Daughter of Ash and Flame

Episode Three

The clearing had emptied, leaving Ava alone with the stacked firewood and her thoughts. The faint hum of whispers and laughter from the packhouse floated through the cool air, but she stayed where she was, savoring the quiet. She didn't notice John until his shadow stretched across the logs beside her.

"Do you always let them push you around like that?" he asked, his tone sharp with curiosity rather than accusation.

Ava turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. She knew who he was—John, the Alpha's son. His presence carried an air of command, even at his young age, though he wasn't yet the full embodiment of the authority he would someday inherit.

"What do you mean?" Ava asked.

John crossed his arms, studying her. "I mean, you let them chase you, let them gang up on you. Why don't you fight back?"

Ava raised her head slightly, so her gaze met his. "I don't need to fight them," she said. "Running works just fine."

The response caught him off guard. He was used to wolves who bristled at challenges, who showed their strength or obedience depending on the situation. Not Ava.

"Running makes you look weak," he said, testing her reaction.

Ava raised an eyebrow. "Does it? They're the ones who can't catch me."

John blinked, caught off guard by her. He had been watching her for weeks now, curious about the way she carried herself—quiet, deliberate, always a step ahead of those who tried to corner her. She was nothing like the other pups, who either fell in line or fought tooth and claw to climb the pack's hierarchy. Ava didn't seem interested in either.

It intrigued him, though he would never admit it out loud.

"My mother says I shouldn't talk to you," John said after a moment, his tone almost challenging, as if expecting her to care.

"Then don't," Ava replied, turning back to the firewood as if the conversation were already over.

John's mouth fell ajar. No one brushed him off like that. He was the Alpha's son, the future leader of the pack. Everyone listened to him. Everyone except her, apparently.

He stepped closer, his hands on his hips. "I'm going to be Alpha one day, you know. You should listen to me."

Ava glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "Then be Alpha now," she said.

"What?"

"You're not Alpha yet," she continued, returning to her work. "So why should I listen to you just because you command me?"

John felt his frustration bubbling. He wasn't used to this—this calm defiance that wasn't even defiance, just... indifference.

"Because I said so!" he snapped.

Ava paused, straightened, and turned to face him fully.

"Does that usually work?" she asked, her tone so neutral it almost sounded genuine.

John flushed. "What?"

"Yelling at people," Ava clarified, crossing her arms. "Does it usually make them do what you want?"

His face burned, and for a moment, he didn't know what to say. She wasn't mocking him, but her calmness was somehow worse. It made him feel... small, like she could see through him in ways no one else ever had.

"I'm not yelling," he muttered, his voice quieter now.

"Okay," Ava said with a shrug, as if it didn't matter to her either way. "Probably for the best. An alpha who yells, and commands, and bullies isn't much of an alpha. If you are going to be an Alpha some day, you might as well act like one now."

John scowled, but he didn't leave. Instead, he sat on one of the logs, watching her as she started rearranging the stack again. After a moment, he spoke, his tone softer. "Why do you wear all those layers?"

"I'm cold," Ava said simply.

"It's not that cold," he said, glancing at her scarf and jacket.

"For you, maybe."

The conversation lapsed into silence again, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable. John found himself watching her hands as she moved the logs, her slender arms belying the strength she had shown earlier when she had practically thrown one of Malric's cronies across the clearing.

"You're stronger than you look," he said eventually.

Ava didn't look up. "I know."

"You're faster than anyone else too."

"I know that too."

Her confidence wasn't boastful—it was matter-of-fact, like stating the color of the sky or the direction of the wind. John found it oddly refreshing, even if it annoyed him at the same time.

"My mother says you're strange," he said, testing her again.

Ava shrugged. "I am."

He had expected her to deny it or try to defend herself, but as he suspected, Ava didn't seem interested in proving anything to him or anyone else.

"I think you're interesting," he said finally, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Ava glanced at him, her eyes flicking over his face like she was trying to decide if he meant it. "You're different from Malric," she said after a moment.

John frowned. "How?"

"You're curious, not cruel," she said, her tone as calm as ever. "But you also try too hard at things."

John stared at her, unsure whether to feel insulted or intrigued. In the end, he couldn't help but grin. "You're really weird, you know that?"

Ava's lips twitched slightly, the barest hint of a smile. "I know."

From that moment, John decided Ava was worth knowing. The two became nearly inseparable. He was one of the few who dared to bridge the gap her oddness created, and Ava, though reserved, slowly began to trust him in return. At first, their connection seemed improbable. John was the future Alpha, full of energy and bravado, while Ava was quiet, calculating, and content to observe from the sidelines. Yet something about their differences made them click in a way neither could have predicted.

Their bond quickly grew, much to the Luna's dismay.

