A Legacy of Bone, Changed by the Wolf’s Shadow

The air was thick with the weight of expectation, the ground beneath them silent except for the faint hum of the wind through the trees. They stood opposite each other, Horacio, tall and confident, and Regina, smaller but fiercely poised. The flickering light of the setting sun cast long shadows over the training grounds, where they had agreed to face off.

It had started as a sparring match, a test of skill and endurance between two formidable warriors. But Regina, with her sharp instincts and quick mind, had turned it into something much more—a battle of wills.

Horacio grinned, his eyes gleaming with a playful arrogance. “You know, I thought you were more of a diplomat than a fighter.”

Regina didn’t respond with words. Her moonflower-colored eyes were fixed on him, every muscle in her body coiled, ready for the strike. She had seen enough of his arrogance in their past encounters. This time, she would show him just how wrong he was.

Horacio lunged first, a blur of movement as he swung his blade in a wide arc toward her. Regina sidestepped with the grace of a deer, her movements fluid, anticipating his next move before it happened. She knew his style, had studied it for years. He was strong, fast, and relentless—but so was she.

With a swift spin, Regina closed the distance between them, her own blade flashing as she went for his side. Horacio parried with ease, but the force of her strike sent a jolt through him. He could feel the edge of her power, a quiet intensity that set his skin alight. She wasn’t just physically strong; there was something deeper, something unnerving in the way she moved.

“You’re good,” Horacio said, breathless now, his smirk faltering. “But you’re still too slow.”

Regina’s lips barely twitched, but in her gaze, there was a fire that burned brighter with every passing moment. She would show him that his arrogance wasn’t unwarranted—she would defeat him.

He swung again, aiming for her shoulder, but Regina was already gone, her footwork a dance that led her behind him in an instant. She struck before he could react, her blade landing a clean cut on his shoulder. Horacio staggered back, a grunt escaping his lips as he clutched the wound. The pain was sharp, searing, and for a moment, he couldn’t focus on anything other than the sting of her power.

The battle raged on, neither giving an inch. Regina was relentless, graceful, and unyielding, her strikes a blur of precision and power. Horacio, despite his strength, was starting to feel the weight of their battle. The wound on his shoulder burned with every movement, a reminder of her skill, her intensity.

Finally, it happened—Regina closed in, her blade flashing one last time. Horacio’s defenses faltered, his movements slowed from the pain, and she struck him across the chest, leaving a long, shallow gash. He staggered back, his breath ragged as he looked at her, a mix of admiration and disbelief on his face.

“You—” Horacio panted, his vision blurry from the blood loss, “You beat me.”

Regina stood before him, her chest heaving with exertion, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t gloating, wasn’t reveling in her victory. She had done what she set out to do—show him that she was not to be underestimated.

She didn’t say a word as she turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the dirt, his body battered, his pride bruised. The sting of the wounds she had given him would fade, but the sting of her power—the force of her presence—would linger far longer.

For the next two weeks, Horacio couldn’t shake her from his mind. The pain in his shoulder, the aching reminder of her strength, was a constant companion. It wasn’t just the physical wounds that haunted him, though. It was the look in her eyes—the quiet resolve, the force of her power that had left him breathless.

He had faced many warriors in his time, but none had left such an imprint on him as Regina had. She was small, yes, but there was a depth to her strength that he hadn’t expected. She had a fire in her that could burn the world down if she wanted to.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Horacio stood before a mirror, tracing the scar on his shoulder, the mark left by her blade. It would heal, but the memory of her—of the small, fierce woman who had bested him so easily—would remain forever.

There was something about her, something that lingered even in her absence. Something that called to him.

And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake her from his mind.

Horacio sat alone beneath the canopy of the training grove, the scent of pine and sweat thick in the air. Every stroke of the practice blade felt wrong—off-tempo, heavy, as if the rhythm that had once defined him was now discordant.

The moment his shoulder flexed, the scar throbbed, sharp and electric. And with it came the echo.
The soft whisper of steel through the air.
The rush of her footsteps behind him.
The sound she made when she moved—neither loud nor quiet, but inevitable.

He dropped the blade. It clattered to the dirt.

Horacio pressed a palm over the old wound, jaw tight. Not from pain. From memory.
From her.

It had been weeks. He had fought twice since then—won both. Brutally. Efficiently.
But nothing about those victories stayed with him.
They didn’t move like her.
Didn’t think like her.

In his dreams, it wasn’t even the duel he remembered.
It was the way she didn’t gloat.
The terrifying grace in her silence.

Horacio woke to the sound of his own breath—sharp, ragged, feral.

The dream clung to him like sweat.

Regina’s blade had just grazed his throat, not deep enough to kill but precise enough to own him. She stood there, moonflower eyes glowing like twin lanterns, not with rage but certainty. Then—just before waking—she vanished into smoke.

And in the dream’s echo, he had howled.

Now, heart pounding, chest bare and slick with sweat, he sat up in the dark. The scar on his shoulder flared hot. Not pain—memory. Every nerve in his body screamed for motion, for action, for something primal he couldn’t name.

A sound broke the stillness.

A low, keening howl from the forest beyond the barracks.
A wolf.

It had been silent for days.

Horacio stood, bare feet hitting cold stone. He moved without thinking, as the dream had never ended. His wolf—restless, pacing in the dark, agitated by some unspoken need—met his gaze through the trees.

Find her, it seemed to growl.
Find the one who woke us.

Horacio clenched his fists, grounding himself. He wasn’t some wild thing, ruled by instinct. He had climbed to power with focus, discipline, and control.

But tonight—tonight, the air was thick with her scent. The whisper of her blade still sang in his ears.

And somewhere deep inside him, the wolf waited for him to stop lying to himself.

---

The dream had sunk its claws deep this time.

Horacio sat bolt upright, breath steaming in the cool night air, his skin alight with fever and memory. His shoulder burned—no, glowed faintly beneath the scar. The mark she left had taken on an unnatural heat, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

Regina’s blade had not just cut him. It had awakened something.

In the dream, she stood over him again. Blade lowered. Eyes sharp.
She didn’t kill you, the wolf in him growled.
She saw you.

And then—the howl.
Real. Raw. Ripping through the forest like a blade through silk.

His tail twitched before he could stop it. The faint shimmer of fur threatened to surface along his arms. Nails sharpened, just slightly. The shift was calling, but he gritted his teeth, keeping it at bay.

He staggered out into the open air, barefoot in the dirt, the scent of pine and ghostfire thick on the wind. His wolf form pressed against the inside of his skin, begging to be let loose.

Find her, it said again.

Not with anger. Not with vengeance.

With longing.

It terrified him.

He was Horacio—master of the blade, heir to the wind-shadow clan, predator among men. But the beast within didn’t care about titles. It only remembered her—the one who had matched him beat for beat. The one who had looked into his eyes and not flinched.

She had seen the wolf—and didn’t run. She danced with it.

And now, no matter how he tried to bury her memory, it was carved into his spirit like a hunting trail. Unshakable.

The moon was too full tonight. Too close.

Horacio stood at the edge of the cliff where the training ground met the open sky. The wind tore at his robes. His teeth ached—not with pain, but with the pressure of change. The yōkai within him paced, restless.

Since the duel, every full moon had hit harder.

Before, he could feel the shift like a passing breeze—acknowledge it, contain it.
Now, it came with a roar.

His bones ached. His skin shimmered at the edges. His tail emerged without warning, flicking in agitation. Claws pricked his fingertips, and the growl that escaped his throat was not entirely his.

He should have isolated himself. Should have locked himself in the ritual chamber like before. But something inside him—something raw—wanted the night. Craved the wind, the hunt, the memory of her blade against his skin.

He bared his teeth at the moon.

“She did this to me,” he snarled, voice rough and cracking. “She turned the tide.”

The wind answered with silence. And in that silence, he could almost hear her breath again. See her standing before him. Not as a rival—but as a reflection.

Horacio dropped to his knees, claws digging into the earth. His chest heaved as the wolf pushed forward, demanding freedom.

Not for destruction.
Not for conquest.
But for her.

Every full moon now carved her deeper into him.

And he didn’t know whether he wanted the pull to stop… or for her to turn around and feel it too.

The moon rose like an omen—bloated, golden, leering.

Horacio’s breath came fast. Too fast. His heartbeat no longer matched the rhythm of the world around him—it beat to the pulse of something older. Wilder.

He didn’t wait for the challenge this time.
He issued it.

“Someone spar me. Now,” he growled.
Three warriors stepped back. One stepped forward.

The brave one.

Steel rang out a moment later—clashing, slashing, echoing into the night. Horacio didn’t hold back. His strikes were faster than they should have been, eyes glowing faintly with an amber sheen. The yōkai was too close to the surface. He felt it in the way his spine flexed, his nails cracked against the hilt of his sword, and his breath came out in near-growls.

The young warrior barely kept up. But he didn’t yield.

Horacio liked that.
He hated that.

Because the part of him that wasn’t in control anymore wanted to break the boy.

“Enough!” a voice shouted.

But Horacio didn’t hear it.

Not until his blade sliced the air and nicked flesh—not deep, but enough to draw blood. The scent of it hit him like lightning.

He froze.

The crowd went silent. The wolf inside purred.

Horacio dropped his sword. It hit the earth with a thud, still vibrating with power.

“Go,” he told the younger warrior, voice hollow. “Before I stop caring what I become.”

As the boy stumbled away, Horacio looked up at the moon, jaw clenched.

She had carved this wildness into him.
And now, every full moon brought him closer to the beast he thought he’d tamed.
Closer to her.

Horacio had never been one to let something slip through his fingers. When he set his mind to a task, there was no turning back. So when Regina disappeared after their fateful duel, leaving him with nothing but the burn of her power and the shadow of her presence, Horacio couldn’t simply let it go. His mind was consumed by her—by the way she had moved, the way she had bested him with such quiet grace and power. And so, he hunted her.

For a month, Horacio sent his men throughout Sehil, scouring every town, village, and settlement, searching for any trace of the dark-haired beauty with moonflower eyes. It wasn’t just about finding her—it was about understanding her, knowing where she was, and why she had left.

The reports came in slowly at first. Some towns had seen a figure matching her description, but she was always gone by the time they arrived. A flicker of movement in the corner of their vision, and then nothing. She had a way of disappearing, of blending into the shadows, and it was maddening to Horacio.

But then, after weeks of searching, one of his men came with news that made Horacio’s heart race: “Sir, we found her. She’s in Crowell.”

Crowell was a town on the edge of the kingdom, a place of little importance, but with a reputation for harboring those who didn’t want to be found. Horacio felt a mix of anticipation and frustration. He had tracked her for so long, and now she was so close.

He didn’t waste any time. The following day, Horacio and a handful of his most trusted men made their way to Crowell, moving swiftly and quietly. They knew the town’s layout, its hidden corners, and its secrets. They would find Regina.

When they arrived, they began their search in earnest. It didn’t take long for them to hear whispers. Regina had been asking questions, probing into rumors about the Warlord Ashen. That stopped Horacio cold. Ashen was a name that struck fear into the hearts of even the bravest warriors. He was ruthless, powerful, and dangerous. And now, Regina, the same woman who had bested him in a duel, was determined to end him.

Horacio felt a mixture of awe and concern. What was she planning? And why Ashen?

As the day stretched into evening, Horacio and his men continued their search, narrowing in on the inn where they had last heard she was staying. As they approached, Horacio’s heart quickened. He wasn’t sure if it was from the anticipation of seeing her again or from the worry that she might be in more danger than he realized. Either way, his steps grew heavier with each passing moment.

When he reached the inn, he slipped inside quietly, scanning the room. The inn was dimly lit, the scent of wood smoke and stale ale heavy in the air. A few people were scattered about, but there, in the far corner, sat Regina.

She looked almost the same as he remembered—her moonflower eyes, her black as midnight hair, her small but strong frame. She hadn’t seen him yet. She was speaking to an old man, her voice low and steady as she leaned in to listen intently to what he had to say.

Horacio hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to approach carefully, not just because she might not want to see him, but because he wasn’t sure if she was truly ready to face him again.

But his need to understand her, to know why she was pursuing Ashen, outweighed everything else.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Horacio’s voice was low, firm, but not unkind. Regina froze, her posture stiffening. Slowly, she turned her gaze toward him, her eyes narrowing, sharp and unreadable.

The room seemed to grow quieter, the weight of their past between them, unspoken but felt in every breath. Regina’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak right away. Instead, she studied him, her gaze flicking to his shoulder, where the scar she had left remained as a reminder of that duel. She said nothing about it.

“I thought I might find you here,” Horacio continued, his voice smooth, but with a trace of something more. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Regina’s eyes softened for just a moment, though her expression remained guarded. “Looking for me?” she repeated, her voice distant but calm. “I’m not sure what for.”

