Every step, every breath, felt like dragging myself through fog. Muscles I once trusted betrayed me. Balance came and went like a ghost. It was like relearning how to live without half of myself.
But in those quiet days of recovery, I learned more about her.
She never gave her full story—but I paid attention to the details.
Her eyes sparkled every time I mentioned packs.
Not just interest… longing. Like she missed it, or maybe she never got to belong in the way she deserved.
And when she made a mistake—spilled tea, tripped over her words, forgot something small—she'd start fumbling with her hands, avoiding eye contact, as if expecting me to snap.
I never did.
I never would.
But it made me wonder what kind of people she'd been around before… what kind of life taught her to brace for pain even in gentleness.
She was kind. Quiet, but not weak. Fierce in her own way.
I learned she was a renowned healer—people came from distant villages, rogue groups, even low-rank soldiers to seek her care. She never turned anyone away. She knew herbs like second skin and could read symptoms with nothing more than a glance.
And yet… she remained humble.
Always barefoot in the house. Always grounding herself in the earth. Never boasting about her skill, never speaking as if she were above anyone—even when she clearly was.
She didn't need a title. She didn't need a pack.
She had purpose. And presence.
And somehow, without my wolf…
it was her presence that kept me alive.
Asha moved around the cabin in her usual quiet rhythm—measuring herbs, whispering to flames, lighting the ointments that always filled the air with something earthy and warm. She said the blend helped calm the nerves, soothed the spirit, and eased lingering pain.
I never told her how much I depended on those little rituals.
Today, the storm had passed. The skies were clear. But the ache in my bones still hummed, deep and slow.
She lit the ointment.
The moment the scent hit the air—moon ash, pine, something sweet—I exhaled, letting the warmth curl around my senses.
And then… I heard it.
"Kael…"
Soft. Gentle. Barely a whisper.
I froze.
It was so faint I almost thought I imagined it. I closed my eyes, straining, heart pounding.
"Kael… I'm here."
My wolf.
He was there.
Weak, distant, like he was buried under mountains of silence—but there. After weeks of emptiness, of screaming into a void, he'd finally answered.
"The pain… it's easing. The fire is calming. The ointment… it's helping me too."
I opened my eyes, breath caught in my throat. Asha was still by the fire, focused, completely unaware of the miracle she'd just caused.
She didn't even know…
She'd brought him back to me.
Not fully. Not yet.
But it was enough.
Tomorrow—we'd leave.
I'd gather my strength, and we'd go back to the East.
To my pack. My father. My throne.