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They gathered at dusk.

Mist still clung to the ground, pale and low, softening the edges of the pack grounds as if the land itself wished to blur what was about to be lost.

Fae stood near the old stone marker, hands folded, her satchel resting at her feet with the rest of her bags. Her stone sickle lay in its wooden case.

The alpha-born had come earlier.

She still felt the echo of it—the elder's fingers steady as they worked, the needle biting into the sensitive pad of her finger. The protection seal had been inked into the tip, small and precise, a symbol older than any written law.

Under the alpha's protection.Untouchable.

It was rarely given to honoured wolves travelling to far-off lands.

The Highclaw had watched the final mark settle into her skin and nodded once. "You are claimed by law," he said simply. "As an honoured packmate under my protection."

It would be enough to see her safe as she crossed pack boundaries.

Her path here had begun quietly, almost by accident.

Months ago, a travelling woodworker had passed through the craft market where Fae had displayed her work. He was human and sharp-eyed, his hands marked by years of honest craft. He had trained in a remote village in the eastern land, renowned for its woodworkers and blacksmiths, where craft was passed down generations and skill had to be learned at the master’s feet.

He had spent a long time examining one of her pieces and bought it without bargaining. He had left a letter of recommendation to learn the art under his master if she was interested. She had flushed then and just shook her head.

Later, she had a letter from him, explaining that he had shown it to his mentor. That had been enough.

A message came: You may submit a request to apprentice.

But such a request needed to be made in person with the proper respect. And there were no guarantees that the master would accept her. But she wanted—no, needed—to take that chance.

Only those who were invited were permitted to ask.

Her students had come to say their goodbyes in a small, uncertain cluster.

Children she had taught to carve straight lines, to read grain, to understand the wood before shaping it. They brought awkward bundles—poorly wrapped tokens, bits of twine, a charm carved crooked but with heart.

"We'll practice," one promised solemnly."Without cutting any fingers," said another, mirroring her instructions.A third hugged her waist fiercely and refused to let go until they were gently pried away.

Fae knelt, touching foreheads, whispering blessings as she kept her tears at bay.

Myra had stood a little apart.

She waited until the children had gone before stepping forward. From beneath her cloak, she drew out a ruby pendant, the stone as dark and as deep as old blood, set in worn silver.

"This has been in the family for almost a thousand years," she said quietly. "Passed down from mother to eldest daughter, sometimes from mate to mate. It is said to lend protection to its wearer." She let out a sigh. "It is yours."

Fae tried to give it back, but Myra fastened it herself, fingers brushing Fae's collarbone with reverent care. "I failed you," she added, not asking for forgiveness. "But I consider you the daughter of my heart. Come back to me when you are ready."

Fae inclined her head.

Lisna embraced her next, fiercely, breath hitching. "Come back, sister," she whispered, already knowing that Fae might not.

Sion said nothing; instead, he clasped Fae's forearm, warrior to warrior, eyes burning with promises he did not voice.

Maxen inclined his head once more. He had hugged her tight earlier and told her that there would always be a place in the pack for her.

There were absences Fae did not look for.