Horacio took a step closer, his eyes not leaving hers. “To make sure you’re not getting yourself into trouble.”

Her lips curled into a faint, almost bitter smile. “I’m not the one who needs looking after.”

Horacio didn’t flinch, though the sharpness in her words stung. He knew what she was thinking. She was strong, fierce, and independent—she didn’t need him. But this was different. There was a reason she was here, asking about Ashen, and Horacio couldn’t stand the thought of her walking into something so dangerous alone.

“Then let me help,” he said softly. “Whatever you’re planning… It’s not something you should take on by yourself.”

Regina stood slowly, her eyes never leaving him. “You’ve already helped me once,” she said, her tone laced with something that might have been regret—or was it a challenge? “And now you’re in my way.”

Horacio’s heart clenched. She wasn’t just pushing him away—she was testing him, as she had in their duel. But this time, he wasn’t going to let her push him out of her life so easily.

“I don’t plan to get in your way, Regina,” he replied, his voice low and intense. “I just want to understand.”

Regina seemed to pause at that, her gaze flickering between him and the door as if weighing her next move. Her hand brushed against her side, the subtle gesture of someone preparing for action.

“You don’t understand,” she said quietly, “but you will.”

---

Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the door, leaving Horacio standing in the dim light of the inn. As she disappeared into the night, he was left with the haunting certainty that he would not let her face Ashen alone, no matter the cost.

And as much as Regina tried to keep him out of her path, Horacio knew—this wasn’t just about Ashen. It was about her.

The door shut behind her, and Horacio didn’t move.

The inn bustled again. Someone laughed. A lute struck a chord.

But all he could hear was the sound of her boots on the wood. The click, click, click—gone.

He breathed in, expecting the scent of smoke and old ale. But instead—

Moonflowers.

It struck him like a blow. Subtle, sweet, and unmistakably hers. She had passed close—too close. And he had let her walk away.

His hand clenched around the edge of the table. Wood cracked beneath his fingers.

You fool.
The wolf was awake again, growling low in his mind.
She was within reach. You let her go.

Horacio rose too fast. The chair scraped and fell.

One of his men approached. “Sir?”

Horacio’s eyes flared gold—just a flicker, but enough to silence the man.

“Prepare the horses,” he said, voice a rougher growl than before. “We follow her.”

“But you said—”

“I said we follow her.”

The wolf howled in his chest. Not out of rage.
But need.

This wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.

The scent of moonflowers lingered in his nose long after they’d ridden out of Crowell.
Long after the trees swallowed the inn behind him.
Long after his men fell asleep.

Horacio didn’t sleep anymore.

Not well.

Not during the full moons.

Not since her.

He sat slumped against the wall of a forgotten wayhouse, firelight flickering across his face. His men lay curled beneath blankets, unaware of how still he had become.

He tried to meditate. To center himself.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
But the wolf wouldn’t have it.

She was close again. He could feel her.
Not in scent. Not in sound. But in pressure.
A pull beneath his skin, beneath the bones of him.
The moon rising overhead like a silver eye, unblinking.

His head fell forward, exhaustion finally taking him—

---

Crack.

He woke with a start, chest heaving. The fire was out. Cold night air had crept in.

Horacio blinked. Moonlight bled through the slats in the wall.

His hands were raw. Fingernails—no, claws—had torn through the wood beneath him.

The floorboards were shredded.

So were his sleeves.

He staggered upright, breath ragged, blood at the edges of his fingertips. His shoulders shook—not from cold, but from the memory of the dream he couldn’t quite recall.

Something had called to him.
No—someone.

Regina.

She had looked back in that dream.
Not with fear.
But with recognition.

Horacio pressed a hand to his chest. His heart still thundered.
The wolf was pacing now. Awake. Watching.

He was losing control.
And part of him didn’t want it back.

---

Ashen, Lord of Ruin

The chamber was dark. Not because there were no torches—there were—but because light avoided Ashen now.

The fire flickered dimly, struggling against the chill that clung to the warlord’s skin like ash. He stood over a map of Sehil, one paw-like hand pressing into the parchment, claws leaving faint gouges. His shoulders were massive, cloaked in blackened furs, his breath steaming even in the warm room.

A soldier entered, kneeling fast. He didn’t speak. Not yet.

Ashen didn’t look up.
Just said, low and thunderous, “She’s looking for me.”

The soldier tensed. “The girl?”

Ashen finally turned.

His eyes were like black coals—dead, but still burning. “Not a girl. Not anymore.”

The soldier swallowed. “She’s just one woman.”

Ashen growled.

The fire behind him snuffed out.

“She is the only one who walked away.”

The soldier said nothing. Smart. He might live.

Ashen moved slowly, deliberately, circling the map. “When I took the Black Rite… I saw the future. No one could stop me. No mortal, no yōkai, no god. But she—” He stopped. Sniffed the air as though her name lingered. “She burned through my vision. A tear in the future. Something… old. Something hidden. And now she stalks my path.”

He paused at the map again, claws tapping. Crowell.

“She carries something,” he murmured. “Not just steel. Not just vengeance.”

Ashen’s lip curled.

“A memory. Or a curse.”

He waved his hand and black smoke slithered in from the corners of the room—whispering, writhing, shaped like things that had never been animals. Things born from the Rite.

“I want her found,” he snarled. “I want her broken. I want her gone.”

The shadows hissed.

“And if that wolf follows?”
Ashen smiled, teeth jagged.
“Let him come. Let him watch. Let him die.”

Chapter: The Reason to Stay

Weeks passed, but Regina never left Horacio’s mind. He had thought tracking her down would ease the restlessness inside him, but it only worsened after their brief encounter in Crowell. She had slipped through his fingers again, and this time, she had left him with more questions than answers.

Then, news reached him.

Regina had taken in a wolf cub.

The information came from one of his spies, but even if it hadn’t, Horacio would have known something had changed. She had always been a ghost, untethered and elusive. But now, she had tied herself to something—to someone.

The wolf was an orphan, left to die after Ashen slaughtered its entire family. Regina had found it, taken it in, and kept it alive. That was the part that unsettled Horacio the most. Not because he doubted her ability to care for the child—no, if anything, it made too much sense.

Regina had always been a survivor, but now she had become something more.

She was protecting something.

That meant she had more to lose.

And that made her vulnerable.

Horacio clenched his fists, feeling the old burn of the scar she had left on his shoulder. It had healed, but there were nights he still felt the sting of her power, like a ghost of their fight that refused to fade.

And yet, it wasn’t just the wound that haunted him.

It was her.

It had always been her.

Horacio found her again by chance—or maybe it wasn’t chance at all.

It was in the ruins of a temple deep in the forests of the eastern territories, a place torn apart by battle. The scent of blood and smoke still clung to the air. His men had tracked the aftermath of Ashen’s latest massacre, expecting to find nothing but corpses.

Instead, they found her.

Regina stood amidst the wreckage, her jet black hair streaked with dirt and blood, her small frame braced against the weight of exhaustion. At her feet lay bodies—warriors who had been unfortunate enough to cross her. And just behind her, barely peeking out from the folds of her tattered cloak, was a small, trembling figure. The wolf cub.

Horacio barely had time to process the sight before another figure stepped out from the shadows.

Harlan.

The halfbreed yokai was tall and lean, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief despite the blood splattered across his face. His presence made something twist in Horacio’s chest. Not jealousy, not yet. But it was enough to make him watch the way Regina stood beside the other man. The ease in her stance. The trust.

It was a strange feeling, realizing that he was no longer the only one standing at her side.

“Took you long enough,” Harlan said, smirking as he wiped his blade clean. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

Horacio ignored him, his focus solely on Regina.

She met his gaze, unreadable as always. But this time, she didn’t tell him to leave.

This time, she let him stay.

And for the first time since their fight, Horacio realized he had finally found a reason to be near her again.

Horacio had never known silence could cut so deep.

Regina was there, right in front of him, yet she felt further away than ever.

She kept to herself, tending only to the cub with a quiet devotion that stirred something unfamiliar in him. She never spoke to him, only Harlan and the child. When she whispered to the cub, her voice was softer than he had ever heard it. A murmur of reassurance, a promise of safety. He watched her hunt for the cub, bringing back food and patiently feeding him. He watched her bathe him in the river, her delicate hands careful as she rinsed the blood and dirt from the child’s fur.

Horacio had seen Regina fight like a demon, had felt the sting of her power sear his flesh. And yet, this was something different. This tenderness, this quiet care—it was a side of her he had never expected.

And it made him want to know more.

But no matter how many times he tried to start a conversation, she never answered.

Not with words, anyway.

She would nod if he spoke to her directly, but there was nothing beyond that. No sharp retorts, no dry wit. It was as if he had become nothing more than another presence in the background of her life, just another shadow watching over her.

But Harlan?

She spoke to him.

Not much, but enough to remind Horacio that the walls she had built between them weren’t unbreakable. She could speak—she simply chose not to speak to him.

Horacio wasn’t sure which was worse: the fact that she was capable of conversation or the fact that she had decided he wasn’t worth it.

Still, he stayed.

Because for all the silence, for all the distance she put between them—

She never told him to leave.

Horacio had thought, for a fleeting moment, that if anyone could wound Regina, it would be Harlan.

But when Harlan chose Kiso as his wife instead, Regina didn’t break. She didn’t lash out, didn’t argue. She only nodded, accepting his decision with that same quiet grace she carried through everything.

Horacio had expected something more. A flicker of pain, a hint of sadness. Something.

But Regina was as unreadable as ever.

It was strange. He had spent so much time watching her from afar, trying to understand her, and yet she remained a mystery. Even now, after all these weeks, she still slipped through his grasp like mist.

Through it all, she remained devoted to the cub she had named Juan.

Horacio watched her, always. Watched as she soothed the child’s cries in the dead of night, stroking his small ears until he drifted back to sleep. Watched as she hunted with silent efficiency, bringing back fresh game and feeding the child before even thinking of herself. Watched as she sat by the fire, gently mending Juan’s clothes with careful, practiced hands.

She was a warrior, a ghost, a creature of battle and bloodshed. But when she looked at Juan, when she whispered soft lullabies in the dead of night, she was something else entirely.

And Horacio—damned fool that he was—couldn’t look away.

Horacio had witnessed countless battles, had seen warriors and yokai alike carve their way through enemies with skill and brutality. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the sight of Regina when she heard the cub scream.

One moment, she had been at the edge of the battlefield, silent as always, watching Harlan and Kiso engage the enemy. The next, she was a blur of motion, moving faster than even his sharp eyes could track.

She tore into the creatures threatening Juan with a vicious, unrelenting fury.

Horacio had never seen her fight like this.

Not when she had bested him and left him with a scar that still burned on the coldest nights. Not even when she had cut down Ashen’s men without hesitation.

This was something else entirely.

She wasn’t just fighting.

She was butchering.

Her blade was an extension of herself, slicing through flesh and bone with terrifying precision. Limbs fell. Bodies crumpled. The air was thick with the scent of blood and death. She was smaller than everyone around her, but in that moment, she was the most fearsome thing on the battlefield.

She fought like a demon. Like a force of nature. Like a mother protecting her child.

And Horacio—who had spent weeks trying to unravel her, trying to understand the quiet woman who never spoke to him—realized he had never truly seen her until now.

He had thought of her as a mystery. As a warrior. As a woman who had once bested him.

But he had never thought of her as this.

His fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword, but he did not move.

He did not need to.

By the time Regina was done, there was no one left standing. Only the bodies of those foolish enough to have threatened what was hers.

She turned, breathing hard, her dark hair streaked with crimson, her moonflower eyes burning with something primal.

And Horacio, for the first time in his life, felt something like awe.

Horacio had spent two years chasing the ghost of Ashen, two years watching Regina from the edges of her world.

She still barely spoke to him. But she hadn’t pushed him away, either.

That was enough—for now.

The night was quiet, the fire crackling softly as the camp settled into uneasy rest. Harlan and Kiso were somewhere nearby, murmuring to each other. Regina had gone off to hunt, as she often did, leaving Juan in camp.

Horacio sat on a fallen log, sharpening his blade, lost in the steady rhythm of steel against stone.

Then, he felt something warm press against his leg.

He stilled.

Juan, the little cub who had only ever curled against Regina’s side, had climbed into his lap.

Horacio blinked, staring down at the child.

Juan’s tiny wolf ears twitched as he nestled himself into a comfortable position, tail curling over his small frame. His blue eyes, so much like his own in their quiet intensity, flickered up at Horacio before fluttering closed.

Horacio was stunned.

For two years, he had watched Regina care for the cub, watched the way she shielded him, fed him, and soothed him. She was his entire world.

And now, he was the one Juan had chosen for comfort in her absence.

Something tightened in Horacio’s chest.

Carefully—hesitantly—he rested a hand on the child’s back.

Juan let out a soft, contented sigh and burrowed deeper into his lap.

