The moment Eila closed her eyes, sleep dragged her back into the abyss she was starting to dread. Unlike the comforting world of dreams she once knew, this place was darker—quiet but heavy, like something breathing just beneath the surface.
She stood in a void, her feet touching nothing yet rooted in place. The silence was oppressive until it was pierced by a deep, rhythmic sound—breathing. Slow, heavy, deliberate. It echoed through the darkness, curling through her bones and wrapping around her spine.
Eila stepped forward, uncertain but drawn. Her eyes, blessed with night vision far stronger than most wolves, struggled to make out her surroundings. Still, she pressed on, squinting into the thick shadows until shapes began to form.
Figures.
Those same smoky entities from the night of the attack. They surrounded something—something large. Their bodies moved in a slow, ritualistic circle, their forms flickering like dying embers around the source of the breathing. She strained to see more, to understand, but just as the outline of something massive—alive—began to take shape, the dream shattered.
She jolted awake.
The warmth of morning light filtered through the windows of her home. Birds chirped distantly, oblivious to the wounds still fresh in the hearts of the pack. Eila sat up, the remnants of her vision lingering in her chest like frost.
There was no time to linger. Her world demanded her presence.
She moved through her morning in silence, helping her siblings dress, brushing their hair, and ensuring everyone had eaten. There were still tears and fear in their eyes, but they looked to her now. She had become something more than a sister. She was their anchor.
Outside, the streets were quiet, heavy with mourning. All businesses and shops remained closed for the week, the pack's way of honouring the dead. Graves had been dug, rites performed. Some bodies had never been recovered, and those were remembered in silent candle vigils and prayers that lit the roads each night like fallen stars.
Alpha Magnus had declared a week of rest and rebuilding. Warriors from the Beta household organized rations and supplies for those in need. Even Gamma Stephen McLory—never as wealthy as the Blackwells but deeply respected—had opened his home and resources to the people.
Food was distributed. Pups were fed. The injured, those who could be helped, were healed.
And Eila?
She didn't stop.
Each day, after ensuring her siblings were safe and cared for, she walked the stretch of her neighbourhood and beyond, moving from house to house, laying hands on wounds too stubborn for natural healing, whispering calm into frightened hearts. Her powers—once secret and uncertain—were now a blessing the pack clung to. She didn't seek thanks, but she received it all the same.
Some offered flowers, others their homemade sweets, most gave only their tear-filled gratitude, and Eila accepted all of it with quiet grace.
Each evening, she brought her siblings to visit their parents in the infirmary. They never caused trouble, never cried. They spoke to their parents softly, even though they remained unresponsive, and left the room a little stronger every time.
Leonard was there some days, coordinating logistics or speaking quietly to the healers. Lukas and Zois came too, often helping with repairs or supporting Nina in magical warding. Eila saw them from afar, occasionally locking eyes for a heartbeat too long before moving on.
One night, Leonard sent a soft Good night, little light, through the mind link they now shared after the mark. Her heart fluttered at the sound of his voice in her mind, but exhaustion dulled everything. There was no space left for longing. Not yet.
The week passed in a quiet storm of effort and healing. Slowly, wounds closed—physical and emotional.
By the time the seventh day arrived, the candles lining the roads were replaced with lanterns. The air still carried grief, but there was something else too—hope. A fragile, flickering thing, but it was there.
The new week had begun.
And with it, came the sense that something—something far greater—was approaching.
The shadows that haunted her dreams had not disappeared. They were waiting. Watching.
And Eila knew: that whatever had begun that night of blood and fire… was far from over.