The envelope was forest green, thick as bark, and smelled faintly of moss and ash. It had no crest. No obvious markings. Just her name—Aria Vale—inked in looping script so dark it looked etched rather than written.
Zara spotted it first, resting atop their stack of firewood like it had grown there.
“Don’t touch it,” she said instinctively.
Aria ignored her.
She plucked the envelope free and studied it in the morning light. No messenger had been seen approaching. No raven, no scout. It had simply… appeared.
Greenwood.
It had to be.
Only one territory moved like that—quiet, cloaked in shadow, neither fully allied nor completely rogue. Greenwood Pack hadn’t attended a council meeting in over twelve years. And now, without warning, they were reaching out.
To her.
Inside was a single sheet of parchment. Heavy. Soft to the touch.
Aria Vale,
Power doesn’t come from bloodlines or titles. It comes from the ones who survive long enough to matter.
You matter now.
Come to us. No pledges. No chains. Just an invitation to speak freely, to walk among those who understand that rebellion is simply vision ahead of its time.
You are no longer the girl the council cast out.
You are something else now.
—E. Wren, Voice of Greenwood
Aria read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
The words didn’t demand.
They recognized.
And that, somehow, was more dangerous.
Zara didn’t like it.
She was pacing the cabin by evening, arms crossed tightly. “They want to use you. Just like Kael did. Just like StoneRidge almost did. These packs don’t offer anything without expecting something back.”
“I know,” Aria said.
“Then why are you still holding the damn letter?”
Because it had been a long time since someone invited her without telling her who to be. Because Greenwood wasn’t pleading, or threatening, or romanticizing her pain. They were simply… acknowledging it.
“Because it feels different,” Aria said quietly.
Zara shook her head. “Different doesn’t mean safe.”
That night, Aria couldn’t sleep.
She lay under her blankets, the fire crackling low, the bond quiet for once.
Kael hadn’t tried to reach her in days.
No pull. No spark. No ache in her chest where his presence used to hum.
It should’ve brought her peace.
Instead, it brought questions.
Was he letting go?
Or simply watching from afar?
Was he trusting her?
Or abandoning her again?
She turned the Greenwood letter over in her hands, running her thumb along the edge of the parchment.
Some part of her itched to go.
Not out of desperation.
But out of curiosity.
Because the only thing more dangerous than power… was understanding it.
Two days later, a second letter arrived.
Not from Greenwood—but from an unaffiliated outpost at the edge of neutral lands.
The Voice of Greenwood will be at Mirror Lake at the next quarter moon. You are welcome to speak. Alone or otherwise.
Bring nothing. Expect nothing.
Leave with whatever you earn.
Zara read it over Aria’s shoulder and exhaled sharply. “It’s a trap.”
“They didn’t say I had to come alone.”
“They assumed you would.”
“They know I’m not someone who follows orders anymore,” Aria said, folding the letter carefully. “That’s why they’re interested.”
Zara looked at her for a long moment, then sat down.
“So what are you going to do?”
Aria didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she walked to the hearth, pulled on her boots, and tied her cloak.
“I’m going.”
Mirror Lake wasn’t on any map, but every wolf in SilverCrest knew where it was. A still pool deep in the woods, fed by an underground spring, surrounded by willows that never lost their leaves—no matter the season.
It was said to be old magic.
Some claimed the water could show your future.
Others said it only showed you what you feared most.
Aria didn’t believe in fairy tales.
But she believed in secrets.
And this place felt full of them.
She arrived just past moonrise.
The lake was silent. The surface so smooth it looked like polished glass. Her reflection wavered as she stepped closer—then disappeared altogether, swallowed by shadow as someone emerged from the trees behind her.
“I didn’t expect you to come alone,” said a low voice.
Aria turned.
The woman was tall, willowy, draped in layered green and gray cloth like falling leaves. Her hair was silver at the ends, not from age, but from something… else. Her eyes were a strange green—too bright, too sharp.
“I’m E. Wren,” she said.
“You’re not what I imagined.”
Wren smiled. “Neither are you.”
They sat by the lake, cross-legged in silence for a moment.
Then Wren said, “Do you know what Greenwood was built on?”
“Rumor,” Aria answered.
“Close. Refusal. We refused the council. Refused the bloodline wars. Refused to let our power be measured by who we mated or what we lost.”
Aria stared at the water. “And what do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” Wren said, her voice steady. “Which is why you came.”
That startled her.
Wren leaned forward. “We don’t want to own you. We want to watch. To see what happens when someone like you stops surviving and starts choosing.”
“You’re offering alliance?”
“Not yet. We’re offering… observation.” Wren’s gaze didn’t waver. “But if you rise? If you build something new? Then yes. We will be at your side.”
Aria looked away. “And if I fall?”
Wren stood. “Then we’ll still remember you.”
It wasn’t meant as a threat.
It was a promise.
As Aria walked back through the trees, something shifted inside her.
Not fear.
Not certainty.
But permission.
Permission to stop shrinking. To stop asking if she was ready. To stop treating her power like a wound that needed healing instead of a weapon waiting to be forged.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
Even if no one stood beside her.
Even if Greenwood never returned.
She had been seen.
And that… was the beginning of everything.