Horacio sat there, unmoving, blade forgotten in his other hand.

For the first time since this hunt for Ashen had begun, since he had first crossed paths with the woman who had scarred him, Horacio felt something shift.

Something he didn’t quite understand.

And when Regina returned, stepping into the firelight with blood on her sleeves and moonlight in her eyes, she stopped.

She looked at Juan.

She looked at him.

And for the first time in two years, Horacio swore he saw something soften in her gaze.

Regina stood just beyond the fire’s glow, her dark hair catching the light as she regarded the scene before her.

Juan, curled up in Horacio’s lap, fast asleep.

Horacio, sitting still as stone, his hand resting protectively on the cub’s back, as if moving might shatter the fragile moment.

Her expression remained unreadable, but Horacio saw the way her fingers twitched at her sides, how her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t wary.

She was uncertain.

For two years, she had kept him at a distance, never once allowing him to get too close—to her or the child. And yet here Juan was, seeking him out, curling into his warmth as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Horacio met Regina’s gaze across the fire. He expected her to say something, maybe to take the cub from him. But she only stood there, watching.

Then, with a quiet exhale, she stepped forward and knelt beside him.

She reached out, brushing her fingers through Juan’s dark hair. The cub stirred, letting out a small noise of protest before burrowing deeper into Horacio’s chest.

Regina’s lips parted slightly, but whatever thought had been on the tip of her tongue never made it into words.

Instead, she let her hand linger on the cub’s back.

Horacio studied her, taking in the exhaustion beneath her cool exterior, the way her eyes seemed softer in the firelight.

Finally, he spoke, voice quieter than usual.

“He came to me on his own.”

Regina nodded. She wasn’t surprised.

After a long pause, she murmured, “He trusts you.”

The words weren’t an accusation. They weren’t even reluctant. They were simply a statement of fact.

Horacio held her gaze, trying to decipher the meaning beneath them.

She had never spoken to him so directly before. Never acknowledged his presence beyond a nod, a glance, a fleeting moment of recognition before she withdrew into herself once more.

But now, as she sat beside him, watching over the cub they had both somehow come to protect, something was different.

Something was changing.

Horacio wasn’t sure if he had finally stepped past one of the walls she had built around herself, or if she was simply too tired to keep him at bay tonight.

Either way, he wasn’t going to let the moment slip away.

Slowly, he exhaled, shifting just enough to adjust Juan in his lap. “He’s small,” he murmured, his voice barely above the crackling of the fire. “But he’s strong.”

Regina’s lips pressed together, and for the first time, Horacio saw the faintest trace of a smile ghost across them.

“Yes,” she said softly. “He is.”

And just like that, the silence between them was no longer heavy with unspoken distance.

For the first time in two years, it felt like something else.

Something closer.

A Month Later

The sky was thick with the scent of rain, the heavy clouds casting the landscape in muted shades of gray. A storm was coming, but for now, the world held its breath.

Horacio stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, watching as Regina and Harlan sparred beneath the looming storm clouds.

It had started as a simple exchange—measured movements, testing footwork, gauging weaknesses. But it had escalated quickly, as it always did between them.

Regina moved like water, fluid and unpredictable. Harlan was a storm, relentless and forceful. Their blades clashed, sending sharp rings through the still air.

Horacio didn’t interfere. He never did.

Instead, his gaze followed her.

She was different from the woman he had first met—less closed off, less unreachable. She still barely spoke to him, but the weight in her gaze when she looked at him had changed.

It was no longer cold.

It was something else, something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

Juan sat beside him, his small wolf tail flicking excitedly as he watched. His blue eyes gleamed with admiration, tiny fingers gripping the fabric of Horacio’s sleeve every time Regina landed a sharp, precise strike.

“She’s gonna win,” the cub whispered, eyes wide.

Horacio smirked, lowering his voice. “You sure? Harlan’s fast.”

Juan scoffed. “Mama’s faster.”

Horacio’s smirk faltered slightly at the word.

Mama.

Regina had never said it aloud, never given voice to what was already clear in the way she held the cub, the way she killed for him, the way she soothed his nightmares in the dead of night.

But Juan had no hesitation.

She was his mother.

And Horacio—who had spent the last two years hunting Ashen, trailing after Regina, watching her from a distance—was starting to realize something.

This woman, the same one who had left him bleeding in the dirt years ago, the same one who had evaded him for months, who had kept him at arm’s length for so long…

She was no longer just a mystery to him.

She was becoming something more.

With a sharp, decisive movement, Regina disarmed Harlan, her blade at his throat before he could react.

Juan let out a victorious cheer, jumping to his feet. “Told you!”

Horacio huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as Harlan sighed, raising his hands in surrender.

And then, as if she could feel Horacio’s gaze, Regina glanced over her shoulder—just for a moment.

It was brief. A flicker of something unreadable in her moonflower eyes.

But it was there.

And for the first time, Horacio let himself wonder:

Was she finally starting to see him, too?

---

The fire crackled between them, casting shifting shadows over Regina’s face. Her moonflower eyes were unreadable, but there was something in the set of her jaw, in the quiet resolve in her voice, that made Horacio’s chest tighten.

He hadn’t expected this—not from her.

For two years, she had kept him at a distance, allowing him only so close before retreating back into the cold solitude she had built around herself. And now, she was asking this of him?

Horacio’s fingers curled slightly, his gaze searching hers. “Why are you saying this now?”

Regina exhaled, slow and measured, as she lowered herself to sit across from him. Her hands rested in her lap, and in the firelight, he noticed the faint bruises along her knuckles, remnants of the last battle.

“Ashen is getting desperate,” she murmured. “He’s hunting us just as we’re hunting him.” Her eyes flickered toward the sleeping form of Juan, curled up beside the fire, his small tail wrapped around himself for warmth. “If something happens to me, I won’t leave him alone in this world.”

Horacio let out a slow breath. He understood the weight of what she was asking. This wasn’t just about Juan.

This was trust.

The very thing she had never given freely.

And now, she was offering it to him.

“You think I’d let something happen to you?” Horacio asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Regina’s lips twitched slightly—almost a smile. But it faded as quickly as it appeared. “You can’t control everything, Horacio.”

No, he couldn’t. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight to keep her alive.

Horacio shifted forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You ask me this, but what about Harlan? He’s been at your side longer. Wouldn’t he—”

“No.” Regina cut him off, shaking her head. “Harlan made his choice when he took Kiso as his wife. I won’t burden him with this.” She met Horacio’s gaze again, and for the first time, there was no hesitation. Only quiet certainty. “I’m asking you.”

The fire popped, sending embers into the night.

Horacio stared at her, his mind racing.

Did she know what she was asking of him? Did she realize how deep this ran?

He had watched her for two years, been drawn to her from the moment she had bested him in battle, haunted by the sting of her power long after the wounds had healed. He had seen the way she cared for Juan, the way she killed without mercy to protect him, the way she softened only for the child.

And now, she was placing that fragile, precious thing in his hands.

Horacio exhaled slowly, running a hand through his dark hair. When he spoke, his voice was steady.

“If it ever comes to that,” he said, “I’ll raise him as my own.”

Something shifted in Regina’s expression—something too fleeting for him to name. She nodded once, standing as silently as she had come.

And then, just before she stepped away, she hesitated.

For the first time, Regina reached out—not quite touching him, but close enough that he could feel the warmth of her fingers hover near his shoulder.

Then she was gone, disappearing into the night like a whisper on the wind.

Horacio sat there long after she left, staring into the fire.

Damn her.

She had just bound him to her in a way he could never untangle.

---

The battlefield was eerily silent in the aftermath. The only sound was the wind, carrying the last traces of Ashen’s existence as his body disintegrated into nothing.

Horacio stood frozen, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.

Regina had done it. She had landed the killing blow.

And then—

Then Kiso’s arrow had struck her.

A single, cruel shot to the back.

And just as quickly as the arrow had pierced her, she was gone—vanishing in a flash of blinding white light.

Horacio’s heart pounded, the ringing in his ears drowning out everything else.

“REGINA!”

He surged forward, but there was nothing left where she had stood—only scorched earth and the ghost of her presence lingering in the air.

She was gone.

His fists clenched at his sides as his gaze snapped to Kiso, who stood several paces away, lowering her bow with an unreadable expression.

The battlefield still smelled of blood and burning flesh, but all Horacio could see was red.

Harlan turned on Kiso with wide, stunned eyes, his face twisting in fury. “What have you done?!”

Kiso didn’t flinch. “I did what had to be done,” she said evenly, her tone void of regret. “Regina was a threat. You both know it.”

Horacio moved before he could think, his body acting on pure instinct. In an instant, he had Kiso by the throat, slamming her back against a crumbling stone wall. Dust and debris rained down, but he barely noticed.

She let out a choked gasp, her hands gripping his wrist, but Horacio didn’t let go. His claws dug into her skin, his voice low and seething.

“You dare?” His blue eyes burned, his fury barely restrained. “She killed Ashen, and you betrayed her?”

Kiso’s lips curled in a small, knowing smile despite the pressure against her throat. “Did I?”

Horacio’s grip tightened, but Harlan’s voice cut through the storm raging inside him.

“Horacio.”

It wasn’t a plea—it was a warning.

Horacio’s jaw locked, his breath ragged. He could snap her neck right now. End her for what she had done.

But no—

That wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered was Regina.

His grip loosened, and he let Kiso drop to the ground. She coughed, rubbing her throat, but Horacio was already moving, his mind racing.

Regina had disappeared in a flash of light. Not blood, not death.

That meant she was still alive.

Somewhere.

And by the gods, he was going to find her.

Two hundred years.

Horacio scoured every corner of the world, but Regina was nowhere.

At first, he refused to believe it. She had vanished in a flash of light, not in a pool of blood—not in death. That meant she was out there somewhere. Hiding, perhaps. Recovering. Waiting.

He searched the ruins of every battlefield, chased rumors of a ghostly warrior with moonflower eyes. He interrogated wandering yokai, bribed, threatened, and tore through anyone who might have known something. He followed whispers, dead ends, and shadows that always led to nothing.

Crowell. Sehil. The war-torn lands beyond the northern mountains. Nothing.

Juan grew under his care, but the cub had no answers either. When he was old enough to understand, he, too, searched.

But Regina was gone.

It was as if she had never existed at all.

As if the earth had swallowed her whole.

The marketplace was alive with the colors and sounds of a thousand different lives converging in one space. Horacio moved through the crowd with ease, his eyes scanning the familiar faces, but his mind restless, always searching for that one person he could never quite forget.

He caught sight of Juan at the edge of the square, a young man now, but still bearing the telltale signs of his cubsune heritage: the wild, untamed energy, the sharpness of his eyes. His focus was fixed on something in the distance, and Horacio’s instincts flared—following someone?

Horacio narrowed his gaze, wondering who had caught his son’s attention. He followed Juan quietly, slipping through the crowd without a sound, like a shadow of the past.

Juan’s tail flicked with excitement as he picked up his pace, darting around stalls, weaving between merchants. His movements were swift and light, the same ones Horacio had watched since he was a child, but now… there was something new, a deeper intensity in the way he moved.

Horacio felt his chest tighten, his pulse quicken. There was something about the way Juan was acting that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His son was on the trail of something—someone.

And then, Horacio smelled it.

A faint, but undeniable scent in the air—her scent.

His heart skipped.

No…

Impossible.

But it was unmistakable.

He followed Juan through the narrow streets, heart pounding in his ears. The scent grew stronger as they reached the edge of the marketplace, where the land opened up into a dense, untamed forest. Juan hesitated for only a moment before stepping off the path, his eyes locked on something ahead.

Horacio lingered at the edge of the trees, a dark silhouette, watching his son approach the figure standing just inside the forest’s edge. The woman’s back was to him, her long white hair flowing down like moonlight catching on the wind. She stood still, as if waiting, as if she had known he would come.

Juan took a step forward, calling her name in a voice that cracked with wonder, a voice laced with emotion.

“Mama.”

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The world was silent, save for the rustling of the leaves and the distant sounds of the marketplace.

The woman turned slowly, and Horacio’s breath caught in his chest as her face came into view.

It was her.

The same moonflower eyes, the same familiar, haunting beauty he had never been able to forget. The years had only deepened her features, the strength in her gaze even more pronounced. But it was her.

It was Regina.

Juan’s expression was filled with the kind of joy and disbelief only a child who had long lost their mother could possess.

“Mama…” His voice cracked, a mix of relief and joy spilling out.

Regina’s lips parted, a faint tremor running through her as she took a step toward him, her hands reaching out instinctively, as if she couldn’t quite believe it either.

“Juan,” she whispered, her voice as soft as the wind, but it carried the weight of everything—the years, the loss, the longing.

Juan rushed to her, throwing himself into her arms with the same unrestrained emotion that had lived in his heart for so long. His arms wrapped tightly around her, holding on as if he could never let go.

