Prologue
The breeze between the trees was soft, almost lazy. An afternoon like any other—or so Ronan thought.
His family’s large cabin stood proudly among the foliage, a solid home in the middle of the forest, a bit more isolated than the other clan dwellings. Just how his father liked it: space, peace, and the ability to smell anyone who came near.
“I told you you’d fall!” Ronan shouted, laughing as he tackled Kael to the ground, sending dry leaves flying.
“I slipped! That doesn’t count,” Kael grumbled, laughter bubbling in his throat, dirt on his elbows.
Both of them had flushed cheeks, wrinkled clothes, and hair in complete disarray. But none of that wiped the joy off their faces.
“Boys! That’s enough for today!” Ronan’s mother called from the porch. “Come inside, before you end up rolling into the river.”
The two boys exchanged looks and groaned at the same time, but obeyed. They climbed the wooden steps, still pushing and shoving playfully.
Inside the cabin, the scent of fresh bread and fire-warmed wood wrapped around them. Ronan’s home was cozy and spacious, with a large central fireplace and walls decorated with furs and old weapons. The dining table could seat many, though tonight it was just them.
“Here. And don’t drop it on the floor,” his mother said, placing mugs of warm milk and bread with blackberry butter in front of them.
“Thanks, ma’am,” Kael said, his mouth already full.
Ronan didn’t answer. He was too busy digging the jam out of the plate with his finger.
Once they finished eating, they began to wrestle again—this time on the couch.
“Kael,” the woman called gently but firmly, “it’s time to go home. You don’t want your grandmother coming after you with her broom again, do you?”
“No, ma’am!” Kael jumped to his feet.
He turned to Ronan with a grin. “We’ll keep training tomorrow. This time I’m gonna beat you.”
“Ha! In your dreams,” Ronan smirked.
They bumped chests, their warrior-style greeting, and Kael ran out the door with a yell of goodbye.
“Son, time for a bath,” his mother said, smiling as she picked up the empty cups.
“But Mom… I don’t even smell that bad,” Ronan protested, his voice that of a kid who didn’t want to obey.
“Says you.” She ruffled his hair with a warm hand. “But I’ve got a trained wolf’s nose. And my pup smells like forest dirt and too much roughhousing.”
“Is that bad?” he asked, tilting his head.
“When the dirt’s behind your ears, yes,” she said, tapping his nose. “Besides, you’ll get the bed all dirty.”
He huffed but let her guide him to one of the back rooms. She pulled out a clean towel, heated water, and started filling a big wooden tub. Despite being only eight, Ronan was as stubborn as his father. But with her… he always gave in.
“Come here, little rascal,” she said, helping him take off his stained shirt. “Let’s see those elbows. Ugh, they look like you wrestled a bear.”
“I didn’t! We were just pretending he was a northern invader.”
“Ah, of course. And you were the great forest defender,” she smiled, lowering him into the warm water. “Did you win?”
“Obviously. I always win. I’m stronger,” he declared, puffing his chest.
She laughed sweetly.
“Just like your father…” she whispered, gently scrubbing his back with a sponge. “Though you’re a little sweeter when you want to be.”
Ronan turned to her, his face suddenly serious.
“Do you think Dad is proud of me?”
She looked at him tenderly, leaned down, and stroked his wet cheek with the back of her hand.
“There’s no doubt about it, Ronan. You’re everything he hoped for and more. You’re brave, strong… but you also have heart. That’s worth more than any victory.”
He looked down, as if her words pierced straight into his chest.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you proud?”
She hugged him from behind, wrapping him in her warm, wet arms, not caring that her clothes got soaked.
“I’m the proudest mother in the whole clan,” she whispered in his ear. “You’re my reason, Ronan. You always will be.”
He smiled, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the water and his mother’s love envelop him. For a moment, everything was perfect.
But outside, among the trees, something was moving.
Ronan came out of the bath with damp hair, smelling of herbal soap, and walked barefoot across the wooden floor. He wore a soft linen shirt and dark cotton pants—his favorite pajamas. His mother waited for him in the living room, seated on one of the large armchairs, a knitted blanket over her legs and a warm smile on her face.
“Come here, little wolf,” she said, opening her arms.
