POV: Soraya
The first thing I feel is softness. That alone tells me something is wrong. The last thing I remember is the sand swallowing my blood, the thud of arrows in my flesh, and the world tilting as my wolf collapsed. I had been fading—truly fading—certain my story ended somewhere between Ashra borders and human lands.
But softness means survival.
I open my eyes slowly. A carved stone ceiling hangs above me, curved in shapes I’ve never seen in Ashra—flowing arches, crescent symbols, patterns like starlight etched into rock. Blue-tinted lanterns glow from the walls, turning everything into a quiet, moonlit dream.
I push myself up on trembling elbows.
Pain flares in my ribs and shoulder, bandaged tightly. Someone cleaned me, tended me, wrapped me carefully enough that even breathing doesn’t hurt as much as it should. The bed beneath me is wide and carved from deep, dark wood. Silken sheets cling to my skin.
I’m alive.
But I am not in Ashra.
The scents floating through the room—herbs, smoke, night-blooming flowers—are unfamiliar. The air feels charged, humming faintly against my skin. My wolf stirs inside me, alert but not fearful.
I’m somewhere… known to her.
My gaze drifts to the open window. The dunes outside shimmer not gold, but faintly blue, as if starlight seeped into every grain of sand. It’s beautiful. Unnatural. Ancient.
Then voices drift from just outside the door.
“…she shifted back alone. Surprising, considering the poison.”
“And her eyes? Did you see them?”
“Bright as the stories.”
The door creaks open.
A tall man enters first. He moves with the quiet confidence of a predator at ease—broad shoulders, bronzed skin, robes of midnight fabric edged with silver thread. His hair is tied back at the nape. Power rolls off him, steady and controlled. But what captures me—what roots me—is his eyes.
Silver, flecked with pale blue.
Zehrael eyes.
“Good,” he says, voice deep and even. “You’re awake.”
A woman stands behind him—scarred cheek, braided hair, gaze curious and guarded—but she says nothing. Her attention stays fixed on me, assessing.
My throat feels dry. “Where… am I?”
The man steps fully into the room. “Safe,” he says first. Then, with a respectful incline of his head, “You are in my stronghold. On Zehrael land.”
My heart stalls.
“That’s impossible,” I whisper. “Zehrael… they’re gone. Everyone knows the tribe was wiped out decades ago.”
“Most,” he corrects softly. “Not all.”
I stare at him, as if the truth might crack open somewhere in his expression. But all I see is certainty. And something else—a quiet grief beneath the strength.
“You’re lying,” I say, but it comes out weaker than intended.
He cocks his head slightly. “I’ve no reason to lie to a girl who nearly bled to death on my border.”
Heat rises in my face. My wolf stirs again—not wary, but curious, drawn.
I force myself upright, wincing. “You saved me.”
He nods once. “My patrol found you half-shifted, bleeding into the sand. Humans were close.” His jaw tightens. “If they had reached you first, you wouldn’t be breathing now.”
Images flash through my mind—arrows slicing through the air, shouts of “desert demon,” my wolf staggering beneath the weight of wounds. I swallow hard.
“Thank you,” I manage.
The woman behind him mutters, “She’s polite. That’s unexpected.”
The man shoots her a look, and she lifts her hands in mock surrender before slipping out the door.
I face him again. “Who are you?”
“Baltimus,” he answers. “Alpha of the Zehrael pack.”
A Zehrael. A living Zehrael. Standing in front of me.
I whisper his name again, like it might vanish if spoken too loudly. My heart feels too big for my chest. “How… how did you all survive?”
Baltimus steps closer, folding his arms. “We hid. We endured. While the desert tore itself apart, we withdrew into the dunes. Those who hunted us believed we were gone. Sometimes, believing a lie is easier than seeking a truth.”
I blink back sudden emotion. “All these years… an entire pack still alive.”
“Fewer than we once were,” he says quietly. “But alive. And watching.”
“Watching what?” I ask.
“You.” His gaze sharpens. “The moment your wolf awakened, it sent shockwaves across the sands. Zarek’s movements. Ashra’s unrest. Prophecies whispered awake. You are not subtle, Soraya Zehrael.”
I look down at my hands. “I never asked for any of this.”
“No catalyst ever does,” he replies. “But the desert does not choose lightly.”
Silence settles between us.
“What do you want with me?” I ask finally.
“For now, nothing but for you to heal.” He gestures to my bandages. “The arrows were coated with a toxin that disrupts shifting. You fought through it. Not many could.”
“And after I heal?”
Baltimus studies me with those bright, unreadable eyes. “Afterward, I will ask you to learn who you truly are. To understand your power. Your heritage. Your place among us.”
I shake my head. “I’m not— I can’t be what you expect.”
“We expect nothing,” he assures. “But we offer truth. And family. You have not had much of either.”
The word family stings—sweetly, painfully.
My mother’s face flickers in my memory. Her warning. Her death. My father’s betrayal. Every moment that carved me into the girl who fled into another pack’s protection.
Baltimus’s voice softens. “You’ve been alone for a long time, Soraya. Even when surrounded by others.”
I say nothing.
“And now?” he asks. “You are among your own.”
Emotion swells in my throat, heavy and dangerous. “Raevan will look for me,” I whisper. “Ashra will panic if they think I’m dead.”
“Raevan of Ashra has storms of his own,” Baltimus says. “Zarek grows stronger. Azhara carries his child. The elders tremble. You disappearing may change everything—or nothing.”
I close my eyes, the ache of those words too sharp.
Baltimus watches me again, but this time with something gentler. Something like understanding. “Your place in this war is not beside Raevan,” he says quietly. “Not yet.”
My voice shakes. “Then where is it?”
He extends a hand, palm open.
“With your people,” he says. “If you choose us.”
I stare at his hand.
At the sigils glowing faintly on the walls. At the blue sand beyond the window. At the home I never knew existed.
Maybe fate wasn’t breaking me. Maybe it was bringing me back to where I started.