Regina’s hands, once so steady, trembled as she cupped his face, her thumb brushing over his cheek, as though to make sure he was real.

“My son…”

Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Her smile was small, but it shone brighter than any star in the sky.

Horacio stood frozen in the shadows, watching the reunion unfold before him. His heart swelled with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

After all these years…

After all the searching, all the battles, all the pain…

She was here.

Regina held Juan at arm’s length, her hands still resting on his shoulders as she studied his face, as though searching for something, as though checking to see if the boy she had left behind was the same.

“Are you…?” Regina asked, her voice soft, but filled with wonder. “Are you truly real?”

Juan nodded, his eyes shining with emotion. “I’ve been searching for you all my life. I knew I would find you.”

There was a quiet moment as the two of them stood there, the weight of the world between them finally beginning to lift.

But then, as if sensing something, Regina’s gaze shifted to the trees just behind them, her posture going still. Nothing.

But her words, when they came, were gentle—hesitant but not regretful.

“You found me.”

And in that moment, everything felt as if it had come full circle.

The air between them was thick with unspoken words, and Juan could feel the weight of it all pressing down on his chest. After two hundred years of not knowing—of never knowing—he had finally found her, but there was so much that had passed, so many years lost to time, to silence, to distance. Regina stood before him, her features soft yet sharp with caution, her eyes still holding the echoes of the woman he had once known, but also something more—something guarded.

“Will you come back with me?” Juan asked, his voice tentative, yet filled with a quiet urgency.

Regina didn’t answer immediately. She only gazed at him, the faintest trace of hesitation flickering in her eyes. She had always been a creature of the wild, of the unknown, yet now she seemed more like a shadow of the person he remembered—a stranger with the same face, the same scent.

“I’ve been alone for so long,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying through the silence between them, as though the words were fragile, too fragile to speak aloud. Her eyes flicked to the trees, to the land beyond, as if it might offer her an answer she was too afraid to hear.

Juan stepped closer, his hand gently reaching for hers, and though Regina flinched at first, she didn’t pull away. His grip was warm, familiar, and for a moment, he saw something pass through her gaze—a faint flicker of recognition, something deep and ancient that neither time nor space could erase.

“You don’t have to stay away anymore,” Juan continued, his voice quieter now, coaxing, almost pleading. “We’ve missed you, I’ve missed you. You don’t have to keep running. There’s a place for you, a home… with us.” He swallowed hard, his heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. “Please, come back with me.”

Regina’s fingers twitched in his grasp, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, her eyes dropped to the ground as if looking for answers in the earth beneath her feet.

“The Stronghold…” she murmured, and Juan noticed how the word sounded foreign on her tongue, as if the very thought of it brought a deep weariness to her spirit. “I left for a reason.”

Juan felt his chest tighten at her words, and he didn’t know if he could fix the rift between them with only a few words, but he had to try.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Juan said quickly, his voice a little more urgent now. “You don’t have to explain everything. I just… I just want you to come back. Even if it’s just for a while.”

Regina hesitated, her fingers curling around his with an almost imperceptible tightness. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, and her face remained unreadable. Juan could see the weight of her past pressing down on her, and though he wanted to reach for it, to pull her close and make her see that she wasn’t alone anymore, he didn’t push her.

Instead, he gave her space to breathe, to think.

Slowly, Regina raised her head, her gaze meeting his again, but it was distant, cautious, as if every word she was about to speak had been carefully considered for too long.

“I remember…” she began, her voice trembling ever so slightly, “I remember when you were small, a tiny cub. You would always follow me, tugging at my tunic, asking me to tell you stories about the world beyond our home. I never had the words then, but I… I tried to protect you the best I could.” Her eyes softened for just a fraction of a moment, but the vulnerability quickly faded. “But things have changed. I can’t be that same mother anymore. I’ve seen too much.”

Juan’s heart clenched at the quiet pain in her words. But he didn’t retreat; instead, he pulled her hand into both of his, holding it firmly. “You don’t have to be that other person, Mama. You just have to be you. I don’t need stories or anything like that. I just need you. Please come back. For me.”

Regina’s throat tightened as she processed his words, and she stood still, caught in the pull of what had been and what could be. But slowly, her features softened, just the slightest bit, the wariness in her eyes easing.

“I never meant to be gone so long,” she whispered, almost as though she were speaking to herself. “But I’ve become… something else.”

Juan gave a gentle squeeze of her hand, offering her the only thing he knew how—acceptance, no matter who or what she had become.

“You don’t have to be anything else, Mama. You just have to be here.”

Regina’s gaze dropped to their hands, the warmth of his touch grounding her. Slowly, cautiously, she nodded. It was a subtle movement, but it was enough.

“Alright,” she said softly, her voice still carrying that note of hesitance. “I’ll come back. But only for you.”

And as they walked together through the trees, Juan felt the slow, tentative warmth of a reunion. Her presence beside him, even guarded and uncertain, was enough to start healing the deep, unspoken wounds between them. And though the road ahead was unclear, he knew one thing—he had his mother back. And that was enough for now.

The journey back to the Stronghold was quiet, and though Regina’s presence beside him was steady, it was clear she was still battling something inside—some lingering fear or hesitation that clung to her like a shadow. Juan could feel it, but he didn’t press her for answers. Instead, he focused on the simple act of being there for her, walking beside her, giving her the space she needed without pulling away.

As they neared the gates of the Stronghold, a place Juan had never fully left but had always felt so distant from when it came to his mother, he watched Regina closely. Her gaze darted to the towering walls, the familiar stone that had once been home to so many memories. Yet, her expression was unreadable. The past was still there, lingering in the air between them, but the present was different now—at least, for Juan.

“I’ve never forgotten you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, though he knew she could hear him. “Not for a single moment.”

Regina didn’t respond right away. Instead, she glanced at him briefly, the faintest flicker of something—nostalgia, perhaps?—passing through her eyes. But it was gone too quickly for him to catch. She remained silent, lost in her own thoughts, as they approached the entrance.

The gates creaked open, and Juan couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation as they crossed the threshold. The air was still, and the familiar scent of the Stronghold—of Horacio—filled his lungs, pulling him back into a world that had once felt like home. Regina, however, seemed to stiffen beside him. Her gaze flicked over the surroundings, as if taking in everything at once, and yet nothing seemed to bring her peace.

“Juan,” she said, her voice quieter now, “you’ve grown. You’ve changed.”

He looked at her, confused at first, but then realized the truth in her words. It had been two hundred years, after all, and he was no longer the tiny cub that had once followed her around. He was older, wiser, stronger.

“Not as much as you have,” he said with a soft chuckle, but it was nervous, because he knew she wasn’t talking just about physical change.

Regina didn’t answer. She just kept walking, each step slow, deliberate. It was as though she was waiting for something, or perhaps dreading something—whatever it was, it lingered between them, unspoken.

As they reached the center of the Stronghold, the sounds of the bustling marketplace and the quiet murmurs of people going about their business filled the air. Juan’s eyes swept over the familiar faces, but they didn’t linger long. His focus remained on his mother, on the guarded way she held herself, and he knew that this place—this home—wasn’t going to be as easy for her as it was for him.

And then, just as they reached the inner courtyard, he heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

Juan turned, and there, standing just a few paces away, was Horacio. His expression was unreadable, as always, but there was a tension in his posture, a quiet strength that seemed to speak volumes.

Regina froze. Her shoulders stiffened imperceptibly, and her gaze shifted quickly, darting away from Horacio as though she was trying to avoid meeting his eyes. Juan felt the shift in the air, the palpable strain between them that hadn’t yet been acknowledged.

“Horacio,” Juan greeted him, trying to break the tension, his voice slightly more upbeat than it should have been. “I brought her back.”

Horacio’s gaze flicked to Juan, his expression softening only slightly before turning to Regina. There was a quiet moment where neither spoke, and Juan could feel the weight of everything that had passed—of the time lost, of the wounds unhealed, of the distance that still lingered between them.

“Regina,” Horacio said, his voice steady, low. His eyes searched hers, almost as if looking for the woman she had once been. “I didn’t think you’d return. I… I wasn’t sure you even wanted to.”

Regina stood perfectly still, her face unreadable. For a long moment, she said nothing, as though considering her response carefully. Finally, she took a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

“I’m here,” she said, her voice quieter than before, almost cautious, but there was a softness in it—a subtle acknowledgment. “I didn’t think I would be either.”

Juan felt the small shift in the air between them, the first crack in the wall that had kept them apart for so long. Horacio’s gaze softened, though he still held himself with a quiet strength, and there was a sense of something unspoken passing between them. It was like the weight of the years apart, the distance, the struggles—everything—had all led to this fragile moment.

“Then,” Horacio said, his voice low but steady, “you’re welcome back.”

Regina didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her gaze flicked to the ground, her lips pressing into a thin line. The moment passed, and the tension between them was still there, but it was… quieter, less sharp. It was the beginning of something—something small, something tentative, but still there.

Juan took a step forward, gently nudging her with his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it all at once,” he said softly. “Just take it one step at a time. You’re not alone anymore.”

Regina glanced at him, her expression softening just slightly. And for the first time since they’d found each other again, she let out a small sigh, as though a part of her had been waiting for that reassurance.

And then, slowly, she nodded.

The Stronghold was just as she had left it, yet entirely different. Regina walked its stone corridors like a ghost, her presence acknowledged with wary glances from the guards, murmurs from the attendants, and silent curiosity from those who remembered her name but not the woman herself.

Juan remained at her side, chatting idly as they passed familiar halls. He spoke of the marketplace, the warriors, and how the Stronghold had changed over the years. Regina listened, nodding occasionally, though she said little in return.

Horacio followed at a measured pace, his presence a steady shadow behind them. He hadn’t spoken to her since his quiet welcome in the courtyard, and she hadn’t made any effort to engage him either. There was too much left unsaid, and neither of them seemed willing to be the first to break the silence.

When they reached the inner chambers, Juan led her to a room she had once called her own. The moment the door creaked open, memories washed over her—faint, lingering impressions of another life. The scent of aged wood, the slight chill in the air, the soft candlelight flickering against the walls.

Regina stepped inside hesitantly. The room was untouched, preserved as if waiting for her return, though she doubted anyone had truly expected it. She traced her fingers along the wooden table, eyes scanning the shelves filled with old scrolls and trinkets she had once collected.

“You kept it the same,” she murmured, barely realizing she had spoken aloud.

Horacio’s voice, quiet yet firm, came from the doorway. “I never believed you were gone for good.”

She turned slightly, her gaze flickering to him. His expression was unreadable, but his golden eyes held something else—something steady, unwavering.

Juan, sensing the weight in the air, cleared his throat. “I should check on the night patrol,” he said, stepping back. “Mama, get some rest. You’ve been traveling too long.”

She gave him a small nod, her expression unreadable as always, but when he left, the room felt heavier.

Horacio hadn’t moved. He stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, studying her with a quiet intensity.

“You should rest too,” she said, her voice measured.

His lips curled faintly, the ghost of a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And if I say I’d rather talk?”

Regina turned away, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Then you’d be wasting your time.”

A beat of silence. Then, Horacio took a step forward, his presence filling the space around her. “You disappeared for two hundred years, Regina. You think I don’t have things I need to say to you?”

She stiffened but didn’t turn. “And what would you say that hasn’t already been said?”

Horacio exhaled, slow and controlled. “You never let me say anything at all.”

That made her pause. Her fingers curled against the wooden table, her nails pressing into the grain.

He took another step closer, until the warmth of him was almost brushing against her back. “You left,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I searched for you, but you were gone. You made sure I couldn’t find you.”

Regina closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. “I had my reasons.”

Horacio scoffed lightly, though there was no real anger in it. “And you’re not going to tell me, are you?”

She turned then, her moonflower eyes meeting his. “Would it change anything if I did?”

He studied her for a long moment, then shook his head with a faint chuckle. “You’re still as stubborn as ever.”

She didn’t respond to that. Instead, she shifted her gaze to the window, looking out at the moonlit courtyard below. “I came back for Juan,” she said after a moment. “That’s all.”

Horacio’s smirk faded, his expression turning unreadable once more. “Is that what you believe?”

She didn’t answer.

With a quiet sigh, he finally took a step back, giving her space once more. “Get some rest, Regina,” he said, his voice softer now. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk. Whether you like it or not.”

And with that, he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him.

Regina remained standing there, staring at the empty space where he had been. The weight of the past pressed against her, but she forced herself to breathe, to push it away.

Tomorrow, she told herself.

Tomorrow, she would decide what was worth saying and what was better left buried.

The night stretched long and restless. Regina lay on the bed she had once called her own, but sleep refused to take her. The air inside the Stronghold felt heavy—thick with memories, with ghosts of laughter and whispers of battles long past. She had spent two centuries moving forward, never looking back. Now, the past had finally caught up with her.

