Supatra’s gaze wavered, caught between loyalty and friendship. “This isn’t about pawns, Lángrén,” she said finally, her voice soft but firm. “Soon, Lángrén,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears, “the ferals will outnumber even us. They’ll swarm like hyenas, teeth bared and hungry, against a lone lioness without her pride. They are multiplying. Can you hold them back? Alone?”

The words, though laced with the pain of their estranged past, were spoken with the tenderness of a sister, a reminder of the bond that once thrummed beneath the surface of their fractured connection. Lángrén felt a flicker of shame, a gnawing awareness of the truth in Supatra’s words. Silence hung heavy, her gaze flitting from Jason’s pleading eyes to Supatra’s tearful plea. “I... I need time. To think. To understand.”

Jason stepped forward, a glint of understanding in his eyes. “Time we don’t have,” he said, his voice low and husky. He offered his hand to Lángrén. “You can have all the time on the road. But remember, the storm is coming. And when it hits, where will you be?”

Lángrén’s breath hitched. “Then let them find me,” she spat. “My home is here, with my family. With him.”

Jason’s gaze softened, the predator momentarily ceding to their friend. “He’s one hell of a man, that’s for sure,” he admitted, a grudging respect in his voice. “But the wind can uproot even the strongest oak.”

Lángrén’s eyes met his, a silent battle of wills waged in their depths. “Then let the wind blow,” she whispered, her voice husky with unshed tears. “I will stand my ground.”

“This isn’t your battle to fight alone,” Supatra continued, her voice thick with emotion. “He,” she gestured towards Jason, who stood stoic but watchful, “he needs you, needs your strength. Together, you can be the storm that cowers the hyenas, the beacon that guides the lost back to the pack.”

“Lángrén,” she said, her voice a low thrum against the cacophony of the Rising, “remember the tales of the ferals? How they scurry in the shadows, breeding like wildfire, their hunger a bottomless pit?”

Lángrén flinched, a flicker of fear betraying her steely facade. She knew the legends, the whispers of ravenous creatures, twisted by rage and isolation, who gnawed at the edges of their world.

“We,” Jason continued, his voice a bittersweet caress, “are the guardians. And the ferals, my sister, they sense the shift, the weakening of the pack.”

The moment stretched, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Supatra, unable to bear the weight of their unspoken emotions, took a step back.

Lángrén’s nostrils flared, her hackles rising at the image. She could almost taste the fetid breath of the ferals, feel their claws scraping against her defenses.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Antonio’s call,” Supatra added, her voice softening further, “is not about dominance, not about subjugation. It’s about survival. Ours, theirs. It’s about building a bridge before the chasm yawns too wide.”

The words hung heavy, a bitter truth seasoned with the melodrama of their past, the dark secrets that clung to them like shadows. Craggily etched with the wounds of betrayal, their history was a burnt-sugar symphony, sweet and dense, intoxicatingly potent, yet tinged with an acrid tang of regret.

Lángrén’s gaze drifted towards the crumbling ruins of the city, and then, almost imperceptibly, her resolve began to crumble. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes losing their defiance. A whimper, raw and primal, escaped her lips, the sound of a mother wolf forced to choose between her pack and her cubs.

But the rising tide of the ferals, their hunger a chilling echo of their own past, cast an ominous shadow over her resolve.

Jason, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and understanding, reached out a hand. “Come with us,” he offered, his voice rough with emotion. “We’ll find a place for you, for them.”

In Supatra’s eyes, Lángrén saw the reflection of their shared history, its bittersweet tapestry woven with threads of passion, adversity, and tears. It was a connection as authentic as the craggy terrain of their world, floridly emotional, yet rooted in the unspoken language of shared hardship and enduring love.

Lángrén stared at him, the battle tearing her apart. The familiar scent of blood and fur, the promise of pack and purpose, tugged at her instincts. But her gaze, drawn to the distant silhouette of her home, held fierce determination. Her island she knew would be there when she returned.

"This isn’t obedience, Lángrén,” Jaso’s voice a teardrop caught in the wind. "We live to serve."

And in that shared vulnerability, Lángrén found her answer. With a shaky breath, she turned to Jason, her gaze meeting his with a flicker of defiance tempered with acceptance. “Alright,” she rasped, the word tasting like burnt sugar on her tongue, “I’ll go with you. But for my cubs, for my mate, I’ll claw my way back to them.” The wind seemed to echo her vow. She had chosen her path once more. With a sigh that tasted like ashes, she turned away from her home where her husband and daughters waited for her. With a heavy heart, she walked beside Jason and Supatra, her steps echoing the rhythm of a reluctant song. She knew that even if she made it back to her family, their lives would never be the same. She could only hope that her sacrifice would be enough to save them.

“Jason, promise me, no harm,” Lángrén earnestly requested.

“Nothing.” He said. His vow was binding.

Lángrén seemed hesitant and continued, “If anything should--” but before she could finish, Jason interrupted with a softened tone, showing respect, “Even I know not to piss off a mama wolf, especially a bitch like you.”

He then added, “He must be one helluva man to tame you.”

Lángrén, with a loving expression, confirmed, “He is,” and glanced wistfully in the direction towards her home.

Jason, concerned for Lángrén’s cubs, inquired, “Do they know who you are?”

Lángrén nodded, “Yes and no. He’s marked, but still human.”

Jason’s curiosity didn’t wane as he asked further, “Your cubs?” sincerity in his demeanor.

Lángrén looked in silence. Not denying or agreeing with her cub’s nature.

Jason reassured her, “Alright. Go, I’ll be right behind you.”

The ladies walked away as Jason transformed into his werewolf form.

He urinated around the area. Marking the territory. When that was done, he made an undulating throat sound that animals in the community yowled with in response.

Jason stood for a moment. Listening. Satisfied he took off after the ladies.

As the trio made their way deeper into the city, Nia came into a neighborhood untouched by ferals and the incoming werewolf massacre.