmothers murmured, her voice low with awe. “Truly, the luna of our pack.”

He lowered his gaze, embarrassed, though warmth spread through his chest. He wasn’t used to being looked at this way, with reverence instead of suspicion. He wasn’t used to being touched with such care. His fingers trembled, but he didn’t pull away.

While Nunew was being dressed in silks, Zee was across the square, in his father’s house, being prepared in a very different way. His father’s hands were steady as he adjusted the heavy tunic onto Zee’s shoulders. It was black, the kind of black that absorbed light, but trimmed with gold along the cuffs and collar, the color of authority. A broad sash crossed his chest, also gold, fastened with a clasp shaped like a wolf’s head. The outfit made him look taller, broader, as if the weight of leadership had already settled across his shoulders.

“You look like a soldier,” his father said, stepping back to inspect him. His voice held pride, though also a quiet heaviness. Passing the title meant stepping aside, and though it was tradition, it was never simple.

“I’ll be more than that,” Zee replied. His tone wasn’t boastful. It was steady, certain.

The old alpha nodded. “You’ll need to be. For your mate. For all of your pack.”

Zee didn’t ask who he meant. He already knew. He thought of Nunew, imagined him even now being dressed, and felt the same mixture of protectiveness and awe that had filled him since the day Nunew first stumbled into his life. Tonight they would stand side by side — warrior and luna, strength and grace. Compliments to one another, as if the village had been waiting for this pairing all along.

The villagers gathered slowly, filling benches and standing along the edges of the square. Children clung to their parents’ legs, eyes wide with awe. Elders murmured prayers under their breath, their voices weaving with the crackle of fire. The shaman, an old man named Kiet, moved to the center, his robes of rough cloth bound with cords of red and black. His staff was adorned with feathers, bones, and small bells that chimed faintly whenever he shifted. He struck the staff once against the ground, and the chatter stilled.

“It is time,” he announced, his voice deep and resonant, carrying easily over the crowd. “Time for the blessing of the new moon. Time for the naming of our alpha, and for the welcoming of our luna.”

A murmur ran through the villagers, not of unrest but of reverent excitement. They had waited for this. They had prepared themselves for this moment.

Zee stepped forward first, emerging from the shadows near his father. The firelight caught the gold trim of his dark tunic, the wolf clasp at his chest gleaming like molten metal. His steps were firm, deliberate, his expression serious. The boy who had grown up among them, the warrior they had seen defend their borders, now stood as the man who would lead them.

His father clasped his arm briefly as he passed, a gesture of both farewell and blessing. Zee bowed his head in return, a fleeting moment of intimacy in the public eye, before turning his gaze toward the path where Nunew would appear.

When Nunew emerged, the air seemed to shift. He stepped into the glow of the torches, the white and blue silks flowing around him like water, silver embroidery glinting with every movement. His hair, braided and neat, caught the faint shimmer of painted patterns along his temples. He looked fragile in one sense, as if spun from moonlight, but there was a quiet strength in his posture. His steps were hesitant only at first, then steadier as his eyes found Zee waiting at the center.

Children gasped, pointing. One little girl tugged at her mother’s sleeve and whispered loudly, “He looks like the moon.” The mother only smiled and nodded, her eyes never leaving Nunew.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Someone whispered, “The moon walks with us.” Another added, “He was born for this night.”

Zee saw him then, across the square. For a moment he forgot the crowd, forgot the weight of the tunic on his shoulders, forgot even his father standing near him. He saw only Nunew, draped in white and silver and gold, walking with hesitant steps yet carrying himself with a dignity that made Zee’s chest ache. They were opposites in that moment — one in dark strength, the other in luminous grace — and yet they matched, like two halves of a whole.

The village noticed too. Whispers carried, not of doubt but of admiration. “Our alpha and luna,” someone said. “Look at them — like day and night, like wolf and moon.”

Nunew’s gaze found Zee’s. His steps faltered for the briefest second, as if he hadn’t expected to see him dressed like that — so fierce, so certain. But then his lips curved into the faintest smile, small but real, and Zee felt something settle deep inside him.

Zee’s chest tightened as Nunew came closer. Pride swelled in him, fierce and protective. This was his mate. His luna. His other half.

When Nunew reached him, the shaman raised his staff again, striking it twice against the earth. The sound rang out like a drumbeat, silencing every murmur.

“On this night, beneath the eye of the new moon, we call forth unity,” The Shaman intoned. “We mark the passing of leadership, from father to son. We name a new alpha, chosen by blood and by strength. And we welcome a luna, chosen by fate and by bond. Together, they will guide us. Together, they will keep our pack whole.”

He gestured for Zee to kneel. The old alpha stepped forward, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “By right of birth, and by the strength you have shown, I pass to you the title of alpha.” His voice trembled, not with weakness, but with the weight of tradition. “Lead them well, my son.”

Zee bowed his head. “I will,” he said simply, the words spoken not for his father alone but for every ear present.

The old alpha removed the wolf’s-head clasp from his own chest and fastened it onto Zee’s tunic. The metal glinted in the firelight, heavy with symbolism. The crowd erupted in a howl — first one voice, then another, until the entire square rang with it, wolves and humans alike raising their throats in unison. It wasn’t chaos; it was affirmation, a chorus of belonging.

Nunew shivered at the sound, feeling it in his bones, in the fox soul curled deep within him. He had never been part of something so vast, so all-encompassing.

When the howls faded, the shaman turned to Nunew. “And now, the luna,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “Step forward, child.”

Nunew obeyed, though his pulse raced. The shaman reached into a pouch tied at his belt and drew out a small bowl of ash mixed with herbs. Dipping his fingers into it, he traced three lines across Nunew’s forehead — one vertical, two horizontal, forming the mark of balance.

“With these marks, you are bound to this pack. You are not outsider. You are not other. You are ours.”

A murmur of agreement rolled through the villagers. Nunew’s throat tightened, eyes stinging. For so long, he had been unwanted, discarded, hunted. And now… this. A place. A family.

The shaman continued, “As luna, your duty is clear: to nurture, to guide, to strengthen the bond between your alpha and your people. And yes”—here his lips twitched faintly—“to ensure the future of the pack.”

A ripple of laughter broke the solemn air. From the front row, Poppy — irrepressible as always — cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “That means babies, Nunew!”

The crowd chuckled, some openly, some behind hands. Nunew flushed crimson, eyes darting downward.

Zee, however, didn’t so much as flinch. His lips curved into a slow, smug smile, eyes flicking toward Poppy before settling back on Nunew. “We’ll manage,” he said aloud, his tone both serious and undeniably suggestive.

That drew louder laughter, even a cheer or two. Poppy doubled over, wheezing with delight, while Nunew buried his face in his hands, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. Yet despite his embarrassment, warmth pooled in his chest.

When the laughter died down, the shaman raised his staff once more. “Enough. Now, the vows.”

The torches flickered as if leaning closer. The air thickened with expectation. Zee took Nunew’s hands in his, strong fingers wrapping around delicate ones. He didn’t look at the shaman. He didn’t look at the crowd. His gaze was fixed only on Nunew.

“I vow,” Zee began, his voice low but steady, carrying clearly across the square, “to stand at your side, in battle and in peace. I vow to protect you with my life, to honor you with my strength, to cherish you with my heart. You are my true mate, chosen by fate and chosen by me. For as long as I draw breath, you will never be alone.”

Nunew’s hands trembled in his. His chest ached with the weight of such words, words he had never imagined anyone would say to him. His throat was tight, but he forced the words out, his voice fragile but clear.

“I vow to walk with you, through dark and light. I vow to stand with you, not behind, not apart, but with you. I vow to give you my trust, my heart, my soul. You are my true mate. My alpha. My home.”

For a moment, there was only silence, heavy and golden. The village held its breath. The firelight danced across their faces, across the silver embroidery of Nunew’s robe, across the wolf clasp on Zee’s chest.

The shaman lifted his staff high. “By the vows spoken, by the blessing of the moon, by the bond that ties their souls, I declare them alpha and luna. True mates. Leaders of our pack.”

He struck the staff against the ground three times. Bells chimed. Sparks flew upward from the torches as if answering.

The village erupted. Cheers, applause, howls that shook the night sky. The sound was overwhelming, joyous, primal. Children danced in circles. Women threw handfuls of flower petals into the air, the colors scattering like rain. Men clapped one another on the back, voices raised in celebration.

Zee leaned close, his breath brushing Nunew’s ear. “You’re mine now. Officially.”

Nunew flushed, but a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “You were smug enough already.”