She turned onto her side, her gaze settling on the ceiling. Somewhere beyond these walls, Juan was resting soundly, safe beneath Horacio’s watch. That should have been enough to ease her mind, yet unease coiled in her chest, relentless and unshaken.

Tomorrow, Horacio had said.

Tomorrow, he would demand answers.

Regina closed her eyes. Would she have the strength to give them?

---

Morning came with an overcast sky.

Juan found her outside the Stronghold gates, standing beneath the ancient sakura tree, the petals long fallen away in the winter chill. She looked as she always had—ageless, untouched by time—but there was a weariness in her stance, in the way she held herself so still, as if the wind might carry her away if she let it.

“You always used to wake up early,” Juan said, approaching with his hands tucked into his sleeves. “I remember you would sit just like this, watching the trees. Sometimes I’d wake up before you and just listen to you breathe.”

Regina glanced at him, something soft flickering in her expression before she looked away. “You remember that?”

“Of course.” Juan smiled, a sharp contrast to the chill in the air. “I remember everything.”

She studied him, as if searching for a lie in his words. But there was none.

A long pause stretched between them before she finally spoke. “Are you happy here?”

Juan exhaled, leaning against the tree beside her. “I have a home,” he said simply. “And I had a good father figure.” He turned his head toward her. “But I never stopped missing my mother.”

Regina’s throat tightened, but she didn’t look away this time. She held his gaze, her moonflower eyes unreadable.

Juan hesitated, then stepped forward, placing a hand on her arm. “I know there’s a reason you left,” he said. “And I know you won’t tell me yet. But I’m not a child anymore, Mama. I won’t run from the truth.”

Regina sighed, her fingers twitching at her sides. A habit she had long since tamed, but here, in front of her son, old instincts resurfaced.

Before she could respond, a familiar presence approached.

Horacio.

He strode toward them with the effortless grace of a warrior, his golden eyes sharp yet calm. “Morning,” he greeted, though his gaze was locked on Regina. “I see you’re already trying to slip away.”

Juan frowned, crossing his arms. “She’s not slipping away. We’re just talking.”

Horacio arched a brow but said nothing. He shifted his weight, studying Regina with a look she couldn’t decipher. “You never were one to stay put for long,” he mused.

Regina’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t intend to stay where I don’t belong.”

Horacio’s smirk was slight, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And who decided you don’t belong here?”

Regina didn’t answer.

Juan, however, sighed loudly. “Can we not do this? I finally have my mother back, and you two are already circling each other like wolves.”

Horacio chuckled, though his gaze never left Regina’s. “Some habits are hard to break.”

Regina narrowed her eyes. “That’s assuming I have any intention of staying long enough to form habits.”

Juan stepped between them, clearly exasperated. “Mama.” His voice was softer now. “Stay. Just for a little while.”

Regina hesitated.

Juan reached for her hand—not pulling, not forcing, just holding.

And for the first time since she had returned, she didn’t pull away.

“…Just for a little while,” she finally murmured.

Juan’s smile was bright, and Horacio—though quieter—nodded in approval.

Regina exhaled. Tomorrow could wait.

For now, she would stay.

Horacio paused in the doorway, his golden eyes flickering between mother and son. There was something unspoken in the air, something delicate, as if he had just walked in on a moment not meant for outsiders. But he wasn’t an outsider. Not anymore.

Juan, oblivious to the sudden tension, grinned. “Mama was just telling me that I’m her only source of joy.” His voice held a teasing lilt, but his expression was soft, touched by something deeper.

Horacio leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. “That so?” His gaze found Regina’s, searching.

Regina didn’t look away, but she didn’t answer either.

Juan turned back to her, curiosity bright in his eyes. “Then what about before me?” he asked. “Before I was born—before Ashen, before all of it—what made you happy?”

Regina was still for a long moment. Then, finally, she spoke.

“The wind,” she murmured. “Running. The sound of the river when it was full and wild.” A pause. “The feeling of being free.”

Juan tilted his head. “Do you still feel free?”

Regina opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come.

Horacio watched her carefully, his usual teasing smirk absent. “That’s a complicated question, isn’t it?” he murmured.

Regina’s fingers curled slightly in her lap. “It shouldn’t be.”

“But it is.”

Silence stretched between them. Juan looked between them both, sensing something just beyond his understanding.

Horacio finally pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, his presence filling the space with an unspoken weight. “Maybe,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you don’t have to answer it alone.”

Regina exhaled softly. “I’ve been answering it alone for centuries.”

Horacio held her gaze. “Maybe it’s time to stop.”

Juan, sensing the shift, gently took his mother’s hand, squeezing it. “You don’t have to figure it all out today, Mama.”

Regina looked at her son, then at Horacio.

No, she supposed she didn’t.

---

Horacio studied her, his gaze unreadable in the dim firelight. The room was quiet, save for the distant howl of the wind against the stronghold walls. He stepped closer, his voice low, edged with something raw.

“It is important,” he said. “I searched for you for two hundred years, Regina. You vanished—just gone, as if you never existed. I need to know… where did you go?”

Regina’s fingers curled around the hem of her sleeve. She exhaled softly, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I went where no one could follow.”

Horacio scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer I have to give.”

His jaw tensed. “Damn it, Regina.”

She finally looked up then, and for the first time since she returned, there was something fierce in her expression. “What do you want me to say, Horacio? That I ran? That I was too weak to stay? That I almost died?” Her voice didn’t rise, but it carried weight. “Would it change anything?”

Horacio stared at her, his frustration melting into something else—something heavier. “It would change everything.”

Regina’s breath hitched, just barely, but Horacio caught it.

He took another step closer, his voice softer now. “I saw you fall, Regina. I saw the light swallow you up, and then there was nothing. For two centuries, I never stopped looking. Every rumor, every whisper—I followed them all, only to find emptiness.”

Regina lowered her gaze again, her expression unreadable. “I wasn’t ready to be found.”

Horacio searched her face. “And now?”

She hesitated.

For a moment, she seemed on the verge of something—of an answer, of letting him in. But then, as always, she pulled back.

She turned away, her voice quiet. “It’s late. You should rest.”

Horacio watched her retreat, a familiar ache settling in his chest.

She was here, standing before him, but somehow, she still felt just out of reach.

---

The marketplace was unusually quiet that morning, a hush settling over the streets as if the world itself sensed an oncoming storm. Horacio stood beside Juan, arms crossed, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes. Something wasn’t right.

Juan had been the first to notice it—an unfamiliar scent carried on the wind. A scent he hadn’t encountered in centuries but could never forget. Kiso.

“Horacio,” Juan murmured, his voice tense. “She’s here. Or at least, she was.”

Horacio’s golden eyes flickered with something dark. “Kiso?”

Juan nodded grimly. “And she isn’t alone. Harlan is with her.”

The name struck like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. Horacio’s fingers flexed at his sides. He had known, deep down, that the peace surrounding Regina’s return wouldn’t last forever. He had seen the way she kept her distance, how she never let her guard down completely, as if she knew—knew that the past wouldn’t let her go so easily.

And now it had come for her.

“We need to find out why they’re here,” Horacio said, his voice low and controlled. “Now.”

Juan didn’t argue. Together, they moved through the marketplace, following the scent until it led them to a small tavern nestled in the shadow of the city walls. The moment they stepped inside, they knew. Kiso and Harlan had been there recently.

Horacio motioned to Juan to stay silent as they approached a table where a few merchants sat whispering. One of them, a lanky man with a nervous air, glanced up and stiffened at the sight of them.

“You seem troubled,” Horacio said smoothly, though his presence alone carried an unspoken threat. “Perhaps you can help us.”

The man swallowed hard, eyes darting between them. “I— I don’t want any trouble.”

Juan leaned forward, his usually warm demeanor darkened by the weight of his worry. “You saw them, didn’t you? The woman with the bow and the halfbreed with the fox mask?”

The merchant hesitated, then nodded. “They were here last night. Asking about a woman with Black hair and golden eyes. They said she was dangerous, that she needed to be dealt with.”

Horacio’s jaw tightened. “And did they find her?”

The man shook his head quickly. “No. They left before dawn, but they swore they’d keep searching. They said it was only a matter of time.”

Juan exhaled sharply, stepping back. Horacio placed a few coins on the table and turned away without another word. Outside, the air felt heavier than before.

“They’re hunting her,” Juan said, fury flashing in his eyes. “They won’t stop until she’s dead.”

Horacio remained silent for a long moment, his thoughts unreadable. Then, with quiet certainty, he said, “Then we’ll make sure they never find her.”

Juan looked up at him, his expression hardening with resolve. “What do we do?”

Horacio’s gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the stronghold lay beyond the hills, where Regina was waiting—unaware of the danger creeping closer.

“We go to her,” he said. “We tell her what’s coming. And this time…” His blue eyes burned with something fierce. “This time, we don’t let her fight alone.”

When they reached the stronghold, night had already begun to settle, casting long shadows across the corridors. Horacio and Juan wasted no time, striding toward Regina’s quarters with urgency.

But when they entered, they found her in the middle of packing.

“You know,” Juan breathed, his voice filled with disbelief.

Regina barely glanced at them, continuing to place her weapons in a satchel. “Of course, I know,” she said evenly. “Kiso and Harlan are not the most subtle hunters.”

Horacio stepped forward, frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw. “And your solution is to leave? To fight them alone?”

Regina paused, lifting her gaze to meet his. “It isn’t your fight, Horacio. It never was.”

Juan’s fists clenched at his sides. “That’s not true. You’re my mother, and that makes this my fight.”

She softened for a moment, a ghost of something unreadable passing through her expression. But then, she shook her head. “I won’t let you get caught up in this. Either of you.”

Horacio exhaled sharply, stepping closer. “You think after all these years, after everything, I would let you walk into battle alone?”

Regina didn’t respond, merely fastening her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“I made a promise once,” Horacio continued, his voice quieter now. “To protect you.”

She turned to him fully then, her eyes unreadable. “I never asked for that promise.”

Horacio shook his head. “No. But I made it anyway.”

Juan’s voice softened. “Mama, please. Let us stand with you.”

For the first time, hesitation flickered in her gaze. She looked between them, the weight of centuries of solitude pressing against her. Finally, she sighed, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a fraction.

“Fine,” she murmured at last. “But stay out of my way.”

Horacio and Juan exchanged a glance. They knew better than to argue. But they also knew one thing for certain—

They wouldn’t let her face this alone, no matter what she believed.

---

The journey had been relentless. For three days, Juan and Horacio had followed Regina’s trail, pushing their bodies to the limit in an effort to keep pace with her. She moved with the quiet certainty of one who had already accepted her fate, her steps light but unyielding. There was no hesitation in her path, no wasted movement. Every decision was deliberate, each step drawing her closer to the inevitable.

The final night brought them to a secluded meadow, an isolated stretch of land perched on the precipice of oblivion. One side was lined with towering trees, their branches whispering with the secrets of the wind. The other side gave way to an abyss, a bottomless pit of black nothingness that seemed to devour the very light of the moon. It was the perfect battlefield—one way in, no way out.

Juan and Horacio watched as Regina moved between the trees, her lips murmuring ancient prayers while her hands deftly placed seals. The symbols glowed faintly before vanishing into the bark, leaving behind only the slightest shimmer of power. She was warding the land, preparing it for the battle to come.

The weight of what they were about to do settled heavily in Regina’s mind. This was it. Once Kiso and Harlan stepped into this circle, there would be no turning back. The realization that only death—or victory—would break the seal hung in the air like a blade poised to fall. A smile tugged at her lips. No more running. It ends tonight.

As she reached the center of the meadow, Regina lifted her gaze to the sky. Memories of her early training flashed in her mind—how she had once struggled to control the brilliant glow that emanated from her, how it had marked her as something otherworldly. So many thought I was a goddess, she mused, but tonight, they’ll see what true power is.

Years of discipline had honed her ability to command the shine of her godfire, and now, she was ready to unleash it.

Closing her eyes, Regina reached out with her senses, feeling the energy of the land pulsate beneath her feet. The connection was immediate, almost intimate, as if the earth itself welcomed her presence. You will aid me tonight, she silently vowed, feeling the land’s energy blend with her own. Her hair began to rise, her body glowing with an inner light that grew more intense with each passing second.

“I invoke the rites of fiery Gehenna and give my soul up to the inferno’s embrace,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself as the tingling sensation surged through her. The words felt like a pact—a binding promise with the ancient forces she called upon. “Release”

With a sudden, explosive force, flames erupted from her body, spreading outward to engulf the entire meadow. The fire licked at the trees, climbing high into the canopy, its light so intense that even the distant Vuzor Stronghold was bathed in its glow. Let them come, Regina thought as the flames roared around her. Let them see the power they face.

