Misery stood at the edge of the pack’s territory, her legs trembling beneath her but not from fatigue this time. The familiar scent of werewolves filled the air, mingled with the crispness of the forest. The sight of the pack’s perimeter—watchtowers built into the trees and warriors patrolling the borders—stirred a bittersweet feeling in her chest. This was home once, and yet it wasn’t. Not anymore.
As she stepped forward, the guards stationed nearby immediately noticed her presence. Two hulking wolves in human form stepped out from behind a tree, their claws flexing and their stances defensive. Their amber eyes fixed on her with suspicion.
“Stop right there,” one of them growled, his voice low and dangerous. “State your name and your purpose.”
Misery held her hands up slowly, showing she was unarmed. Her voice was calm but firm as she replied, “My name is Misery. I need to speak to Eryon. It’s about our child.”
The guards exchanged uneasy glances, their growls growing louder. One of them took a step closer, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air around her.
“Misery is dead,” he said coldly. “You’re just another trick sent by the Shadowbound. A corpse brought back to bait us.”
“I’m not dead,” Misery snapped, her silver eyes flashing. “And I’m no trick. Let me in, or you’ll never know the truth.”
The guard narrowed his eyes. “Prove it,” he demanded.
Misery stepped forward, her movements deliberate as she bared her neck slightly, revealing an old scar—a mark Eryon would recognize.
“Eryon will know me,” she said. “Take me to him. If you’re so certain I’m lying, let him be the judge.”
The guards hesitated, their distrust palpable. Finally, one of them motioned to the other. “Fine. But if you’re trying anything, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
They flanked her on either side as they led her toward the heart of the pack’s territory. Misery kept her head high, refusing to let their suspicion shake her. But as she walked, the murmurs of other wolves reached her ears.
“Who is that?”
“Is she…?”
“No, she can’t be. Misery’s dead.”
The whispers grew louder as more wolves emerged from their homes, their eyes wide with disbelief or narrowed with hostility. Misery ignored them, focusing on the familiar structures ahead. The pack’s main hall stood at the center, a towering building of wood and stone that had been rebuilt and reinforced since she had last seen it.
Her heart ached at the sight, both for the memories it stirred and for the unfamiliarity that now surrounded it. She didn’t belong here anymore. Not fully.
When they reached the doors of the main hall, one of the guards pushed them open with a loud creak. “Let’s see what the elders have to say,” he muttered.
Misery straightened her shoulders, preparing herself for whatever awaited inside.