Zee chuckled, the sound warm and low, before pulling him closer, pressing their foreheads together in the glow of torchlight. Around them, the village celebrated, but for a heartbeat, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them — bound, blessed, and no longer alone.

The fire at the center of the village burned high, throwing sparks into the clear night sky. Above, the new moon hung like a silver mark against the darkness, and around it, stars opened one by one. The whole village had gathered in a wide circle: families with children perched on shoulders, elders sitting near the heat with their canes resting against their knees, warriors posted along the edge though even they had loosened their stances tonight. This was not only a ceremony—it was a celebration, a declaration that their pack was stepping into a new chapter with strength, with faith, and with unity.

The head alpha had already spoken the formal words, passing his mantle to Zee. That part had been solemn, heavy with tradition, marked by chants and blessings. But now, the atmosphere shifted. The rituals of duty were complete; it was time for life to return, and life meant food, music, laughter, and the reassuring smell of smoke from roasted meats and sweet breads baking in clay ovens.

Nunew had been seated beside Zee during the vows, his posture careful at first, almost stiff under so many eyes. But now, as the village moved into its feast, he relaxed little by little. Women who had dressed him earlier in silks and beads returned often, fussing to make sure the folds of his garments still shimmered in the firelight. Children crept up shyly to bring him offerings: a garland of dried flowers, a carved wooden fox that one boy had clearly whittled himself. Every time Nunew smiled and accepted, his light touch—always soft on the child’s hair or cheek—drew more hearts toward him.

He had been dressed to look divine, and he did. The soft silk robes brushed against his ankles when he walked. Strips of gold-thread embroidery caught the firelight whenever he moved. His hair had been loosely waved, and his pale skin reflected the flames like porcelain touched by warmth. The women had placed a string of delicate charms across his chest, rattling softly when he breathed, as though even the air marked his presence. To the pack, he was not simply a mate. He was their luna. Their blessing. Their promise that the future would be filled with grace as much as with strength.

Beside him, Zee wore his ceremonial tunic: black cloth lined with gold trim, fitted to his body like a warrior’s armor made elegant. He looked like a man carved for battle and for rule, shoulders broad, stance unyielding, eyes sharp even as his lips quirked now and then with small, private smiles meant only for Nunew. The contrast was deliberate: the village had wanted them to appear as complements to one another, balance in form and soul. And they did. Where Nunew glowed soft like light on snow, Zee stood dark and solid, like the earth itself that anchored the mountain.

The food was plentiful. A long table had been set with roasted meats: venison spiced with herbs, boar glazed with honey, chicken seasoned in clay pots. Baskets of breads were stacked high, golden crusts shining. Fruits had been brought from nearby groves—apples, plums, pears—and large pitchers of fermented berry wine were passed around, filling clay cups. The scent alone was enough to make mouths water, but the laughter rising around the tables made it better.

Poppy was the loudest, as always. He had a cup in his hand and mischief in his eyes. He planted himself right across from Zee and Nunew, raised his drink high, and declared, “To our new Alpha! To our Luna! May the moons give them strength to lead us, wisdom to guide us, and plenty of stamina—because we all know a pack needs heirs.”

The table burst into laughter, some clapping the wood, others nearly spilling their drinks. Nunew went pink immediately, eyes darting down to his lap, fingers tugging at the silk on his wrist. Zee, however, didn’t look away. He held Poppy’s gaze, let his smirk pull slow across his lips, and said evenly, “That won’t be a problem.”

The laughter roared louder. Poppy slapped the table, wheezing, “He doesn’t even blush! Spirits help us, we’ll have pups running underfoot by the next season.”

Nunew swatted lightly at Zee’s arm, though his embarrassment only deepened the fondness in the circle. Zee leaned close, lowered his voice so only Nunew heard: “They’re not wrong. You are mine, and they’ll know it.”

Nunew’s ears burned. He tried to push away, but Zee’s hand found his under the table, gripping firmly, warm and certain.

Around them, the feast unraveled into waves of joy. Drums began to beat in rhythm, deep thuds echoing against the mountain slopes. Children ran barefoot between tables, sticky with juice and crumbs. Women swayed together to the beat, their laughter carrying high. Elders told stories of past moons, voices raspy but strong. It was a night for belonging, a night where the pack moved as one.

Still, even under the joy, whispers of tension lingered. Some of the warriors stood farther out, near the dark edges of the forest. Their eyes scanned beyond the firelight, watchful. Everyone knew the old clan might be near, drawn by whispers of the snow fox. But the villagers refused to let that shadow poison this moment. Tonight, they had chosen to celebrate their future instead of bowing to the past.

Nunew caught the watchfulness. More than once his gaze flicked toward the trees, shadows shifting against the flicker of flames. His stomach tightened, but when he looked back to the pack, to the mothers smiling at him, to the elders nodding with approval, the fear eased. Here, he was not prey. He was wanted. Protected.

Zee noticed every flicker of his eyes. Each time, he brushed his thumb across Nunew’s knuckles or shifted closer so their shoulders touched. He didn’t need to speak. His presence was reassurance enough.

At one point, a group of children pulled Nunew away from the table, begging him to join their little game near the fire. “Dance with us, Luna!” one girl cried, tugging at his robe.

He hesitated, uncertain, but the women urged him on. “Go, let them have this memory,” one said warmly.

Nunew let himself be guided. Soon he was spinning clumsily with the little ones, their small hands gripping his as they danced in a circle. His silks flared in the firelight, making him seem otherworldly, yet his laughter was simple, human, unguarded. The mothers clapped along, some wiping tears of joy at the sight. Even the warriors on the edge allowed themselves small smiles.

Zee sat back, arms crossed, watching. His heart twisted tight in his chest. Nunew didn’t even realize the effect he had on them. He wasn’t performing. He was just being himself—soft, generous, alive—and it bound the entire pack tighter than any vow. To Zee, it was both pride and fear. Pride, because Nunew was his, and fear, because the thought of losing him was unbearable.

When the children finally collapsed in giggles, Nunew returned to the table, cheeks flushed, hair messy, eyes bright. Zee reached out without thinking, straightened the cord in his hair, and let his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary.

“You looked gorgeous,” Zee murmured.

“I looked ridiculous,” Nunew replied, but his smile betrayed the warmth spreading through him.

“Divine,” Zee repeated, more firmly. And he meant it.

The music grew louder. More people joined the dancing. Cups were refilled, food devoured, jokes shared. The pack was alive with its unity, every heart beating in rhythm with the drums. Yet beyond the circle of firelight, the woods breathed differently. The night air carried a faint unease, almost too still. Occasionally, a wolf posted at the edge stiffened, ears twitching toward a sound too faint for others to notice. But they said nothing. Not yet.

For now, the feast continued. Zee and Nunew remained at the center, pillars around which the pack’s joy revolved. For tonight, at least, the village chose happiness—even as the shadows waited.

The feast carried on beneath the sharp brilliance of the new moon, a silver glow that bathed the village square in quiet beauty. The firepits roared bright and steady, throwing sparks into the night air, while long wooden tables groaned under the weight of food—platters of roasted meats, baskets of warm bread, bowls filled with late-summer fruits, pitchers of honeyed wine and fresh water carried up from the river. The whole pack had turned out, their voices rising and falling in laughter and song, the sound of drums weaving through it all like a heartbeat.

Zee stood with his hand loosely linked to Nunew’s, watching the scene unfold. They had both been dressed with such deliberate care earlier in the evening that even now, hours later, the sight of one another drew glances from every direction.

The pack had embraced him fully tonight. Children who once clung shyly to their mothers now pressed against Nunew’s legs, pulling at his sleeves, asking for stories. Mothers and grandmothers exchanged smiles whenever he laughed softly, bending to tie a ribbon into a little girl’s hair or crouching to wipe fruit juice from a boy’s cheek. To them, he was already a Luna—not because of ceremony, not because of formal recognition, but because he had walked among them and chosen to love without reserve.

Zee noticed it all. He watched with quiet pride as Nunew moved from table to table, accepted food pressed into his hands, answered every question, laughed at every clumsy joke. His own chest ached with something too full to name—part pride, part protectiveness, part the sharp ache of desire he carried now that Nunew was truly his, seen and acknowledged by all. He could not deny a faint smugness when Poppy elbowed him earlier in the night, grinning broadly as he whispered, “Our new Luna looks divine. Careful, Zee—half the pack will fall in love with him if you’re not vigilant.”

Zee had only smirked, one eyebrow arched, and pulled Nunew closer by the waist. “Let them look. He’s mine.”