The sky brightened until the watchers had to avert their eyes. Regina was still floating, her form aglow as she drew the flames back into her body. She’s magnificent, Horacio thought, awe mingling with something deeper, something he dared not name. As she descended, the energy of the meadow settled into a heavy stillness, the calm before the storm.

---

Meanwhile, Kiso and Harlan, who had just left a village where all within were left dead, paused as they noticed the bright glow in the distance—a beacon from the heavens that seemed to be calling them.

“That’s three days away from here, Harlan,” Kiso remarked, her voice laced with intrigue.

“Fuck that. Two if I run,” Harlan replied, determination hardening his features. I can’t ignore this. Whatever’s out there, it’s worth the risk.

“I need more souls, Harlan,” Kiso growled, the hunger in her voice unmistakable. “I’m running dry… and the taste of human souls is starting to wear thin.”

“We can go back to that human village,” Harlan suggested, though the memory of their last encounter made him shudder. “No fucking way am I attacking a Yokai village again after the last damn time.” Not after the slaughter… not again.

Kiso’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “Then let’s make this hunt worthwhile. If that light is what I think it is… we’re about to feast.”

With that, the two vanished into the night, racing toward the battlefield where fate awaited them all.

---

FLASHBACK: The First Fracture

The moon had hung low that night—bruised purple and swollen with secrets.

Regina stood beneath its light, watching the firelight flicker against Harlan’s tent. The sounds of laughter drifted out, warm and careless. Kiso was inside. So was he.

She’s lying to you, Regina wanted to scream. She’s lying to all of us.

But instead, she stayed still, her black hair brushing the edges of her shoulders like a veil of frost. The cold didn’t touch her, not anymore. Not since the godfire had taken root in her blood.

She’d tried before—too many times.

“Something is off about Kiso,” she had whispered to Harlan once, weeks ago.

He hadn’t looked at her. “Don’t start this again.”

He never listened. He only saw Kiso’s charm, her fire, her convenient fury. He didn’t see the hunger in her when she looked at Regina.

But Regina did.

She had seen it the moment they met. It was too fast, the way Kiso recognized her. The way her eyes had widened—not in awe, but in certainty, like a wolf recognizing the scent of a long-hunted prey.

She knew. Kiso had known what she was.

---

The first attempt had come barely a month in.

A teacup. The scent was wrong—too sweet, with a bitter tail that reminded her of withered lotus root. Regina hadn’t drunk it. But she’d said nothing.

Then came the knife in the dark. Then the sabotaged wards. Then the shrine that collapsed just seconds after Regina passed through it.

Each time, Regina said nothing.

“Why?” Juan had once asked her, long after. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She had smiled, distant. “Because if I did, Harlan would have chosen her anyway.”

---

But the night before the battle, the silence broke.

She had gone out to recharge her talismans. That’s what she told herself. That’s what she told Harlan.

Instead, she had followed the smell. Sulfur. Dust. Rotten blood. The scent of the Ashen, servants of the dark god who had once tried to rip the realms apart.

Kiso stood in the clearing, her hand clasped tightly with a figure cloaked in black. No face, just shadow and teeth.

“She’s strong, but she’s tired,” Kiso was saying, her voice too soft, too intimate.

“She’ll never see it coming. And when she dies… I want her soul.”

Regina had frozen, breath caught in her throat. She had been right all along. But hearing it—hearing Kiso ask for her godfire like a merchant haggling for silk—was something else entirely.

The Ashen figure laughed.

“A goddess brought low by love,” it hissed. “You’ll make a fine herald, Kiso.”

She left before they could sense her. Left without a word, walking slowly back toward camp, where Harlan sat waiting beside a fire that suddenly felt far too warm.

He looked up at her, smiling. “There you are.”

Regina forced a smile in return.

“I was just placing the last wards,” she lied.

---

That night, Regina sat alone beside the river.

She didn’t sleep.

She didn’t cry.

She just watched the water pass, whispering old prayers into the dark. Not for protection. Not for peace.

But for clarity. For the strength to do what must be done.

“I’ll face her. I’ll burn her. And when it’s done, maybe you’ll finally see.”

---

Later that night, beneath the glow of a fading fire, Juan sat beside his mother, his sharp eyes reflecting the flickering embers. Horacio lingered nearby, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate strokes. The night was eerily quiet, the wind whispering through the trees, carrying with it the weight of the battle yet to come.

Juan’s gaze remained fixed on Regina, his voice softer this time, but no less urgent. “Why do Kiso and Harlan want you dead, Mama? Please?”

Regina hesitated, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt. She wasn’t sure how much to say—how much he was ready to hear. But he had already faced so much. Shielding him now felt pointless.

“Kiso wants to feed off my soul,” she finally admitted, her voice steady, yet tinged with something unreadable.

Juan’s brows furrowed. “How do you know?”

A quiet sigh escaped Regina’s lips. “You didn’t notice as you were too young… but Kiso has no heartbeat.”

Juan stiffened, and even Horacio’s blade paused mid-sharpening.

Regina’s voice was softer now, but the words cut through the night like a blade. “She feeds off souls. The more powerful the soul, the longer she can maintain her appearance and her magic. Yokai souls, especially ancient ones, are worth more than hundreds of human lives.”

Juan swallowed hard. “So she—she eats people’s souls just to stay alive?”

“Not just alive. To stay powerful. To stay beautiful,” Horacio interjected, his voice low and grim. He set his blade down, leaning forward on his elbows. “Kiso doesn’t just consume souls. She wears them. If you’ve ever wondered why she never looks a day older, why her skin is flawless, why her power never wanes—it’s because she is constantly stealing life from others.”

Regina nodded slowly. “Her beauty is a graveyard of stolen lives.”

Juan shuddered. “But how does she do it? How does she take souls?”

Horacio met Juan’s eyes, his expression unreadable. “Through touch. A kiss. A whisper. A wound. Any connection is enough if she wills it. But she prefers to break her victims first, to weaken their spirit before she rips it away.”

Juan paled, gripping the hem of his sleeve. “She tried to do that to you, didn’t she?”

Regina said nothing at first. But then, she exhaled. “A long time ago. She tried.”

Juan’s fists clenched. “She won’t ever touch you again.”

A small, sad smile tugged at Regina’s lips. “No. She won’t.”

Horacio’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he turned back to his blade, resuming the slow, rhythmic sound of sharpening steel. The fire crackled between them, sending embers into the night, as if sealing an unspoken promise in the air.

Juan tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing as he pressed on. “And earlier… that shine,” he hesitated before asking, “is that—was that your soul?”

Regina’s expression barely flickered, but Horacio noticed the slight shift in her shoulders, the almost imperceptible hesitation before she responded.

A small, sad smile played on her lips as she lifted a finger to them. “Shh,” she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. “No—that’s my secret.”

Juan frowned, his small brows knitting together. “That’s not an answer, Mama.”

Regina only ruffled his hair in response, her touch lingering a second too long, as if grounding herself in the moment.

Horacio’s gaze lingered on her, unease coiling tight in his gut. He had seen many things in his lifetime, but nothing like what Regina had done earlier that night. That wasn’t mere magic—it wasn’t even just power. That light, that shine… it had felt alive. It had rippled through the earth, bending everything in its presence to her will. It wasn’t just something she wielded. It was her.

And if Juan had noticed, then Regina was slipping. She was trying to hide something—maybe from them, maybe from herself.

Horacio exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into his palm. I should press her, he thought. I should ask. But then he saw the sadness behind her smile, the ghost of something ancient and heavy lingering in her eyes.

He knew that look. He had worn it himself, once.

For now, he would let it be.

Juan, however, was not so easily deterred. He pulled at Regina’s sleeve, his youthful voice laced with something deeper—something more than just curiosity. “Mama… you keep saying Kiso wants your soul. If that shine wasn’t your soul, then what was it?”

Horacio watched the way Juan’s fingers clenched into Regina’s sleeve, how his small body tensed with unspoken worry. He was young, but not that young. He understood more than Regina gave him credit for. He could sense that there was more to this than she was saying.

And Horacio could tell it wasn’t just fear of Kiso that was gnawing at him.

It was her.

Juan’s frown deepened, his sharp little canines peeking out as he bit his lip. He wasn’t a fool. He could feel it—something wasn’t being said.

Regina let out a quiet sigh, her fingers brushing through Juan’s unruly hair. “It’s… complicated,” she murmured. “One day, I’ll tell you everything. But for now, you don’t need to worry about that, Lupus regem.”

The pet name, though meant to soothe, didn’t quite erase the concern in his eyes. Juan looked far from satisfied, but he didn’t push further. Still, Horacio noticed the way his small hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Horacio exhaled, rubbing his chin as he observed them. Juan had a fire in him, one that was only growing stronger. He wasn’t just worried about Kiso. He was worried about her.

Horacio couldn’t blame him.

Regina might think she was protecting Juan by keeping secrets, but the boy wasn’t blind. He saw her power. He saw the toll it took. And he was starting to understand that whatever lay ahead wasn’t just a battle—it was a reckoning.

Horacio leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “You can’t expect him not to notice, you know,” he finally said, his voice quiet but firm.

Regina glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “I know.”

“Then stop pretending he doesn’t.”

For a moment, Horacio thought she might argue. But instead, she simply looked back down at Juan, her fingers still idly running through his hair.

Juan, for all his earlier fire, was now leaning into her touch, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. His eyes were heavy, but Horacio could tell his mind was still turning, still trying to make sense of it all.

Tomorrow, he might ask again.

And maybe next time, Regina wouldn’t be able to avoid the answer.

The wind howled through the jagged cliffs, carrying with it the scent of salt and the promise of a storm. Below, the rocky shores of the western front waited like a ravenous beast, ready to swallow them whole.

Regina, Horacio, and Juan stood shoulder to shoulder, the weight of what was about to unfold pressing down on them like the clouds above. On the far side of the battlefield, Kiso and Harlan approached, their eyes burning with malice.

Kiso was first to draw her blade, its surface rippling with dark magic. She had always been a force of nature, a storm incarnate, but now she seemed even more dangerous—more untethered. Her smile was a twisted thing, too sharp for comfort, as she caught sight of Regina.

“You think you can stop me, Regina?” Kiso sneered, her voice a venomous hiss.

Regina’s lips curled into a defiant smile, the grip on her sword tightening. Her moon-colored eyes flickered with a cold fire. “I’ve stopped worse.”

Without another word, Kiso lunged.

The clash of steel rang out like thunder as their blades met, sparks flying off the contact, their auras colliding in a crackling symphony of magic. Regina’s feet slid across the gravel as she absorbed the force of Kiso’s attack, then swept her blade in a wide arc, the air around her humming with energy. Kiso parried, but Regina’s strike was a blur, moving faster than Kiso could track.

“Regina!” Horacio’s voice broke through the storm of battle as he turned his attention to Harlan, who had already advanced to meet him with a sneer.

But Regina wasn’t looking at him. Her focus was entirely on Kiso, who now spun to launch a series of rapid slashes. The air around them swirled with magic, Kiso’s dark energy mixing with Regina’s raw, untamed power.

“Regina, you’ve always been too soft. You should have joined me,” Kiso taunted, her eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “But instead, you choose to die.”

With a roar, Kiso unleashed a violent burst of energy, knocking Regina back. She stumbled but quickly regained her stance, gritting her teeth. Kiso’s magic was as wild and unpredictable as the storm overhead, but Regina wasn’t about to let her win. She’d fought too long and too hard.

“You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Regina charged again, her sword crackling with power. She twisted the blade in her grip, unleashing a strike imbued with her magic—an ethereal energy that lashed out like lightning. Kiso raised her own weapon to deflect, but the force behind Regina’s strike pushed her back, off balance.

At that moment, Regina saw her opening. She moved like a shadow, darting forward and catching Kiso’s wrist in a firm grip. With a vicious twist, she disarmed her, sending the blade flying from Kiso’s hand.

Kiso’s eyes flared with rage, but before she could react, Regina pressed the point of her sword to her throat. “It’s over,” Regina said, breathing heavily, but with a note of triumph in her voice.

But Kiso wasn’t finished. With a screech of fury, she threw herself backward, summoning a powerful surge of magic. The ground beneath them cracked open, a jagged rift appearing in the earth. The force of the blast sent them both tumbling toward the edge of the cliff.

Regina barely had time to react, her eyes widening as she saw Kiso’s hand shoot out, grabbing hold of Juan, who had been standing too close to the edge.

“No!” Regina cried, her heart stopping as she watched Kiso drag Juan with her toward the abyss.

With a final, maniacal laugh, Kiso pulled them both over the cliff’s edge, disappearing into the darkness below.

“Juan!” Horacio’s voice was a roar of fury as he cut down Harlan in one swift motion, the enemy’s sword falling uselessly to the ground. But there was no time for celebration.

“Regina!” Horacio’s eyes locked onto her, the raw panic in them.

Without another word, Regina ran. She felt the wind whip past her face as her magic surged through her, her feet barely touching the ground.