"You're spending too much time with that girl," she scolded John one evening, her tone sharp as she straightened his collar before a pack dinner. "It's not good for your image. You're going to be Alpha one day. You should be leading, not... entertaining strays."

"She's not a stray," John said, his jaw tightening.

"She's not one of us," his mother snapped, her voice low but venomous. "She doesn't belong here, and she never will."

John didn't argue further—he'd learned long ago that defying his mother outright only made her more determined. Instead, he bit his tongue and escaped as soon as he could, retreating to the woods where Ava was waiting.

She was sitting on a low rock near a stream, her eyes scanning the water as the sunlight danced across its surface. Ava didn't look up when John approached, but she spoke anyway. "She doesn't like me."

John sighed, dropping onto the ground beside her. "She doesn't like anyone who doesn't fit into her perfect little pack."

Ava's lips twitched slightly in what might have been a smile. "That includes you sometimes, doesn't it?"

"Definitely," John muttered, leaning back on his hands. "Especially when I refuse to listen to her."

Ava glanced at him, her gaze steady. "You should listen. She's your mother."

"She's also wrong," John said firmly. He turned to look at her, his expression serious. "You belong here, Ava. Whether she likes it or not."

For a moment, Ava didn't reply. Then she nodded, a small but genuine gesture. "Thanks."

"Now," John said, his grin mischievous, "shall we move to something funner?"

Ava raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with faint amusement. "Funner isn't a word, John."

"I'm aware," he said, rocking back on his heels. "I'm taking a page out of Ava's 'I don't care' book. It makes life funner, don't you think?"

Ava rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched upward in the barest glimpse of a smile. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're too serious," John shot back. He stepped closer, leaning in conspiratorially. "So, here's the deal: I'm giving myself a ten-second head start. If you can't catch me, I win. If you catch me..." He hesitated, clearly fishing for stakes.

"I win," Ava said simply.

John frowned. "That's it? No dramatic consequences?"

"I'm not the one who needs to prove something," she said, teasingly.

"Oh, it's on," John said, his grin widening. He turned, sprinting into the woods without another word.

Ava counted aloud, her tone slow and deliberate. "One... two... three..."

By the time she reached ten, the forest had swallowed John, his footsteps fading into the distance. She stood still for a moment, then she bolted.

John had made it farther than she expected, weaving through the dense underbrush with surprising speed. He wasn't as fast as Ava—he knew that—but he had other skills. He zigzagged to confuse her trail and used fallen logs and low branches to his advantage, hoping to buy himself just enough time.

"Can't catch me, Ava!" he called over his shoulder, his voice carrying through the trees.

Ava didn't respond. She didn't need to. Her senses honed in on his movements—the way the air shifted as he passed, the faint sound of his breathing, the leaves disturbed in his wake. Her steps were light and silent, her lean frame moving with a grace that seemed almost unnatural. She slipped through the forest like a shadow, her scarf trailing behind her as she closed the gap between them.

John glanced back and cursed under his breath. She was closer than he'd thought.

"Too slow, John," Ava called, her voice calm and even, as if she wasn't running at all.

"Not yet!" he shouted, putting on a burst of speed.

He vaulted over a fallen tree, his feet skidding slightly on the damp ground as he landed. He knew he couldn't outrun her forever, so he aimed for a small thicket of bushes ahead. If he could lose her in the dense brush, he might stand a chance.

But Ava had already anticipated his move. She veered left, cutting across his intended path like a predator cornering its prey. John yelped in surprise as she appeared in front of him, her face beaming with triumph.

"Got you," she said, her voice light but tinged with satisfaction.

John tried to dodge, but Ava was faster. She lunged, grabbing his arm and twisting just enough to unbalance him. He stumbled, laughing despite himself, and fell backward into the soft moss.

Ava stood over him, her breathing steady and her scarf slightly askew. "You lose."

John grinned up at her, his chest heaving from the exertion. "You didn't even give me a chance."

"You had ten seconds," Ava said, crossing her arms. "That's more than enough."

John propped himself up on his elbows, still smiling. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I know," Ava said, her tone matter-of-fact as she got up and started back towards the packhouse.

"Next time, I'm setting a trap," John declared, brushing leaves from his hair. "Something you can't just outrun."

"Good luck," Ava said, turning back toward the clearing. "You'll need it."

John watched her go, shaking his head with a laugh. She always won, but somehow, he didn't mind. Not really. For Ava, winning was effortless—but for John, the fun was in the chase.

"You're like a ghost," John had said, after failing to catch her for the third time that week. "How do you do that?"

Ava had shrugged, her eyes suddenly glinting with quiet amusement. "You're not bad," she admitted. "For someone so loud."

"Loud?" he echoed, offended.

"You breathe too hard when you run," Ava said, dodging the playful shove he aimed at her.