That had earned him laughter and a chorus of cheers from those nearby. Nunew, flustered but secretly pleased, had only ducked his head, his ears tinged red.

The drums shifted after a time, their beat quickening into the rhythm of dances. Groups gathered in a circle, feet stamping in practiced patterns, hands linked and raised. Children darted between legs, shrieking with delight. The scent of roasting meat thickened in the air, blending with the tang of smoke and pine. Above them, the sky stretched endless and sharp with stars, the new moon a pale, hollow crescent watching over it all.

Zee leaned down, close enough that only Nunew could hear, his breath warm against his ear. “Dance with me.”

Nunew looked up, startled, though not unwilling. “In front of everyone?”

“In front of everyone,” Zee confirmed, eyes steady, daring him to refuse.

Nunew hesitated only a moment before nodding. Zee’s hand closed over his, rough palm to soft skin, and together they stepped into the circle where others already moved. At first Nunew’s movements were tentative, self-conscious. But as the rhythm carried him, as Zee steadied him with a hand firm against his back, something loosened. His steps became sure, his body swaying naturally to the pulse of the drums. The pack around them cheered, stamping harder, the circle widening to give their Alpha and Luna space.

Zee hardly noticed anyone else. His eyes stayed locked on Nunew—on the flush high on his cheeks, the curve of his smile, the way silk clung to the lines of his frame as he spun. In that moment, Nunew was not just delicate, not just beautiful—he was luminous, filled with life that seemed to light the square more than the torches or the fire. Zee felt the pull of him, the inexorable certainty that there was no force—no outside clan, no threat—that could ever take him away now.

But even as the joy swelled, the night air carried something else, something colder. At the edges of the forest, the shadows seemed deeper than usual, the silence within them heavier. The elders noticed it first, their laughter faltering for just a breath before they smoothed their expressions again. The shaman’s gaze lingered on the tree line more than once, her hands resting still against the beads of her necklace.

Nunew caught the flicker of unease, though he tried to ignore it. He pressed closer to Zee as they danced, his smile soft but his eyes shifting briefly to the dark outline of trees. “Do you feel it?” he whispered.

Zee’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t let his expression falter for the pack’s sake. “I do. But tonight is for us. We won’t let shadows ruin it.”

Still, as the dance ended and the crowd erupted into cheers, Zee found himself watching the treeline again, the soldier in him unwilling to relax fully. He guided Nunew back toward their seats, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss briefly to his temple for reassurance. The act was small, but the pack noticed and murmured approvingly. Their Alpha and Luna, side by side, unshaken.

The feast surged on. More wine flowed, voices rose higher, the smell of spiced bread drifted thick.

The drums slowed, falling into a softer rhythm, meant to lull the little ones toward sleep. Smoke curled upward in lazy threads, torches burning lower as pitchers of wine emptied and bellies filled. The feast had become a softer thing now, quieter though no less joyful. Elders told stories to circles of wide-eyed children, young couples slipped into shadowed corners to steal kisses, and laughter rose here and there in bursts.

Nunew leaned against Zee’s side on the bench, his head tipped onto the Alpha’s shoulder. Zee’s hand rested absently on his thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing arcs against the silk fabric there. He smelled faintly of smoke and leather, something grounding and solid.

For the first time since arriving in this village, Nunew allowed himself to feel… safe. Truly, deeply safe. The warmth of the firepit at his feet, the hum of voices all around, the steady beat of Zee’s heart beside him—all of it lulled him. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

But safety was fragile. He had learned that long ago.

It began as the faintest shift, so subtle he thought at first he imagined it: the way the night insects fell silent all at once, their chorus cut clean. His eyes opened, scanning the treeline again. The darkness there was thicker now, pressing forward as though the forest itself leaned closer.

He stiffened. Zee felt it immediately, muscles coiling beneath his tunic. “What is it?”

Nunew’s lips parted, but before he could answer, a howl broke across the clearing. Not the joyous, familiar sound of packmates calling to one another, but a sharp, guttural cry that made the hairs on every neck rise. It came from the trees.

The village stilled. Voices died mid-laugh, spoons stilled over bowls. The children froze where they sat, wide-eyed. Another howl followed, closer this time, and another after that—an answering chorus.

“They’re here,” Nunew whispered, his voice trembling despite the calm mask he tried to hold.

Zee rose to his feet instantly, pulling Nunew with him, his expression hardening into command. The warrior in him, always present beneath the surface, snapped awake. “Inside the longhouse!” he barked. His voice carried, sharp as steel, and the pack obeyed without hesitation. Mothers scooped children into their arms, elders guided the slower ones, and warriors shifted instinctively toward the perimeter, ready.

Zee’s hand closed immediately around Nunew’s wrist, firm and protective. His golden-stitched black tunic was still pristine from the ceremony, but his eyes had already sharpened into a soldier’s readiness. Around them, warriors rose to their feet, mothers herded pups indoors, and the elders pulled shawls over their shoulders, murmuring prayers.

From the forest, shadows began to take shape—men in dark pelts, some with jagged scars running across their faces, some with chains still clinking at their belts as though they wanted to remind everyone of what they carried. The outsider clan, the one that Nunew had tried so long to forget, had arrived.

Their leader stepped forward, towering, his teeth flashing in a mockery of a smile. “You kept our prize well-fed,” he growled, eyes sliding across the village until they landed on Nunew. “We’ve come to reclaim what belongs to us.”

The air seemed to leave Nunew’s lungs. His hands trembled, and for a heartbeat the weight of years pressed him down—the memory of iron cages, of chants and whips, of being displayed like a rare beast. He could hear the echo of a voice he wished he’d forgotten: A snow fox breeds strong heirs. Obedience and blood are the only worth of a creature like him.

The outsider continued, voice booming, “He is ours. his gift. He will bear pups for our alphas, and through him, we’ll conquer every territory we desire.” His words were met with snarls and growls from Zee’s pack, but he lifted his hand arrogantly, as though daring them to resist. “Hand him over, or we burn this place to the ground.”

Nunew stumbled back, panic rising, but Zee caught him, steady and unyielding. His voice cut through the tension like steel. “He is not an object. He is my mate. My Luna. You will not touch him.”

The outsiders laughed—a horrible, jeering sound that twisted the silence. “A mate? A Luna? He’s a breeding tool. You’re blinded by lust, boy.”

The words scraped across Nunew’s skin like claws. He clutched Zee’s sleeve tightly, head bowed, ashamed of the truth they thought they owned. But then, beneath the panic, a memory stirred.

He saw her again, the shaman, her wrinkled hand tracing the curve of his jaw a few nights before, when she had spoken to him alone by the fire.

 “Long before humans had built villages in these valleys, it was said that the fox spirits—kitsune, huli jing, snow foxes born of moonlight and shadow—walked between the worlds of flesh and spirit, guiding, tricking, and protecting those who respected the balance. Some myths whispered that the strongest foxes could bend reality itself, creating illusions so vivid that entire armies were fooled, or calling upon fire that danced without fuel, warning of danger or punishing the cruel. Their tails, ever-growing in number with age and wisdom, were said to hold fragments of their power and memories, each one a library of tricks, of joy, of survival. To cross a fox spirit was to court disaster, for their cunning was matched only by their loyalty to those they chose as mates or packs.”

 Nunew, trembling with the memory of these teachings from the shaman, felt the pulse of that ancient blood thrumming beneath his skin, and it surged forth instinctively as the enemy approached.

“You are not only a fox, Nunew,” she had whispered. “You are snow-born. You carry the spirit of those foxes who walked between worlds—who tricked emperors and saved dynasties. They bound you once because they feared what you are. You are illusion, light, and shadow. You are truth wrapped in disguise. You are not meant to be caged. You are meant to be believed.”

Nunew had trembled then, unable to answer, but the words lit now inside him like a buried flame.

The first of the outsiders lunged forward. A clash of steel and claws erupted as Zee’s warriors leapt to meet them. Sparks flew. The air filled with the sound of snarls, cries, and the crash of bodies against earth.

Zee pushed Nunew behind him, blades flashing as he cut down the first attacker to break through the line. Blood spattered across the golden embroidery of his tunic, but his focus never wavered.

Zee moved like a force of nature among the pack’s soldiers, his black-and-gold tunic smeared with soot and blood but unbowed. Every motion was precise, calculated; he parried blows, twisted, struck, and redirected the momentum of attackers against each other. One soldier lunged from the side, knife glinting, and Zee spun low, sweeping the man’s legs with his foot, sending him crashing into the ground.