Regina leaped over the edge of the cliff, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination.

The air around her crackled with raw power as magic surged through her veins, propelling her downward. She hurled herself into the abyss, the ground disappearing beneath her in an endless freefall. Juan’s form spiraled downward, tumbling uncontrollably toward the jagged rocks far below. The cliffs loomed like a hungry maw, but Regina didn’t hesitate—not with him at stake.

With her heart in her throat, Regina reached out, her fingers grazing Juan’s arm in a desperate grab. She pulled him close, wrapping her arms tightly around him just as the rocky ground rushed toward them with terrifying speed. The wind howled in her ears, the rush of their fall threatening to tear them apart. Yet, her grip on him remained unyielding.

They fell, faster and faster, the world spinning out of control.

But just as the darkness of the chasm threatened to swallow them whole, Regina’s will surged. A burst of energy erupted from her, and massive wings of fire unfurled from her back, each feather a flickering blaze that burned as brightly as her resolve. The flames roared to life, their heat intense, and the force of the wings spread wide, catching the air and slowing their descent.

The wind still screamed past them, but now they hovered, suspended between the abyss and the open sky. Regina’s body trembled with the effort, but her arms remained wrapped tightly around Juan, her chest rising and falling in quick, ragged breaths. The earth below them seemed so far away, and the cliff’s edge looked like a distant memory.

With a quiet cry of determination, Regina focused, flapping her wings with all her strength. The fire within her wings flared, and with a powerful thrust, they shot upward, rising from the dark chasm like a phoenix escaping a fiery death.

The light above them broke through the shadow, bathing them in the warmth of the sun as Regina soared, her wings beating with a steady rhythm. Her mind was clear, her focus unshakable. She would carry him to safety. She would not let him fall.

Up and up they flew, through the thick clouds and into the open sky. The wind rushed past them, but Regina’s heart raced with purpose. Her magic and her will were one, and nothing could stop her now.

Regina glanced down at Juan, whose face was pale but filled with awe. His eyes met hers, and in that moment, she knew that everything she’d done, every sacrifice, was worth it.

They were alive. They were free.

And as they soared toward the horizon, the storm below seemed a distant memory, swallowed by the vast expanse of the sky.

Regina’s wings continued to beat with a powerful rhythm, sending them higher and higher into the sky. The warmth of the sunlight on her face felt like a blessing after the terrifying plunge into darkness. Her heart pounded in her chest, but it wasn’t from fear anymore. It was from the exhilaration of knowing she had saved him.

Juan’s grip tightened around her, his face still pale but with a hint of relief slowly spreading across his features. He looked up at her, the wind ruffling his hair, eyes filled with gratitude and awe.

“Mama… I…” His voice cracked slightly, but the words were clear. “I never expected you to…”

Regina didn’t need him to finish. She already knew what he was trying to say. She smiled softly, the warmth in her chest swelling. 

“I’d do anything to keep you safe,” she whispered back, her voice steady.

They flew in silence for a moment, their only company the steady hum of the wind and the gentle roar of the wings’ flames. The world seemed so vast, so open now, and Regina allowed herself a moment of peace in the midst of the chaos. But there was still work to be done.

They weren’t out of danger yet. The storm might have been left behind, but their enemies were still out there, waiting. Kiso had taken Juan over the cliff, and though Regina had managed to save him, the battle wasn’t won. She could feel the fire inside her still burning, the need to finish what they had started.

Her eyes narrowed as she turned her focus ahead, scanning the sky. The cliffs were behind them now, but the threat of Kiso still loomed over them like a dark cloud. They would need to make sure the danger was over, that they could finally find peace.

But first, she had to land.

---

Regina’s breath caught as her eyes flicked to the masked figure of Harlan. The fox mask still clung to his face, hiding everything and revealing nothing—but she didn’t need to see his expression to know the betrayal burned colder than any blade.

She remembered the day she’d first met him—back when Juan was still wrapped in swaddling cloth, tucked against her chest as they wandered the outlands, hunted and half-starved. Harlan had emerged from the trees like a ghost, silver eyes gleaming behind that damnable mask, hands held up in peace.

“You look like you could use shelter,” he’d said, voice like wind over snow.

He’d offered firewood, food, and protection. He’d laughed with Juan when the baby gripped his finger, and once stood between her and a bear spirit without flinching. Regina had trusted him. Had thought of him like a brother.

But Kiso had been in his shadow even then, hadn’t she?

The memory twisted, sour in her gut. The way Harlan always flinched when Kiso’s name came up. The night he left camp without a word, only to return with strange magic clinging to him like a second skin. She should’ve seen the signs. She should’ve known.

---

Regina angled her wings downward, gently guiding them toward the cliffside where Horacio had fought Harlan. The winds were stronger here, but her wings cut through them with ease. She focused, her body and magic working together in perfect harmony as she neared the rocky surface. The flames on her wings flickered, their heat wavering, but she kept her grip on Juan tight, landing with a soft thud on a flat outcrop of stone.

Once their feet were firmly on solid ground, Regina quickly released her wings, letting the flames dissipate into the air as she set Juan down gently. Her breath stuttered—ragged, scorched with the echo of fire—but she refused to let it shake her. Juan was alive. That was all that mattered.

“We’re safe,” Juan said, his voice still shaky but stronger now, as he steadied himself beside her.

Regina nodded, her gaze drifting back to the battlefield. Horacio had finished with Harlan, and though their enemies were beaten, Regina could feel the tension between them—an unspoken weight that neither of them could ignore.

But for now, she would savor the small victory. They had won. She had saved Juan.

And as she glanced up at Horacio, her heart softened. This was only the beginning.

“Regina,” Horacio’s voice broke through the stillness, warm and steady, just like him. “We’ll finish this. Together.”

Regina turned to face him, her heart swelling with something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before—hope. “Together,” she echoed softly, knowing that with him by her side, they could face whatever came next.

The winds had settled, and the tense silence between them hung in the air, heavy with the aftermath of battle. Regina felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her, but there was a quiet pride in the way her chest swelled with the knowledge that they had survived. She had pulled Juan back from the edge of death, and now the group was whole again.

But as her gaze met Horacio’s, she knew the moment was far from over. His eyes softened when they locked on hers, though there was still a flicker of concern beneath the calm exterior.

“We need to make sure Kiso and Harlan are truly done for,” Horacio said, his voice low but resolute. His hand flexed on the hilt of his sword, and his posture was one of readiness. It was clear he wasn’t letting his guard down just yet, even with Harlan defeated.

Regina nodded, though her body ached. She had fought hard, and while her magic had carried them through, she knew it wasn’t over until every last threat was vanquished. Still, the exhaustion was beginning to settle in her bones. She was drained, but she pushed the weariness aside. She couldn’t afford to falter now.

Juan stepped closer, his hand hovering over his chest, as if to reassure himself that he was still in one piece. His voice was steady, but the lingering shock of the fall had yet to leave him. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly, though the strain was evident in his eyes. “I’ll help finish this.”

Horacio looked to him, his gaze flickering with a mix of caution and respect.

 “You’re not in any shape to fight. Stay back and recover,” he instructed, his tone softer than usual, but no less commanding.

Regina could see the battle between Juan’s pride and Horacio’s concern, but before either of them could speak, a sharp cry rang out from the distance, cutting through the stillness. It was a voice she recognized. The smoke churned like a storm wound too tight. And from its core, Kiso erupted—less woman now, more fury, more curse.

Kiso.

She was alive.

Regina’s heart sank, but before she could respond, Horacio was already moving, his sword drawn, his eyes narrowing as the figure of Kiso appeared on the distant ridge. Harlan’s body lay crumpled at the foot of a nearby cliff, his death unmistakable, but Kiso was far from finished.

She stood tall on the cliff’s edge, her wild eyes blazing with fury as she locked gazes with Regina, blood-streaked and breathing heavily from the fight. 

“You think you’ve won?” Kiso’s voice was like a hiss, filled with venom and rage. “This is far from over.”

Regina stepped forward, fury surging in her chest. The battle was still alive in Kiso’s eyes, and she wasn’t about to let the woman’s rage fester. The ground trembled beneath her as her hand clenched around the hilt of her sword, ready for the final strike.

“Why don’t you just admit it, Kiso?” Regina called out, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “You’re finished.”

Kiso laughed, though it was more of a growl, deep and defiant. 

“You don’t get to decide when it’s over,” she spat. “Not yet.”

And with that, Kiso’s form blurred as she vanished into a whirl of smoke, her magical aura swirling like a storm on the horizon. Regina’s eyes darted around, her pulse quickening, trying to pinpoint where Kiso might strike next.

The air grew thick with anticipation. Then, without warning, Kiso reappeared in a flash of blinding light, charging toward them with a ferocity that was almost inhuman. The force of her attack was enough to send the ground beneath them cracking and crumbling, rocks tumbling into the abyss below.

Horacio was already moving, his sword cutting through the air in a powerful arc as he met Kiso head-on. The force of their clash sent shockwaves through the earth, but Kiso wasn’t backing down. She fought with the desperation of someone who had nothing left to lose, her dark magic clashing against Horacio’s sword with explosive power.

“Horacio!” Regina shouted as she saw Kiso’s weapon crackling with dark energy, aimed directly at his chest. Without thinking, Regina surged forward, her magic thrumming through her veins as she conjured a shield of fire, sending it crashing between Horacio and Kiso, diverting the attack just in time.

The ground beneath her feet shifted as the battle escalated, flames and energy swirling around them in a dangerous dance. Kiso roared in fury, her power surging, and the battle grew fiercer with each passing moment. Regina’s flames rippled in response, but her focus remained on the woman before her.

“We end this now, Kiso,” Regina called, her voice strong. The fire in her heart blazed, and she summoned more magic—her wings flaring once more as she leaped forward, her sword ready to strike.

Kiso’s eyes widened in a flash of disbelief, but it was too late. The surge of power was already too much. Regina’s blade cut through the air with precision, and Kiso’s defenses shattered under the force of her magic. The dark aura around Kiso flickered, her body staggering, but she wasn’t down yet.

“You think you’ve won?” Kiso hissed, blood on her lips. “You’ve only bought time. You can’t kill what you don’t understand.”Kiso sneered, her words dripping with venom. But Regina’s determination was unwavering.

She thought of Juan, wide-eyed and brave. Of Horacio, ever at her back. Of everything Kiso had tried to rip from her hands—and failed.

No more running. No more shadows.

“We end this now.”

With one final thrust, Regina drove her sword forward, channeling all of her strength into the strike. The impact was felt like a tremor, and Kiso crumpled, her body collapsing to the ground in a heap of dark energy and defeat.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Regina stood, her breath heavy, her chest heaving as the adrenaline faded. The battle was over. Kiso was gone.

But as she glanced to her side, her gaze met Horacio’s, and she knew that this wasn’t just a victory for her—it was for them all.

The fire faded. The echoes of battle fell away, leaving only breath, heartbeat, and the quiet proof that they’d made it.

Regina looked at Horacio—warrior to warrior, soul to soul—and for the first time in too long, she let herself believe.

They’d survived.

They’d won.

Regina’s legs wobbled beneath her, the weight of the battle and her magic dragging her down. Her body felt as though it was made of stone, each breath coming harder than the last, her chest aching from the force of it. She swayed on her feet, barely managing to stay upright.

Her vision blurred, the edges of the world growing hazy as the exhaustion set in. She had pushed herself too far, too fast, and now her body was reminding her of its limits. Her magic had been a firestorm, but it was burning out now, leaving her empty. Her sword clattered against the rocks at her side as she fought to steady herself, the strength in her limbs failing her.

“Regina?” Horacio’s voice reached her like a lifeline. She blinked, looking up to find him moving toward her, his expression filled with concern. His normally calm demeanor was strained, his eyes narrowing in on her with an almost frantic urgency. “Regina, stay with me.”

His hand reached out, but before she could respond, her vision flickered again, the world spinning around her. The ground seemed to tilt beneath her, and she stumbled, her body giving way.

She barely heard Horacio’s urgent voice call out her name again before everything around her went black.

---

The night stretched long and still, the air cool and crisp as the distant sounds of the battle faded into a haunting silence. The aftermath had left the land scarred, but in the wake of the destruction, there was a fragile peace—one that felt both necessary and fragile.

Regina lay in a small, secluded tent at the edge of the camp, her breath shallow, the flicker of firelight casting shadows over her face. Horacio and Juan were kneeling beside her, the two of them silently watching over her, each lost in their own thoughts.

Juan, his brow furrowed with worry, glanced up at Horacio. “She hasn’t moved in hours. Is she even breathing properly?” His voice was strained, the rawness of their recent battles evident in his tone.

Horacio’s gaze remained on Regina’s still form, his eyes tracing the faint rise and fall of her chest. His fingers hovered near her wrist, seeking the beat of her pulse. It was faint, too faint for his liking. A sickly twinge of fear twisted inside him.

