Rowan had imagined many ways his return to Silverclaw might feel.
Relief had been won. Rage, perhaps. Vindication, if the truth ever clawed its way fully into the light.
What he had not anticipated was the sheer weight of it.
The mountain pressed in around him as he moved through the inner corridors, stone walls etched with symbols he had once traced absentmindedly as a younger wolf. Every turn carried memory. Every scent stirred something he had buried deep during exile. Resin smoke from the forge. Old fur and iron. The faint mineral tang of the underground spring that fed the den.
Home did not welcome him with open arms. It wrapped around his throat and demanded reckoning.
He could feel eyes on him constantly.
Some wolves looked away when he passed, discomfort or guilt flickering across their faces. Others stared openly, hostility sharpened by years of reinforced narrative. Traitor. Oathbreaker. The name had calcified into something easy to cling to. Truth was harder. Truth required effort.
Rowan kept his posture neutral and his pace measured. Alpha authority now shielded him from open confrontation, but protection was not the same as acceptance. Not yet.
And looming over all of it was the bond.
It hummed steadily beneath his skin, no longer a raw ache but a constant presence. Lena. He could sense her position in the den without effort, feeling the subtle shifts in her emotional state like pressure changes before a storm. Focused. Controlled. Carrying too much.
He understood that intimately.
A guard at the junction near the training hall straightened as Rowan approached. The man was younger, barely past his first full shift, eyes flicking between respect and unease.
"You are assigned to the eastern patrol rotation," the guard said. "Captain Torren will brief you."
Rowan inclined his head. "Thank you."
The guard hesitated. "For what it is worth. Some of us are glad you are back."
Rowan paused, surprised enough to meet the man's gaze. The sincerity there was unpolished and brave.
"I will earn that," Rowan said simply.
The guard nodded once and stepped aside.
The training hall lay partially open to the mountain air, its stone floor scored by generations of claws and boots. Several wolves were already sparring, movements sharp but restrained. The pack was restless. After a battle like the one they had survived, instinct demanded motion. Preparation. Violence redirected into discipline.
Captain Torren stood near the weapon racks, arms crossed.
He was older than Rowan remembered, streaks of gray cutting through dark hair, scars mapping his forearms. His wolf watched from behind his eyes, wary and assessing.
"So," Torren said. "The exile returns."
Rowan stopped a respectful distance away. "Captain."
Torren's mouth twitched, humorless. "You used to call me Tor."
"You used to outrank me."
"That was before you were accused of murdering our Alpha."
The words were blunt, spoken without venom but without mercy either. Several sparring wolves slowed, listening.
Rowan did not bristle. "I did not kill him."
Torren studied him for a long moment. "I know."
That surprised Rowan more than anything else he had faced since returning.
"You testified against me," Rowan said.
Torren's jaw tightened. "I testified to what I saw. Blood. Chaos. You are standing over him."
"And what you did not see."
Torren exhaled slowly. "Yes."
Silence stretched between them.
"Lena trusts you," Torren said at last. "That carries weight. Enough for now."
"For now," Rowan echoed.
Torren gestured toward the weapon racks. "We are short on experienced fighters who have faced corrupted magic. You will train the eastern patrols in countermeasures. Non-lethal restraint when possible. Clean kills when not."
Rowan nodded. "Understood."
"And Rowan," Torren added.
"Yes."
"If you are here to take power from her, you will not leave this mountain alive."
Rowan met his gaze without flinching. "I am here to stand beside her. Nothing more."
Torren searched his face, then gave a single sharp nod. "Then we are clear."
The training session that followed was grueling.
Rowan moved among the patrol wolves, correcting stances and demonstrating how to read unnatural movement patterns. Bloodbound fighters did not telegraph attacks the way uncorrupted wolves did. They lunged without hesitation, ignored injury, and pressed forward until something stopped them.
That something had to be final.
Sweat slicked Rowan's skin as hours passed. His muscles burned pleasantly, grounding him in the familiar language of combat. For a while, he could almost forget the politics. Almost forgetting the bond humming constantly beneath his awareness.