Another came from behind, swinging a chain; Zee ducked, caught the metal links with a firm grip, yanked, and threw the assailant to the dirt with such force that he groaned under the impact. He barked orders with sharp clarity, directing warriors to flank, to protect the weak, to cut off reinforcements. In each precise strike, in every command, Zee demonstrated why he was the Alpha’s son, the one chosen to lead.

His presence was a tether for the pack, anchoring them through chaos, and even as he fought, his gaze never left Nunew, his hands ready to shield or pull him back if the fox spirit faltered.

Yet more kept coming. The outsiders were ruthless, bigger in number, and their eyes burned with greed. One of them, a hulking brute with a jagged scar across his scalp, called out above the fray: “Don’t kill it! The snow fox is worth more alive. Take it!”

Those words ignited something inside Nunew. He could feel it—a pressure behind his eyes, a tingling beneath his skin, as though the air itself wanted to move at his command. His fear was a thread, but now it was weaving into anger.

He stepped forward, ignoring Zee’s shout for him to stay back. The outsider clan surged, confident at the sight of him unguarded. But the moment they neared, the air shifted.

The torches lining the feast ground flickered, then flared high, their flames bending toward Nunew as if drawn by invisible wind. His pupils thinned into slits, his skin glowed faintly silver, and behind him—only for a heartbeat—nine great tails of white shimmered into existence like ghostly banners. Gasps rippled through the pack. Even Zee froze, eyes wide, though he didn’t falter in his stance.

Nunew raised his hand, and the world changed.

To the outsiders, the feast ground was no longer a feast ground. The earth split open into ravines of fire, wolves with eyes of ice lunged from the shadows, and thorned vines shot up to entangle their legs. They slashed, screamed, stumbled, but their blades cut only air. The illusions wrapped them, confused them, until they turned their claws on one another in panic.

Zee’s warriors pressed their advantage, cutting down those who faltered. But Nunew’s focus wasn’t on killing—it was on breaking. His illusions showed them cages, whips, and chains—their own tools twisted back against them. Their leader roared, trying to rally them, but even he staggered when Nunew’s eyes met his.

“You will not cage me again,” Nunew said, his voice layered, almost echoing with something older and more powerful. “I am the heart of this village, I am the moon incarnated, I am the Luna of this pack and You will not touch my family.”

The leader spat blood, glaring at him. “You think tricks will save you? You were born for breed only. You belong to us.”

Nunew’s tails flared, light exploding behind him, and suddenly the leader was on his knees, gasping as he saw not a frail fox but a towering beast of white fire, eyes ancient and merciless. His voice broke. “Monster—”

“No,” Nunew whispered, his illusions collapsing inward until all that was left was himself, trembling, yet unyielding. “I am free.”

He unleashed the last of his strength in a blinding wave of light. The outsiders screamed as the illusions ripped through their minds, branding terror deep into their bones. They staggered, dropped their weapons, and fled into the forest, dragging their wounded and leaving their dead. Not once did they look back.

The clearing fell silent except for the ragged breaths of the pack. Blood stained the earth, but they were standing. They had won.

Nunew swayed, the glow fading from his skin. His knees buckled, and Zee was there instantly, catching him before he fell.

“You saved us,” Zee murmured, voice hoarse, eyes wide with awe. He held Nunew against his chest as though afraid he might vanish.

Nunew tried to smile, though his face was pale. “No… we saved each other.” His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion overtaking him, but his lips moved once more. “I am not theirs. I belong to you alpha.”

Zee kissed his forehead, fierce and tender. “Not mine, love. You are ours. And no one will ever take you again.”

The shaman stepped forward, her voice solemn yet proud. “The snow fox is not a prize to be claimed. He is the spirit that binds us. Tonight, under the new moon, you saw his power. Remember it. Protect it. Honor it. For through him, and through your Alpha, this village will endure.”

The pack raised their voices, a howl that shook the night, both mourning and triumph. Nunew, even unconscious in Zee’s arms, seemed to breathe easier as the sound washed over him. He was no longer the boy caged in darkness. He was their Luna, their spirit, their heart.

And from that night forward, no whisper from the outside clan ever dared reach their borders again.

Chapter Text

The morning after the battle was quiet in a way the village had never known. The air smelled faintly of smoke and pine, carrying with it a sense of calm that contrasted with the chaos of the previous night. Villagers moved through the streets with a gentle rhythm, tending to chores, repairing minor damages, and quietly recounting stories of the outsiders’ defeat. Children laughed as they chased each other near the central square, their echoes softened by the sunlight, and even the elders seemed lighter, their smiles tinged with relief. Nunew walked among them, not as a frightened fox or a shadow of his past self, but as the Luna of the pack, radiating a serenity that drew attention wherever he went.

He was more confident now, and it showed not in arrogance, but in the ease of his movements, the gentle way he interacted with the children, and the subtle command of his presence among the villagers. When he knelt to tie a child’s sandal or offer a hand to an elderly woman crossing a threshold, he did so with such grace that it seemed almost otherworldly, like a living embodiment of the legends the shaman had once told him—fox spirits of light and shadow, clever, loyal, and protective of those they chose. His eyes, so soft and clear, sparkled with amusement as a boy stumbled while attempting a cartwheel, and Nunew caught him effortlessly, setting him back on his feet with a warm, steady hand.

The villagers had begun to whisper among themselves about him, though never aloud in a way that seemed threatening. Mothers and grandmothers watched from the edges of the streets, leaning on gates and stoops, their expressions fond and admiring.

Nunew’s laughter floated through the village when he taught a small group of children to chase a wooden hoop. He moved among them with the light-footedness of a fox, occasionally slipping into tiny tricks—rolling, dodging, or feigning a stumble—that sent the children into fits of giggles. Jay, standing at a distance with a smile, observed with a mixture of pride and amusement. He had been the first to guide Nunew through basic interactions in human form, showing him how to navigate meals, greetings, and the simple rules of daily life. Now, watching Nunew in motion, Jay could see how much he had grown, how he was finding joy in the smallest acts while never losing the sharp intelligence that lay beneath his innocence.

Even Poppy, ever mischievous, had to admit that Nunew’s presence brought a new warmth to the village. He leaned against a fence post, his arms crossed, smiling despite herself. “Look at him,” he whispered to Net, who stood nearby, ever loyal and calm. “The children follow him like he’s magic.” Net’s soft chuckle acknowledged his observation, and he added quietly, “And he is… in a way. He’s our Luna, but not just that. He brings a light here that none of us could have expected.”

Zee, however, lingered on the outskirts of the square, his hands casually resting on his belt, his posture relaxed yet alert. He watched Nunew with a mixture of pride and protectiveness that ran deeper than anyone could see. Each smile, each gentle gesture from the fox, tugged at something deep within him. He had seen the terror in Nunew’s eyes during the moments of panic with the outsider clan, had felt the weight of his past pressing down like a storm cloud. Now, witnessing the calm confidence growing in Nunew, Zee’s chest swelled with a fierce, possessive love. His hand itched to brush back a stray lock of silver hair, to hold him close and ensure that no shadow of the past could ever reach him again. Yet he remained silent, letting Nunew explore the world freely, understanding that trust was as much about letting go as it was about holding on.

By mid-morning, news of the allied clans arriving to congratulate the new leadership spread through the village. Banners were hung, smoke from cooking fires curled into the sky, and the central square was prepared for visitors. Nunew, unaware of the subtle tension and anticipation, wandered near the edge of the preparations, helping a group of children build a small fort from crates and sticks. He laughed when a small girl slipped in the dirt, catching her mid-fall and lifting her gently. The women who had been guiding him in dressing for ceremonies before now watched with admiration as he naturally assumed a nurturing, gentle role. His soft hands, careful movements, and the innate grace that seemed to flow from him made him appear almost divine.

When the visiting clans arrived, their horses kicking up dust in the streets, Nunew’s presence drew them immediately. Silks and jewelry were brought forward—delicate threads of gold, intricate beads, charms shaped like fox tails, and small tokens meant to honor his status as Luna and spiritual guide. The elders presented them to him with reverence, and the children crowded close, fascinated by the shining fabrics draped across his shoulders. Nunew accepted each gift with quiet humility, his soft voice offering thanks, his silver eyes reflecting the sunlight and casting a near-mythical glow across the square.

Zee remained close, watching every interaction with careful attention. He saw how the Luna’s charm and innocence captivated even seasoned warriors and elder leaders from the visiting clans. He noticed the subtle bowing of heads, the gentle touches on Nunew’s hands, the way even the most stoic faces softened in his presence. And while he felt pride, there was an undercurrent of possessiveness, a need to ensure that Nunew’s charm did not become a target for those who might misunderstand it.

