EPISODE 6 : PREVAILED
1030 Words
The morning sun cut through the forest in harsh slashes of gold and green, but it did nothing to soften the tension hanging over Rowan’s territory. The air smelled of smoke and wet earth, and the distant hum of the city reminded me we were never as isolated as we liked to think.
Rowan led me along a narrow path between thick pine and brambles. My muscles still ached from last night’s fight, but I welcomed the pain—it reminded me I was alive, powerful, and unbroken.
“You’ve been reckless,” Rowan said without looking at me, his tone calm but carrying the weight of authority. “Last night, you could have died. Or worse, lost control.”
I kept my gaze forward. “I didn’t lose control. Not once.” My voice was steady, but inside, my wolf was roaring with anticipation. She had tasted blood. She wanted more.
Rowan glanced at me, sharp eyes cutting. “Control isn’t about winning fights. It’s about survival. And diplomacy. Do you understand?”
I didn’t answer immediately. Diplomacy had never been my strong suit. Betrayal and blood had always spoken louder. But I nodded once, letting the wolf calm just enough.
We reached the edge of the main clearing where Rowan’s pack trained and patrolled. Wolves of all ages move in measured motions, some in combat drills, others in stealth exercises. They paused when we arrived, eyes flicking at me, murmurs passing through the group.
Mara stepped forward, her wolf coiled like a spring. “She’s staying,” Mara said to a smaller wolf beside her, tone more neutral than usual. “But she proves nothing yet.”
I felt my jaw tighten. Prove nothing? I had fought Grayridge. Exile hadn’t broken me. I had survived the coyotes. And yet, in this pack, I was still under scrutiny.
Rowan placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll train today,” he said. “Learn their rhythms. Learn your limits. We have Grayridge to worry about, yes, but we also have the politics you haven’t even seen yet.”
“Politics?” I echoed.
He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he walked to the center of the clearing, signaling to the rest of the pack to form a circle. “Everyone,” he called, “meet our new asset.”
I flinched at the word. Asset. Wolves weren’t tools. They were power. Alive. Dangerous.
Rowan’s gaze met mine, dark and unreadable. “Her wolf isn’t ordinary,” he said. “She survived exile. She broke silver. She fought a coyote pack and Grayridge in one night. Respect that.”
The circle of wolves shifted, murmuring low and tense. Some nodded. Others stared, skeptical. I felt the weight of their judgment pressing down like a physical force.
Training began immediately.
Rowan paired me with Mara first. Mara’s movements were precise, almost surgical. She attacked with speed and efficiency, forcing me to anticipate, block, counter, and strike without hesitation. My wolf surged, instincts firing in sync with Rowan’s earlier lessons.
“You’re fast,” Mara admitted mid-combat. “But your control is sloppy. You think too much.”
“You talk too much,” I shot back, ducking under her swing and countering with a swift strike to her shoulder.
Mara’s wolf growled, not in anger, but in appreciation. That small acknowledgment fueled me. Every strike, every dodge, every shift I made was a declaration: I was no longer a powerless exile.
After hours, Rowan called a halt. My body ached. Every muscle burned. My palms were raw. My wolf circled inside me, restless but satisfied.
Rowan’s tone was softer this time. “We will move tomorrow at first light. Grayridge will try to reclaim you. They won’t care about your bond with me. They won’t care about survival. All they’ll see is power.”
I clenched my fists. “I don’t care if they come. I’ll tear them apart.”
“Good,” he said. But there was something behind his eyes I didn’t understand. Concern? Strategy? Something deeper.
That night, the camp was unusually quiet. Mara and the others rested, but Rowan and I stayed at the edge of the forest, watching the horizon where Grayridge had retreated.
“You think Liam will come?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. He’s loyal to his pack, not you.”
I felt a flicker of anger and betrayal ignite inside me. The boy I trusted, trained with, and once counted on had abandoned me—twice. Once with Grayridge, once in exile.
Rowan’s hand brushed mine lightly. Not comforting. Not protective. But something changed between us. Something unspoken. “Power attracts enemies,” he said softly. “And the people you think are friends. Never forget that.”
I nodded. His words sank deep. My wolf hummed inside me, tense, alive, ready.
Sleep came reluctantly. Dreams were a battlefield.
I saw Grayridge wolves, Liam at the forefront, faces twisted with anger and confusion. Chains wrapped around my limbs. Fire licked the edges of the clearing. I screamed, shifting involuntarily in the dream, claws raking at nothing but air.
A soft voice interrupted the chaos. “You’re not alone.”
I opened my eyes. Rowan. Standing over me. His wolf brushed against mine. His presence calmed the dream, anchored it.
“You can’t fight alone,” he said. “Not yet. But you’re strong enough to start.”
I swallowed, remembering every betrayal, every exile, every time someone had tried to break me. “I don’t need saving,” I said.
“No,” he admitted, “but you need someone who understands what you are.”
Something shifted in the air, heavy and intimate, dangerous in ways I didn’t want to name. Trust, respect, and something else—something neither of us acknowledged but both felt.
I closed my eyes. My wolf purred softly inside me. Strength. Unforgiveness. Survival. Power.
Tomorrow, Grayridge will come. Tomorrow, Liam might stand against me.
But I wasn’t the same girl who had been exiled.
I was Nyra.
And wolves didn’t forgive, didn’t forget, and most of all… didn’t yield.
- Writer