Ronan didn’t hesitate. He ran to her and curled up at her side. She wrapped the blanket around them both and began stroking his hair in slow, rhythmic movements, like a lullaby made of touch.
“Mom?”
“Yes, love?”
“Can I stay like this forever?”
She let out a soft laugh, the kind that smelled of nostalgia.
“I wish I could freeze this moment, Ronan. But wolves like you are born to run, to fight… and to lead.”
Ronan frowned.
“What if I don’t want to lead?”
“When the time comes, you’ll know. It’s in your blood. But now…” she smiled at him, “now you can stay here as long as you want.”
Knocking at the front door broke the peace.
Ronan’s mother frowned slightly but stood up without losing her gentle expression.
“Must be your grandfather,” she murmured.
Just as the door opened, a heavier creak echoed through the wooden floor.
From the back entrance, a man stepped in. His back was straight, but his face bore the weight of many years. Leaning on a dark cane, his eyes were hard as stone, and his presence filled the room the moment he entered.
He was Ronan’s grandfather—and his father’s.
“We need to talk,” he said in a voice that left no room for protest.
Ronan’s mother exchanged a look with her husband, who had just come in, frowning.
“Ronan,” she said softly, “go to your room for a bit, sweetheart.”
“But I—”
“Now.”
He pressed his lips together but didn’t argue. He walked down the wooden hallway with heavy steps.
From the crack in the door, he could still see his grandfather strike the floor with his cane.
“Some humans are talking. And they’re getting too close to the truth.”
The old man’s voice echoed like something that wouldn’t fade soon. And just like that, without knowing it, Ronan took his first step into the darkness.
Ronan awoke to a sharp noise. A creak. Or something falling. He wasn’t sure.
He sat up in bed, still groggy from sleep. Blinking a few times, he got up, walked barefoot down the dim hallway to the main room. There, a reddish light flickered on the walls. It wasn’t the warm glow of the fireplace.
He slowly approached the window. His heart started pounding, faster and faster. The breeze carried a strange smell—thick with smoke.
He looked outside… and saw flames dancing in the distance, devouring the forest. That’s when he noticed the front door was ajar.
A chill ran down his spine. That door was never left open. Never. His mother always closed it carefully, like a nightly ritual.
He stepped forward cautiously, fear building in his chest. When he pushed the door and stepped onto the porch, the scene froze him.
His mother was lying on the ground, right at the entrance.
Her eyes were closed. Her blonde hair was stained with blood, spread like a fan over the damp earth. But what terrified him most was that her chest didn’t rise or fall.
She wasn’t breathing.
“Mom…” he murmured, voice trembling.
He stepped toward her, but his legs buckled. The scene felt unreal. A nightmare far too vivid.
Kael came running from the forest, cheeks red from the wind and eyes overflowing with tears. As soon as he saw Ronan frozen in the doorway, he threw himself at him.
“Ronan!” he shouted, panting.
He grabbed his arm clumsily, desperately, just wanting his friend to react. Ronan let himself be dragged, still in shock, his eyes locked on his mother’s motionless body.
“They told us not to come out,” Kael said, voice breaking. “Not to… not to open the door until someone from the clan came. Until… until someone came for us.”
His grandmother’s voice rang in his head—strong and clear. The warnings. The fear.
Once inside, Kael pushed the door shut with both hands. The click of the latch was like a small shield against the chaos outside.
Ronan stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard, eyes wide, not knowing what to do.
“Mom…” he whispered, voice barely a breath.
Kael didn’t answer. He just dropped beside him, hugging his knees, shaking.
Outside, muffled sounds continued: footsteps, shouting, a crack like breaking branches. And that smell… the smoke slipping through the cracks.
The two boys sat on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, their breathing uneven, as if making noise would attract something from outside.
Night fell quickly, and the cabin, once warm, now felt huge, empty… and dangerous.
Soon, silence came. The flames no longer roared, and the screaming had stopped.
When they were finally found and pulled from the cabin, night had swallowed everything.
Ronan took a few trembling steps past the threshold. The air smelled of ash. Of loss.
That’s when he saw it.
On the ground, covered by a white sheet, two motionless bodies lay side by side.
Peeking from beneath the fabric, a dark ring rested on a barely visible hand. His father’s ring.
Ronan’s heart stopped.
No one needed to say anything. His father was dead.
And beside him… his mother.