After the visit, Zee guided Nunew into the cabin with a steady hand on his back. The little fox paused just inside the doorway, wide-eyed as he took in the space. Warm lamplight flickered over smooth timber walls, casting a golden glow across the room. There was a fireplace ready for kindling, thick blankets folded neatly at the end of the bed, and a low wooden table with two simple chairs that looked as though they’d been carved with care rather than convenience. It smelled of pine resin, smoke, and something faintly, undeniably Zee.

Nunew stepped slowly into the room, fingertips trailing reverently across the polished wood. He turned toward Zee, blue eyes bright with wonder. “You… you built this?”

Zee nodded, his voice low but steady. “Every piece of it. For us. For you.”

Nunew turned in a slow circle, awe softening his features. “It’s stunning.”

“Thank you,” Zee said, his voice carrying that rare, unguarded gentleness. “A place to belong. A place that’s ours. Somewhere no one can take from you again.”

Nunew swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. He turned back toward Zee, blue eyes shimmering in the low light. His hands twisted nervously in his tunic as if he were holding something too fragile to speak. Finally, he took a trembling step closer. “Zee… I need to tell you something.”

The Alpha’s expression sharpened with quiet attention. “Tell me, pup.”

Nunew’s lashes lowered, cheeks flushing. “My body… it’s changing. I think my first heat is coming soon. I feel it under my skin, like fire waiting. And I—” His voice cracked, forcing him to pause and breathe before pushing the words out. “I’m afraid. But more than afraid… I don’t want to face it alone.”

Zee reached up, cupping his cheek, grounding him with the firm, steady press of his palm. “You won’t. Not ever. Not while I breathe.”

Nunew leaned into the touch, shivering. “But I don’t understand it all. What if I do something wrong? What if it hurts? What if you only—only take me because it’s instinct?” His eyes filled. “I don’t want to be just instinct, Zee. I want it to be me you choose.”

Zee’s thumb brushed away a tear. His voice was rough with sincerity. “Listen, pup. Heat isn’t just your body. With true mates, it’s more. Our cycles align. When your heat comes… my rut will answer. It’s nature pulling us together, yes. But it isn’t just instinct. It’s because we are bound. Because your fire sparks mine.”

Nunew blinked up at him, startled. “Rut…?”

Zee nodded slowly, searching his face. “It’s when my body burns for you the same way yours burns for me. It’s… intense. Overwhelming. But it doesn’t frighten me. What frightens me is the thought of you doubting that I want this. That I want you.” His hand pressed Nunew’s lightly trembling one over his chest. “Do you feel that? It’s yours. It always was.”

Nunew’s lips trembled. “And… together, it means… we could—”

“Yes,” Zee finished gently, voice deep with meaning. “We could conceive. If your body is ready. If your heart is ready. True mates create life in the fire of their bond.” He hesitated, gauging him. “That’s why I need to know… are you prepared for that possibility, Nunew? Because if I claim you in heat and rut, our bond becomes permanent. And the rest may follow.”

The room was still, filled only with the rush of Nunew’s breathing. His hands fisted in Zee’s tunic, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Zee… can I tell you a secret?”

Zee’s gaze softened instantly. “Always.”

Nunew’s lips curved, trembling, into the faintest smile. “Ever since I was a boy… even when I was trapped, even when they caged me, I used to dream of one thing. Not revenge, not power. But a little treasure. A child. Someone I could hold safe, protect with everything in me, love with all my heart. Not to be alone anymore, but to be… a nurture.” His voice broke, but he pressed on, eyes searching Zee’s as if terrified and hopeful all at once. “It sounds foolish, doesn’t it? But it’s the truest wish I’ve ever had.”

Zee’s chest clenched, the raw honesty of it cutting straight to him. For a moment he could only look at him—this fox who carried both fragility and fire in the same breath. He brushed his knuckles across Nunew’s flushed cheek, then let a rare, playful smirk curve his mouth.

“Foolish? No, pup. It sounds like a dream worth making true.” His voice dipped lower, threaded with promise. “And if it’s truly what you want… then I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make your dream come true. I’ll give you that little treasure to hold. As many as you want.”

Nunew’s eyes widened, tears spilling down as a laugh trembled out of him. “Zee—”

But Zee caught his mouth in a kiss, slow and reverent, swallowing the rest of his protest. When he drew back, his forehead pressed to Nunew’s, his voice was fierce, unshakable.

“You will never carry that dream alone. It’s ours now. Do you understand? Yours, mine, and someday… theirs.”

Nunew sobbed softly, joy and ache tangled in the sound, and clung to him with both arms. “Then I’m not afraid anymore. Not of heat. Not of anything. If it’s you.”

Zee’s arms tightened around him, as though he could shield him from the world itself. “Good. Because nothing—heat, rut, bond, child—nothing will ever take me from your side. I’ll be here, through it all. Always.”

Nunew whispered back against his chest, voice trembling but steady with conviction: “Then always is what I choose.”

The days after the battle had settled into a rhythm of rebuilding and renewal. The village was quieter now, though life never truly stilled in a place that thrummed with wolf-blood and hearth-fires. Nunew spent his days with a grace that seemed only to expand after unlocking his fox spirit powers. He moved like a soft light across the village, helping mothers with children, comforting elders with his presence, checking on the wounded who still healed. Always smiling, always gentle. And always, Zee’s watchful shadow was never far behind.

Their bond had grown more visible to everyone — not only in the way the pack deferred to Nunew with reverence, but in the way Zee’s hand instinctively found his, or how his gaze followed the snow-fox like an oath sworn silently over and over again.

It was on the morning of the fourth day after the celebrations that the change began.

Nunew stirred before dawn, though not because of noise. His body felt wrong. Heat shimmered under his skin, low and insistent, blooming from the pit of his stomach and spreading outward like wildfire beneath silk. He pressed a hand to his chest and drew a breath, but even the cool air pouring in through the window didn’t soothe the strange fever coiling inside him. His pulse was quick, too quick, and there was a faint ache in his thighs as though something deep in his marrow was preparing itself for a demand he wasn’t ready to voice.

He rolled over, tucking against Zee’s side. His alpha was still asleep, one heavy arm curled protectively around him, breath deep and even. Normally that weight calmed him, but today it made his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t anxiety. His skin prickled everywhere Zee touched, the simple brush of his forearm across Nunew’s waist sparking hot shivers low in his belly.

Nunew swallowed, face warming. He knew. The shaman’s quiet words echoed back to him — your first true heat will come soon, little fox. Do not be afraid of it. It will align with your alpha’s rut, because you are true mates. Trust him, trust yourself.

He pressed his face into Zee’s shoulder and tried to breathe through it. But already the scent was rising off him — sweet and sharp, thick with need, impossible to hide. His fox spirit stirred, restless beneath his skin, illusions threatening to slip from his control as though even his magic wanted to seduce, to call, to bind.

Zee woke with a sharp inhale. One moment asleep, the next entirely alert, like the soldier he was. His hand tightened around Nunew’s waist instinctively, nostrils flaring once. And then his eyes darkened, turning molten gold at the edges as his wolf surged to the surface.

“…Nunew.” His voice was low, rough, almost a growl.

Nunew shivered. “I… I think it’s starting. It’s not fully heat yet, but is defiantly starting.”

The silence stretched heavy between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Zee’s thumb dragged slowly against his hipbone, a touch too firm, as though he was holding back an instinct to grab and claim. His jaw tightened visibly.

“I can smell it,” Zee admitted at last, voice strained. “Your heat. Gods, little fox, it’s—” He cut himself off, exhaling hard, forcing control. His pupils were blown wide, his entire body tense as though every instinct screamed to push Nunew down and bite, to mark him permanent.

Nunew’s hand trembled when he placed it on Zee’s chest. “It feels… strange. Hot. It doesn’t stop. It’s like something inside me is pulling.” His eyes were wide, uncertain but not afraid, shimmering with vulnerability. “Is this… is this how it’s supposed to be?”

Zee leaned down, pressing his forehead to Nunew’s, grounding himself with the touch. “Yes. Although I was only educated about it. It’s your first heat. And because we’re true mates, my rut will follow. It’s already stirring — I can feel it clawing at me. I’ll want to claim you, over and over, until the cycle burns itself out. That’s what happens when the bond is real.” His voice dropped darker, dangerous, though there was no threat in it — only raw truth. “If I touch you now, Nunew, I won’t stop until every wolf in the village knows you’re mine by your scent alone.”

