The first few nights, I dreamed of screams.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw fire. My father’s body. The Blood Moon bleeding into the trees. I’d wake gasping, nails clawing the sheets, wolf snarling inside my chest like it wanted to tear its way out.

Mara said it would pass. It didn’t. You don’t sleep away that kind of pain. You bury it under exhaustion until it stops clawing so hard.

The Ironclaw pack wasn’t what I expected. They were rough, loud, scared but loyal. Every one of them carried a story written in blood, same as me. Kane’s leadership showed in their eyes: discipline but not fear. They respected him because he’d earned it, not because he demanded it.

That made me trust him less.

I knew what power did to wolves. I’d seen how it twisted good men into monsters.

It took weeks before I could walk without limping. The first time I left the cabin, the air hit me like a slap — cold, clean, full of pine and smoke. Pups ran past chasing a stick, yipping, and snapping. Older wolves trained near the clearing, their movements sharp and controlled.

Kane was there, shirt off, sparring with one of his lieutenants. He moved like something born from the wild — powerful but measured, like every motion had purpose. When he noticed me, he stopped, wiping sweat from his jaw.

“You’re healing,” he said.

I crossed my arms. “I’m trying.”

He nodded. “Trying’s a start. But survival isn’t enough. Not if you want to control what’s inside you.”

I frowned. “And what’s inside me?”

He smirked. “A wolf that’s still running from the fire.”

The words hit harder than I wanted them to. I turned away before he could see my expression. “Maybe she has a reason to run.”

Kane chuckled quietly. “Then make her strong enough to stop.”

He started training me the next morning.

I didn’t ask — he just showed up at the cabin at dawn, tossed me a wooden blade, and said, “Swing until your arms shake.”

The first week was hell. My body was sore in ways I didn’t know were possible. Every muscle screamed, every breath burned. But pain was familiar — it reminded me I was still alive.

He never went easy on me. Every mistake, every hesitation, he called out. Yet beneath the grit, there was patience. When I fell, he waited. When I snapped, he didn’t retaliate. He just watched me until the storm inside settled.

“You’ve got fight,” he said once after I nearly knocked the blade from his hand. “But fight without control is just noise.”

I spat dirt from my mouth. “Noise can still hurt.”

He smiled faintly. “Not enough to lead.”

The word lead made my heart stutter. I swallowed it down before it could show.

Weeks turned into months. I learned to channel my rage into precision — to strike, not lash. To track without scent. To shift faster, quieter, smarter. I still woke from nightmares, but now I trained until dawn instead of screaming.

One night, after a particularly brutal session, Kane sat beside me by the fire.

“You don’t talk much,” he said.

“Not much to say.”

He studied me for a long time. “You carry ghosts.”

“Don’t we all?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Difference is, you still think yours define you.”

The silence stretched. Then he added, voice softer, “You don’t have to be who the past made you, Lyra. You get to decide what kind of wolf you’ll be.”

My throat tightened. I looked into the flames and said quietly, “And what kind were you?”

“The kind who destroyed everything he touched,” he said. “Until I got tired of burying bodies.”

There was no pride in his tone — just weary honesty. And for the first time since that night, I let myself believe change might be possible.

That winter, I stopped being the wounded girl by the river.

The others started calling me Redfang — because of the scars along my jaw and the way I fought when cornered. I wore the name like armor. The Silverfang name stayed buried, tucked away where no one could use it against me.

But at night, when the moon hung low and the forest was quiet, I’d whisper it to myself — not as a curse, but a promise.

I would take back what was stolen.

I would stand where my father fell.

And when the time came, I’d face the monster who’d taken everything.

Only this time, I wouldn’t run.