Almost.
He felt her before he saw her.
Lena stood at the edge of the hall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her presence changed the energy instantly. Wolves straightened. Movements sharpened. No one questioned her right to be there.
Rowan finished correcting a guard's footing and stepped back.
Captain Torren noticed her and inclined his head. "Alpha."
"At ease," Lena said. Her gaze swept the hall, cataloging readiness, tension, and morale. Then it settled on Rowan.
The bond stirred.
"You move well," she said.
"So do you," Rowan replied before he could stop himself.
A flicker of something crossed her face. Not displeasure. Something closer to shared memory.
"This will do," she said to Torren. "Dismiss them."
The wolves dispersed quickly, grateful for rest. Rowan wiped his hands on a cloth and waited.
When the hall was mostly empty, Lena approached him.
"You did not have to take on training duty so soon," she said.
"I wanted to," he replied. "They deserve preparation."
She studied him closely. "You are earning goodwill."
"That is not why I am doing this."
"I know."
The simple acknowledgment settled something in his chest.
"Walk with me," she said.
They moved through a side corridor that opened onto a narrow overlook carved into the mountain face. Wind rushed past, carrying the scent of pine and distant smoke from burned Bloodbound camps.
For a moment, neither spoke.
"You should not push yourself so hard," Lena said finally. "You nearly burned out anchoring me last night."
"I held," Rowan replied.
"You held because you trusted me," she said.
"Yes."
She turned to face him. "That kind of trust is dangerous."
"Only if abused."
Her gaze sharpened. "And what if I ask too much?"
Rowan did not hesitate. "Then I will tell you."
The honesty startled her. He could feel it through the bond, a ripple of something warm and unsettled.
"You have changed," she said.
"So have you."
She looked away, staring out over the forest. "I do not have the luxury of mistakes anymore."
"Neither do I."
Silence again, thick but not hostile.
"The elders are uneasy," she said. "They see what happened on the terrace. They feel the magic still."
"They should," Rowan said. "It may save them."
"It may also fracture the packs if handled poorly."
He nodded. "Power always does."
She turned back to him. "Which is why there will be rules."
"Name them."
Her breath caught briefly. "We do not share a chamber. We do not speak of the bond publicly. We do not act on it unless necessary for command or survival."
"And privately," Rowan asked.
Her jaw tightened. "Privately, we are careful."
That was not no.
Rowan inclined his head. "As you wish, my Alpha."
The title sent a pulse through the bond, sharp and intimate. Lena inhaled slowly, steadying herself.
"You make that sound dangerous," she said.
"It is," Rowan replied.
Footsteps echoed behind them. An elder approached, expression grim.
"Alpha. Scouts have returned."
Lena straightened instantly. "Report."
"The Bloodbound are not retreating," the elder said. "They are fortifying. And they are sending envoys to neighboring packs."
Rowan's jaw clenched. "Spreading influence."
"And fear," Lena added.
The elder hesitated. "There is more. One of the envoys is bearing your father's sigil."
Lena froze.
Rowan felt the shock hit her through the bond like a physical blow.
"That is impossible," she said. "He died in the southern skirmishes."
"That is what we believed," the elder said. "But the sigil is unmistakable."
Rowan stepped closer without thinking, grounding her with his presence, though he did not touch.
"Then someone wants to destabilize you," Rowan said. "Or your father is not as dead as we thought."
Lena's eyes burned with a dangerous mix of fury and resolve. "Either way, they have crossed a line."
She looked at Rowan. "Prepare yourself. If the High Moot convenes under these conditions, blood will be spilled."
Rowan met her gaze steadily. "Then I will stand where I am needed."
Her voice softened, just a fraction. "That may be beside me. Or it may be in my shadow."
"I have lived in shadows," Rowan said. "I am not afraid of them."
She held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded.
"Good," she said. "Because we are about to step into one."
The wind surged around them, carrying the distant echo of howls from beyond Silverclaw's borders.
The war was shifting shape.
And Rowan knew, with bone-deep certainty, that returning home had not ended his trial.
It had only begun.