The words made Nunew’s breath catch. His entire body felt strung taut with the ache in his core. He clutched Zee’s tunic, shaking his head weakly. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That admission seemed to break something in Zee. His chest rumbled, a low possessive growl slipping free before he caught it. He kissed Nunew hard, unrestrained for the first time that morning, his tongue demanding, claiming. When he pulled back, his lips were red and his breath uneven.

Nunew flushed, hiding his face against Zee’s chest, though his body trembled with anticipation more than embarrassment.

But then another wave of heat surged through him, stronger than before, ripping a small gasp from his lips. He clung tighter to Zee, his scent blooming fully now, flooding the room with fox-sweet allure. His thighs pressed together helplessly. “Zee… it hurts. I don’t know what to do.”

That was the moment Zee’s control nearly snapped. His wolf surged, growling possessively, every muscle tense. He wrapped his arms around Nunew, holding him tight as though shielding him from the world. “You don’t do anything, little fox. You let me take care of you. You’re mine — mine to soothe, mine to protect, mine to claim. I’ll guide you through it.”

Nunew’s breath hitched, his trust absolute in the way he nodded against Zee’s chest.

And Zee, for all his restraint, knew there was no turning back. The cycle had begun. His mate’s first heat was here, and his rut clawed just beneath the surface, ready to burn through his veins. He would give Nunew what his body craved — but more than that, he would give him permanence, belonging, and the bond of a lifetime.

The storm was only beginning.

The rest of the morning dissolved into a haze of tension. Zee had forbite Nunew to leave the cabin. They tried to make things like they always did but every breath Nunew drew seemed to thicken the air around them, heavy with the cloying sweetness of his heat. Zee could feel it seeping under his skin, burning through his veins, dragging his wolf closer and closer to the surface. It was almost unbearable to stay still, to do nothing, when every instinct screamed at him to claim, to mark, to fill, to protect.

By midday, Nunew could no longer sit upright without trembling. His body betrayed him in waves — flushed skin, lips parted with shallow breaths, eyes clouded with need. The fever ran deep, curling through his belly like fire, aching low in his hips. He clutched the bedding, small whimpers spilling from his throat whenever the surges peaked. His fox spirit shimmered uncontrollably, little wisps of silver illusion breaking free as though even his magic had lost its composure.

“Zee,” he whispered, voice thin. His lashes fluttered when his mate leaned over him, large palm cupping his cheek. “Please… I can’t— it hurts too much.”

Zee’s control cracked another degree. His voice was a growl as he lowered himself, pressing a kiss to Nunew’s damp temple. “You don’t beg me, pup. I won’t let you hurt. I’ll take it away — I’ll give you exactly what your body is screaming for.” His lips brushed against the shell of Nunew’s ear, and the way his mate shivered sent his wolf into a frenzy.

Nunew’s hand fisted in Zee’s tunic. His voice shook. “Then take it. Please. I trust you.”

That was the last tether Zee had. His self-restraint snapped like a bowstring.

In one motion, he claimed Nunew’s mouth in a bruising kiss, one hand sliding down to anchor at his waist, the other braced against the bedding. His tongue pushed deep, dominating, swallowing the needy little sound Nunew made. When he pulled back, his chest was heaving. His eyes glowed gold with his wolf fully risen.

“You’re mine,” Zee rasped, dragging his nose along Nunew’s throat, inhaling the intoxicating scent pouring from him. “Do you understand, Nunew? From this moment, no one will ever touch you, no one will ever scent you, no one will ever think of you without knowing you belong to me.” His teeth grazed delicate skin, drawing a sharp gasp. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Nunew arched helplessly beneath him, his fox shimmering inside him like a halo of silver light. “I’m yours, Zee. Always yours.”

That was all the alpha wolf needed.

Zee stripped them both with a swiftness born of desperation, tossing fabric aside until there was nothing between them but heat and sweat. His hands mapped Nunew’s body reverently, possessively, as though memorizing every curve, every shiver, every tremor. He murmured low praises between kisses — “so beautiful… so soft… mine, all mine…” — until Nunew was pliant and breathless beneath him.

But the alpha in Zee wouldn’t settle for worship alone. His rut demanded more — demanded to stake his claim so thoroughly the village would never doubt who owned this fox.

He positioned himself slowly, deliberately, pressing his forehead to Nunew’s as he aligned them. “This will be intense,” he warned, voice guttural. “Heat and rut together… it won’t be gentle for long. But I swear, little fox, I’ll take care of you. I’ll guide you through every wave.”

Nunew’s wide eyes held nothing but trust. His thighs parted in invitation, trembling but resolute. “Then don’t hold back. I want all of you.”

Zee groaned, a sound torn from deep in his chest, and pushed forward. The first stretch drew a sharp cry from Nunew — not pain, but the overwhelming rush of being filled, completed. His heat-slick body welcomed Zee greedily, clutching tight, as though it had waited a lifetime for this moment.

Zee braced his arms around him, trembling with the effort not to lose control instantly. “Gods— you’re perfect. You were made for me.” His hips rolled once, deep and slow, and Nunew sobbed his name, nails digging into his shoulders.

From there, rhythm gave way to instinct.

Zee moved with mounting ferocity, his thrusts deep, claiming, relentless, until Nunew’s cries turned to broken pleas. Every time Nunew moaned his name, Zee’s wolf snarled approval, driving harder, faster, determined to brand him from the inside out. The room filled with the sound of their bodies meeting, with heat-thickened breaths and the crackle of fox illusions sparking silver across the walls.

Nunew clung desperately, overwhelmed by the fire in his veins, by the delicious ache of being filled again and again. His heat demanded everything — every thrust, every touch, every bite — and only Zee could satisfy it. His fox keened through him, until his eyes glowed faintly silver in the candlelight.

“Zee— I can’t— it’s too much—”

“You can,” Zee growled, snapping his hips harder, sweat dripping down his temples. His teeth grazed Nunew’s shoulder, possessive. “You’ll take every drop I give you. You’re my mate, Nunew. My true mate. Your heat is mine to tame.”

The words alone made Nunew sob, body tightening around him, pulling Zee deeper. His fox spirit wrapped around them both, illusions blurring into reality — flashes of snow, of silver tails, of stars breaking open above them.

Zee’s wolf pushed harder, demanding the final step. His mouth found Nunew’s throat, lips dragging over the vulnerable curve of his neck where his pulse hammered wildly. He bit there lightly, testing, and Nunew’s entire body shuddered.

“Alpha—” His voice was raw, desperate. “Do it. Please. Mark me.”

Zee froze for a heartbeat, because this was the moment — the irreversible choice. The bond-bite. Once sealed, there would be no undoing, no separation in this life or the next. Their souls would fuse.

He drew back just enough to meet Nunew’s eyes. They were luminous with tears, with trust, with love so deep it drowned out everything else. “Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely.

Nunew nodded, clutching his face between trembling hands. “I’ve never been more sure. I want to be yours forever.”

That was all Zee needed.

With a guttural growl, he sank his fangs into Nunew’s neck.

The moment the bite landed, the world shattered. Power exploded outward, his wolf howling inside him, Nunew’s fox crying in unison, their spirits colliding in a blinding rush of light. The bond snapped into place like a chain forged in fire. Zee felt it sink deep into his bones, his blood, binding him to Nunew in every way. He could feel his mate’s heartbeat as though it were his own, his emotions flooding him like a tide.

Nunew cried out. His body tightened hard around Zee, climax crashing through him with such force. His release soaked them, heat peaking, shuddering through him until he nearly went limp.

Zee followed instantly, rut demanding he spill every drop inside his mate. He thrust deep, holding Nunew pinned to the bedding, grinding as he released into him with a roar, biting down harder to seal the bond. His seed filled Nunew, hot and endless, until the alpha’s instincts finally eased, leaving him trembling but sated.

When it was done, he didn’t let go. He stayed buried deep, fangs still resting lightly in Nunew’s neck, his arms wrapped fiercely around him. His wolf refused to withdraw, refused to loosen the claim even for a breath.

Nunew, dizzy and flushed, reached up to stroke his hair. His voice was weak but filled with awe. “The bound…It’s complete, isn’t it?”

Zee lifted his head, licking tenderly over the bite to soothe it. His eyes glowed gold as he smiled down at him, fierce and reverent. “It’s done. You’re mine forever, little fox. No spirit, no god, no fate can undo this now.”

Nunew smiled through tears. “Good. Because I never want to be free.”

Zee kissed him again, slower this time, softer, though the possessive weight of his body never eased. Their bond pulsed between them, alive, humming like a second heartbeat. The first heat had only begun, but they were bound now — alpha and omega, wolf and fox, two souls fused into one.

And neither of them would ever be alone again.

The silence after was almost as overwhelming as the frenzy itself.

Zee’s chest heaved with every breath, sweat dripping onto Nunew’s flushed skin. The air was thick with the mingled scent of wolf and fox, heavy and sweet with mating, with possession, with something irrevocable. The bite on Nunew’s neck throbbed hotly, sealing and glowing faintly where Zee’s fangs had pierced. The mark pulsed in rhythm with their new bond, a steady beat that echoed between them.

Nunew lay beneath him, limp with exhaustion, lashes trembling as he tried to focus. His lips were parted, breaths shallow, skin glowing faintly with the sheen of. Yet even in his exhaustion, his eyes held a softness, a trust that nearly broke Zee.

Zee lowered himself slowly, bracing on his elbows so as not to crush him. His mouth traced the line of Nunew’s jaw, planting gentle kisses after the feral bite that had just claimed him. His voice was low, ragged.

“You’re mine now. Truly mine.” He pressed another kiss to the mark, reverent. “I can feel you, little fox. Everything you feel, every thought, it hums in me. There’s no separation anymore.”

Nunew’s hand trembled as it slid up into Zee’s hair, stroking gently, grounding them both. “I feel it too,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You inside me, not just— here.” He pressed a hand weakly against his belly, where Zee was still buried deep. “But everywhere. My chest. My mind. My soul.” His lips curved faintly. “It’s… warm.”

Zee nearly groaned at the words, at the bond resonating through them like a song. He lowered his forehead against Nunew’s, eyes squeezed shut as his wolf purred contentedly inside. “You don’t know how dangerous it is to say things like that when I can’t get enough of you.”

Nunew gave a breathy laugh that turned into a whimper as Zee shifted slightly inside him. “Zee… I’m still sensitive…”

“Yes,” Zee growled softly, possessive. “But your body hasn’t had enough. I can smell it— your heat’s still burning. You’re still aching for me, even now.”

The words made Nunew blush, his ears flushing crimson. He turned his head slightly as if to hide, but Zee caught his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, though his thumb stroked gently along the curve of Nunew’s jaw. “I want every part of you. Even the ones that are shy.”

Nunew’s lips parted, and through the bond, Zee felt his mate’s heat coil tighter, pulling at him, drawing him in like gravity. The fire hadn’t abated, if anything, it had only settled deeper, demanding more.

When Zee moved a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. Nunew gasped, back arching, nails dragging across Zee’s shoulders. His lashes flicked though urging the alpha on.

“See?” Zee’s voice was husky, almost smug as he kissed the corner of Nunew’s mouth. “Your body won’t let me stop. It needs to be filled again. It needs to be claimed until your heat is satisfied.”

Nunew shivered, torn between embarrassment and desperate need. “It feels… too much. Like I can’t breathe.”

“Then let me breathe for you,” Zee whispered fiercely, kissing him again, swallowing every sound.

The kiss deepened, messy and wet, Nunew’s whimpers muffled as Zee began to move in earnest again. His pace was slower this time, more deliberate, but no less possessive. Every thrust ground deeper, dragging out the sensitivity until Nunew writhed helplessly beneath him, torn between the sting of overstimulation and the sweet burn of pleasure.

Zee’s hand slid down to cradle the back of Nunew’s thigh, pulling it up higher around his waist to sink deeper still. His growl vibrated against Nunew’s lips. “Take me, little fox. Take everything I give you. Don’t fight it.”

Nunew sobbed into his mouth, clutching at him desperately. The bond hummed with waves of pleasure, sending each sensation ricocheting between them. Every gasp Nunew gave only spurred Zee harder, his wolf snarling with satisfaction at the way his mate’s body opened for him again and again.

Their second climax built differently, slower, more drawn out, the bond thrumming louder with every thrust. Nunew’s release came, it was with a broken cry of Zee’s name, his body trembling as he clenched tight around his mate.

Zee followed immediately, spilling into him again with a possessive growl, biting gently at the already-claimed mark on Nunew’s neck. The bond flared brightly, cementing the truth: this wasn’t just heat, wasn’t just rut. This was forever.

When they collapsed together again, Nunew’s fox spirit curled protectively inside him, tails folding like a nest. Zee stroked a hand down his side, soothing. “Rest a little. I’ll guard you. No one will touch you while you’re vulnerable.”

Nunew, half-asleep already, whispered softly, “No one but you.”

Zee smiled against his hair, wolf finally purring with deep satisfaction. “Exactly.”

The first night blurred into dawn in a haze of heat and instinct. Nunew’s body, overwhelmed by the mating cycle, didn’t release him from its grip even after two rounds, nor three, nor the gentle aftercare Zee tried to coax him into. The heat rose like waves that crashed and dragged them both back under, pulling Zee into rut as surely as the bond demanded. Whenever Nunew trembled, slick with sweat and tears, mumbling that it was too much, Zee held him fiercely, whispering that he would carry him through, that his fox spirit was born to be matched with his wolf.

By the time the sun rose and light spilled through the shutters, their bodies had lost track of time. Zee carried Nunew to the bathing pool, washing him slowly, reverently, though every brush of his hands threatened to ignite another round. They dozed between bouts, waking only to be pulled together again, their bond amplifying every touch. Zee’s possessiveness grew sharper with every hour — he couldn’t bear even the thought of letting Nunew leave the nest of furs. When servants came to leave food or water near the door, Zee’s growl rumbled so deep that even the bravest didn’t dare enter.

Nunew, for all his exhaustion, was radiant. The mark on his neck glowed faintly, his fox spirit stronger than Zee had ever seen. He trembled, yes, and sometimes whimpered that he couldn’t take more but every time, when Zee stilled, Nunew tugged him closer again, shy eyes wet and lips parted with need.

The second day was heavier, almost dreamlike. Their cycles had aligned fully by then — the fox in heat and the wolf in rut — and every attempt at resisting ended with them lost in one another. Zee held Nunew against walls, bent over the edge of the bed, sprawled across the furs, every position demanded by their bodies’ desperate need to seal the bond over and over until it was carved into the marrow of their beings. Nunew’s voice grew hoarse from crying out his name, his soft pleas blurring with broken declarations of love.

In one of the rare moments of stillness, as the sun dipped low, Zee brushed hair from Nunew’s damp forehead and kissed his temple. His voice was rough, almost pleading. “Tell me it’s not too much. Tell me I haven’t broken you.”

Nunew, weak but smiling through his haze, whispered, “You couldn’t break me if you tried. You only… fill me. Until I don’t know where I end and you begin.”

By the third day, exhaustion weighed on them both, yet the bond pulled them together in softer ways. The frantic urgency dulled, replaced by something tender but no less intense. Zee moved slower, cherishing every gasp, every shiver. He kissed Nunew everywhere, memorizing the curve of his shoulders, the hollow of his throat, the trembling of his belly under gentle hands. Nunew clung to him with devotion, whimpering when Zee tried to stop, begging him not to leave any space between them. Their bond thrummed with completion, satisfied only after they had been joined so many times that their scents mingled inseparably, the room thick with proof of their union.

When the third dawn came, the fever finally broke. Nunew’s body sagged with relief, his heat subsiding into a gentle warmth that lingered. Zee cradled him, stroking slow circles into his back as the little fox slept in his arms, spent but glowing. The alpha’s chest swelled with pride and a fierce, almost painful love. His mate had survived the first cycle, had chosen to bond permanently, had entrusted him with everything.

Life after those days carried a subtle shift, one the entire pack could feel. When Nunew emerged from their cabin at last, still walking gingerly, cheeks pink with shy awareness of what had transpired, every eye turned to him with reverence. The glow of snow fox had grown stronger; the mark on his neck shone proudly, a symbol that could never be erased.

Zee, standing always at his side, glowed with pride but kept one hand resting lightly on his mate’s lower back, a constant reminder that this treasure belonged to him. Though Nunew’s softness charmed all, Zee’s gaze warned that no one could covet him without consequence.

Three moons had passed since the fever of Nunew’s first heat, and with each day the bond between fox and wolf grew deeper, steadier, more unshakable. Life in the valley had settled into a rhythm that felt almost like a dream.

The mornings found Nunew rising early, slipping quietly from the warmth of Zee’s arms while his mate still slept. He would pad barefoot through the cabin, his curls like silver ribbons behind him, and join the women of the village in their communal courtyard. There, laughter and chatter always floated like music: mothers kneading dough, weaving baskets, cradling infants with soft coos.

Nunew had grown into a beloved figure among them. Though still shy, he carried himself with gentle dignity, offering help wherever it was needed — rocking a baby so a mother could rest her arms, mending a tear in a sling with neat, careful stitches, teaching songs he remembered from his childhood in the fox clans. The children adored him, clinging to his legs, giggling when his tails brushed across their cheeks like tickling feathers.

Zee often stood at a distance in those moments, watching with his heart swelling almost painfully in his chest. His alpha instincts wanted to pull Nunew back into the safety of his arms, to shield him from the world’s eyes, but another part of him knew that this was where his luna shone brightest.

It was during one such morning that the first change came. Nunew had been kneeling beside one of the young mothers, helping to sort herbs laid out in the sun. His fingers worked delicately, separating the fragrant leaves, when suddenly the edges of his vision blurred. His breath caught. For a moment the world tilted, and the sounds of laughter and chatter grew distant.

The mother beside him noticed the pallor washing over his face. “Luna?” she asked softly, reaching to steady him.

He tried to smile, to brush it away. “I… I’m fine. Just a little—”

But before the words finished, his body swayed. The herbs slipped from his hands.

Cries rose as two women caught him before he could collapse. Children gasped, frightened, while one of the older mothers barked for help. It was Jay who came running first, having been nearby with the warriors. His sharp eyes widened as he saw the luna limp in their arms, his delicate features pale, lips parted with shallow breaths.

“Zee,” Jay muttered under his breath, already pulling the carved communicator from his belt. His voice was clipped, urgent, when he pressed the stone to his lips. “Alpha, come quickly. It’s Nunew.”

The bond carried the alarm even before the words reached Zee. His wolf surged with panic, claws scraping against his chest as he sprinted down from the council house, heart hammering. When he reached the courtyard, the sight of his mate being lifted carefully by the mothers made his vision go red at the edges.

“Put him in my arms,” Zee growled, though his voice cracked with fear. They obeyed at once, and Nunew sagged against his chest, eyelids fluttering weakly.

Zee pressed frantic kisses to his damp forehead. “Stay with me, little fox. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Nunew’s lashes trembled. He whispered faintly, “It’s nothing… I just stood too quickly…”

But Zee heard the thinness of his voice, the fragility of his body, and his wolf howled in refusal. This was not nothing. This was his mate in danger.

That night, and for many that followed, Nunew stayed nestled in their bed, Zee never once leaving his side.

Zee kept vigil like a sentinel through the night, his body never straying from Nunew’s side. The cabin’s lantern burned low, shadows flickering across the walls, but still the alpha’s sharp eyes never left his mate. Every shift of breath, every tremor of lashes, every faint sound had him leaning closer, whispering assurances that Nunew was safe. His wolf prowled restlessly beneath his skin, growling at the thought of weakness touching his luna.

But Nunew, ever gentle, smiled through the haze of fatigue. “You’re worrying too much, my alpha,” he murmured, voice a thread of sound. “I’ve worked harder than usual. The children are… very spirited. Perhaps I just need rest.”

“Rest,” Zee repeated grimly, his hand cupping the side of Nunew’s face. He could feel the warmth of his mate’s skin, not feverish, yet not right either. “You’ll rest, and you won’t lift another basket or carry another herb until I say so.”

Nunew’s laugh was weak but tender, like sunlight through mist. “The mother will call me lazy and tell that you are spoiling me again!”

“Let them talk,” Zee snapped, though he softened the words with a kiss pressed to his mate’s lips. “You belong to me, not to their gossip. I will not see you faint again.”

Despite his fierce words, the unease in Zee’s chest grew heavier over the next days. Nunew did rest, curled among silken blankets. But he tired too easily, drifting into sleep when he should have been awake, eating less, drinking little. Sometimes his fingers tightened on Zee’s hand as though seeking an anchor, and each time, the alpha felt his own heart clench like a fist.

Jay came often, checking on him, and the worry in his younger brother’s eyes only deepened Zee’s dread. The healers tried teas and poultices, but Nunew’s fragility persisted. A week passed, and with it came whispers in the village, the kind that even warriors could not silence: that the luna’s strength was fading.

At last, in desperation, Zee summoned the Shaman. The old woman came at dawn, robes woven with feathers and beads that rattled with every step. Her eyes, clouded with age, seemed to see far deeper than flesh. She entered the cabin without hesitation, carrying a bundle of herbs and a carved staff adorned with fox tails, sacred relics of the spirits.

Zee watched like a predator as the Shaman approached the bed where Nunew lay propped against pillows, pale yet still smiling with quiet grace. His wolf bristled at letting another near his mate, but he forced himself to stay still, because this was their only hope.

“Little one,” the Shaman greeted softly, bowing her head to Nunew. “You carry more than your own soul within you. The spirits are strong around you… stronger than I have seen in many lifetimes.”

Nunew blinked, uncertain. His fingers clutched Zee’s hand. “More than… my own soul?”

The Shaman’s lips curved with reverence. She placed his staff gently against Nunew’s chest, closed his eyes, and whispered words in the old tongue, a chant that stirred the air with unseen power. The beads on his robes trembled, and for a moment, the glow of foxfire shimmered faintly around Nunew’s body, soft as dawn light.

Then the Shaman opened his eyes and smiled, tears brimming in their depths. “It is not sickness that weakens you, child. It is life. The Mother of Spirits has blessed you.”

Zee stiffened, heart slamming painfully in his chest. “What do you mean?” His voice came out rough, almost broken.

The Shaman turned to him, eyes bright. “Your luna carries the seed of your bond. He is with child. The first child of fox and wolf — the future of your clan.”

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Zee’s world narrowed to the sight of Nunew’s wide eyes, his lips parted in stunned disbelief. Then his mate’s hand flew instinctively to his belly, trembling fingers pressing against the flat plane of his stomach as though he could already feel the tiny spark of life there.

“Pregnant…?” Nunew whispered, the word shaking as if it were too fragile to be real.

Zee dropped to his knees beside the bed, his great warrior’s frame trembling as though struck. He pressed his forehead to Nunew’s stomach, arms encircling his waist, voice breaking as he spoke. “My luna… my love… you’ve given me everything. Everything.”

Tears slipped down Nunew’s cheeks, his hands weaving into Zee’s hair, pulling him close. “A-alpha…, his voice a choked whisper. “The little treasure that I always dreamed of. And now…” His breath caught, and he buried his face in his mate’s shoulder. “Now it’s real.”

The moment the Shaman’s announcement spread through the village, joy erupted like thunder. Drums beat, children danced, women wept openly, warriors shouted blessings to the sky. The news of the luna’s pregnancy swept through the valley as though carried on the wind itself, and by evening, the entire pack had gathered outside the cabin, their voices raised in celebration.

“Blessed be the luna!” they cried. “Blessed be the fox spirit! Blessed be the child of wolf and fox!”

The mothers brought offerings of silks embroidered with protective charms, jewelry carved from bone and amber, baskets overflowing with fruits and sweetmeats. Warriors laid down their blades at the cabin’s steps in solemn oath to guard not only their alpha but the life growing within the luna. Children wove garlands of wildflowers and hung them over the doorway, giggling with joy.

Nunew, though overwhelmed, greeted them all with gentle smiles and soft words, shy warmth. To the villagers, he had become more than luna now — he was a spiritual guide, a symbol of divine blessing, a living bridge between fox spirits and wolf warriors.

That night, when the clamor had faded and only the hush of crickets remained, Zee drew Nunew into the quiet of their cabin. He led him to the hearth where the fire burned low and knelt before him, hands cradling his mate’s face as though it were made of glass.

“You carry my heart, Nunew,” he whispered hoarsely. “Now you carry my child too. Do you know what that means to me? That the bond we sealed will live in flesh, in blood? That our love will walk this earth with tiny feet?”

Nunew’s eyes glistened, his smile soft, luminous. “It means everything. I was afraid once that I would never belong anywhere, that I would only ever be a cage for others’ desires. But with you… with this child… I am free. I am whole. I am loved.”

Zee leaned forward, pressing his lips to Nunew’s, slow and reverent, pouring all of his soul into that kiss. “You will never be a cage, little fox. You are a sanctuary. For me, for our child, for this entire clan.” His voice softened into a playful murmur, a promise carried between them. “And you will have as many treasures that you want. I will give you them all.”

Nunew laughed through his tears, pressing his forehead to his alpha’s. “As many treasures as the spirits allow.”

Outside, the night sang with the echo of celebration, but inside the cabin, there was only the warmth of two souls bound beyond time — a fox spirit reborn in gentleness, a wolf alpha tempered by devotion, and the fragile, wondrous beginning of new life growing quietly within them.