“She’s exhausted. She overused her magic,” Horacio replied quietly, his voice edged with concern. “She’s… she’s been pushing herself for days now. Her body and spirit are too drained.”

Juan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She won’t let anyone in, Horacio. She refuses to rest, refuses to let anyone help her. She’s always been like this. But I can see how much this is tearing her apart.”

Horacio clenched his jaw, frustrated by the helplessness he felt. “I know. I’ve never seen her like this before.” His voice dropped to a whisper, though his words were laced with quiet anger. “I should’ve stopped her sooner. I should’ve seen this coming. She’s too stubborn.”

Juan shook his head, leaning closer to Regina. “It’s not just stubbornness. She’s carrying more than anyone should. You know that better than anyone.” He paused, casting a long glance at Horacio. “But you’re right. She needs rest. She needs someone to care for her, to be there for her.”

The words hung in the air between them like a fragile truth. Horacio’s heart ached as he watched the woman he loved lying so vulnerable and weak. The Regina he knew was fierce, independent—unshakable. But now, she was small in a way that made him feel helpless.

He leaned over her, brushing a strand of hair from her face with the gentleness of someone trying not to shatter something precious. He wanted to say something, something to reassure himself, but the words escaped him.

“She needs water,” Juan spoke softly, breaking the silence. “And something to eat. We need to get her strength back before anything else.”

Horacio nodded, but he didn’t move immediately. His hand lingered at Regina’s side, unsure if he was allowed this closeness. Every inch of his being wanted to hold her, to make the world stop hurting her. But Regina was never one for comfort, not like this.

“Juan…” Horacio began, his voice low and uncertain. “Can you… can you stay with her for a moment? I’ll fetch some water and food. She trusts you.”

Juan didn’t respond right away, but his eyes softened, and he gave a single nod. “You want me to stay here, keep an eye on her?”

“Yes.” Horacio’s gaze flicked to Regina, his expression unreadable. “I’m afraid if I leave her alone for too long… she might try to fight this on her own again.”

Juan placed a hand on Horacio’s shoulder, his voice quiet but firm. “She won’t fight it forever, Horacio. You know her better than anyone. She may push you away, but you are her strength. Just be patient.”

Horacio nodded once, though the weight of the words didn’t sink in right away. With a final glance at Regina, he rose to his feet and walked out of the tent, leaving Juan alone with her.

---

“She won’t be alone. Not anymore.”

Horacio gave a slow, grateful nod, then rose to his feet, his movements stiff with exhaustion and reluctant distance. Before stepping out into the night, he cast one last glance at Regina—her pale face lit faintly by firelight, a warrior’s mask cracked by weariness. Then he disappeared into the dark.

Juan sat beside her, adjusting the blanket draped over her with surprising tenderness. “You really don’t make it easy on the people who care about you,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “But we’re not going anywhere.”

The tent remained still, the only sounds the faint crackle of the fire outside and the rhythmic, shallow breaths of the woman between them. Though her body was quiet, Regina’s soul stirred restlessly beneath the surface—caught between worlds, between resolve and surrender.

And just outside, Horacio walked with purpose. He would bring back what she needed. Food. Water. Time. Whatever it took. Because if Regina couldn’t see how much she mattered, he would show her—one breath, one moment, one heartbeat at a time.

---

Outside, the air was colder, the bite of the night creeping in. Horacio took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts as he made his way to the camp’s water supply. The weight of his responsibilities—both as a protector and as someone who loved Regina more than anything—settled heavy on him.

When he returned to the tent, he found Juan still seated beside Regina, his hands gently smoothing over the blankets around her, as though offering comfort through his presence alone.

Horacio’s heart squeezed at the sight. He hated seeing her like this, and yet he couldn’t blame her. She had fought, and she had won. She had pushed herself beyond any normal limit, all for those she loved. It was who she was.

With quiet steps, Horacio placed the water jug and a small bundle of food beside the bedroll where Regina lay. He stood there for a moment, just looking at her, before he sat down beside her once again, his presence gentle but unwavering.

Juan watched the interaction carefully, silently moving to the other side of the tent to give them space.

Horacio, his voice soft and steady, reached out, his fingers brushing over Regina’s forehead. “Regina… you need to drink something.”

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, but she didn’t wake. Horacio leaned in closer, speaking just above a whisper. “Regina… please. Let me care for you.”

There was no immediate response, but Horacio wasn’t discouraged. He took a small sip of water from the jug, then gently brought it to her lips, coaxing her to drink.

She hesitated, a flicker of awareness passing through her as she slowly parted her lips. The cool water eased down her throat, and though she drank hesitantly, she didn’t fight him.

Juan looked at the pair, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. In that moment, he knew: Horacio would be the one to help Regina heal, in ways neither of them could have imagined.

The dawn light was pale, filtering through the dense canopy of trees overhead as the camp slowly came to life. The quiet murmur of voices, the clinking of armor, and the soft rustle of leaves filled the air as soldiers and healers began their routines for the day. But in the small tent where Regina lay, it was still eerily calm—like the world outside didn’t exist.

Horacio stood at the entrance, his hand resting on the flap of the tent, eyes distant, lost in thought. He watched as the sun rose higher, casting a warm glow over the world. But it felt like the light had yet to touch the place where Regina lay, a sense of heaviness hanging in the air.

Juan approached, his steps careful, as though he, too, understood the weight of the situation. He paused beside Horacio, looking down at the woman they both cared for.

“She’s barely moved in hours,” Juan said quietly, his voice edged with concern. He took in the sight of Regina, her still form tucked beneath the blankets, her breathing shallow. The healer’s attempts had done little to stir her. “I think it’s time we take her back.”

Horacio’s gaze flicked over to Juan, a silent question in his eyes. The idea had been hovering in his mind, a pull in his chest that refused to let go. He knew Regina needed more than just physical care—she needed peace, rest, and the strong walls of the Stronghold to heal properly. Yet, it felt like a decision he had no right to make alone. She was a warrior, fiercely independent. She would resist this, and he knew it.

“Do you think she’ll let us?” Horacio murmured, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Juan let out a slow breath, his brow furrowed. “I don’t think she will,” he admitted. “But that’s not our concern right now. Our concern is her well-being. She’s been pushing herself too hard, Horacio. Her magic is drained, and if we don’t get her back to the Stronghold soon, she could worsen.”

Horacio’s heart clenched at the words. He knew Juan was right, but the thought of forcing Regina into a situation where she felt trapped, unable to maintain the independence she so cherished—it didn’t sit well with him. He hadn’t yet figured out how to reach her in a way that didn’t feel like he was taking away the very thing that made her who she was.

“I’ll carry her,” Horacio said after a long moment, his voice determined. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t fight us. I won’t let her push us away this time.”

Juan studied him for a beat, then nodded, agreeing with the decision but knowing the challenge it posed. “Alright,” he said quietly. “But she might be angry with us. Prepare yourself for that.”

Horacio gave him a sharp nod, his gaze returning to Regina’s still form. He hadn’t seen her this vulnerable in years—maybe ever. And though he wanted nothing more than to see her stand tall again, to watch her fight with all the fire she was known for, he had to admit to himself that what she needed now was something different.

He stepped into the tent, careful not to make a sound, and knelt beside her. The sight of her, so fragile, struck him in ways he couldn’t explain. She had always been a force of nature—unyielding, a whirlwind of power. But now, she was still, her strength nearly gone.

He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, the warmth of his touch against her skin a small comfort. “Regina,” he whispered, his voice tender, but it didn’t seem to reach her. She was lost to the exhaustion, her body too drained to respond.

“Juan,” Horacio said, glancing back toward the door. “Do you think we can get her to drink something before we leave? She’s so weak.”

---

The road was long, winding through the thick forests and open plains of Apresh, yet Horacio never once loosened his grip on Regina. She had drifted in and out of consciousness, exhaustion gripping her like an unshakable weight. Her body remained limp against his chest, her breaths slow and uneven.

Juan rode beside them, his horse’s hooves thudding steadily against the earth. His face was set with quiet worry, but he said nothing, only glancing at Regina every so often to check if she stirred.

They had left the battlefield behind. The scent of blood and fire still clung faintly to them, but the fresh morning air of the open road was slowly washing it away. Yet, the tension lingered. Horacio could feel it deep in his bones—the worry, the helplessness of watching Regina like this. He had seen her fight through battles, endure wounds that would have felled any other warrior, but this… this was different. Her magic was drained, her body spent. And the thought that she had nearly fallen to her death still haunted him.

“You should rest,” Juan said after a long while. “You’ve been carrying her for hours. We can set up camp for the night soon.”

Horacio shook his head. “No. We keep moving. The sooner we reach the Stronghold, the better.”

Juan sighed but didn’t argue. He knew better than to try.

Regina shifted slightly in Horacio’s arms, a faint groan slipping past her lips. Horacio immediately looked down, his grip instinctively tightening as he whispered, “Regina?”

Her eyelids fluttered weakly. She was barely conscious, her body still refusing to cooperate, but her lips parted as if she wanted to speak.

“…Hurts,” she murmured.

Horacio’s jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated seeing her like this. He wished he could take her pain for himself.

“I know,” he said softly, lowering his head closer to hers. “Just hold on. We’re almost home.”

Regina let out a slow breath, her fingers twitching slightly before she drifted back into unconsciousness.

Horacio felt Juan’s gaze on him. “She’ll make it,” Juan reassured him, though his voice held a note of uncertainty. “She’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Horacio nodded, his expression unreadable. “I know.” But still, doubt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.

They rode on in silence.

---

By the time they reached the Stronghold, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, bathing the fortress in twilight hues of gold and violet. The great stone gates loomed before them, guards stationed on either side. At the sight of their commander returning, one of them stepped forward, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of Regina in Horacio’s arms.

“Open the gates!” the guard called out.

Horacio didn’t slow. As soon as the path was clear, he pressed forward, his grip on Regina unwavering. He could feel the eyes of soldiers and healers alike on him, whispers filling the air as they passed through the outer courtyard.

“Lady Regina—”

“She’s injured!”

“Prepare the healers!”

“Get a room ready!”

Horacio ignored them all. He had one destination in mind.

Juan dismounted swiftly, following Horacio as he strode through the halls of the Stronghold, past the worried glances of passing servants and warriors.

“Her chambers,” Juan said, nodding ahead.

Horacio carried Regina straight to her room, pushing the doors open with his shoulder. The space was familiar—simple yet filled with little traces of her presence. The faint scent of cedar and wildflowers lingered in the air, but right now, all Horacio could focus on was getting her to rest.

He laid her down gently on the futon, easing her onto the soft bedding. She stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping her lips, but she didn’t wake.

Juan knelt beside her, checking her pulse, his brow furrowing in concentration. “She needs time,” he muttered. “And rest. Her magic is spent. It’ll take a while before she recovers fully.”

Horacio exhaled slowly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. But he wasn’t leaving.

Juan must have seen it in his face because he sighed. “You’re not going to sleep, are you?”

Horacio didn’t answer. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, his golden eyes fixed on Regina.

Juan huffed a quiet laugh. “Figures. I’ll bring food and water.”

As Juan left, the room fell into silence.

Horacio leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, watching the slow rise and fall of Regina’s chest.

“You’re going to be alright,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have to be.”

His fingers brushed against hers—just the smallest touch, a reassurance for himself as much as for her.

For now, all he could do was wait.

The room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the lantern and the steady rhythm of Regina’s breathing. Outside, the Stronghold had begun to settle into the stillness of the night, but inside, Horacio remained where he was—seated beside her futon, watching over her like a silent sentinel.

She had not woken since they arrived. Her body was still, her face unnaturally pale, and though her breathing was even, it was weaker than he would have liked. The battle had drained her completely, and Horacio knew the kind of toll magic could take on the body when pushed beyond its limits.

He hated it. Hated that she had done this to herself. Hated that he had not been strong enough to prevent it.

The door slid open softly, breaking the silence. Juan stepped inside, carrying a tray of food and a steaming cup of medicine. He set it down on the low table before kneeling across from Horacio, his eyes flickering between Regina and the untouched water beside her.

“She hasn’t woken up?”

Horacio shook his head.

Juan sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “She needs to drink something soon. Her body is exhausted, and if she doesn’t take something, she won’t recover as fast.”

Horacio exhaled sharply. He knew that, but forcing Regina to do anything had always been impossible, even when she was conscious. When she was like this… it felt like an even greater impossibility.

Juan hesitated for a moment before reaching for the cup. “We’ll have to help her.”

Horacio frowned but didn’t protest as Juan carefully lifted Regina just enough to press the warm rim of the cup against her lips.

“Regina,” Juan murmured softly, trying to coax her awake. “You need to drink this.”

At first, she remained unresponsive, her head lolling against his arm. But then, her lips parted just slightly, and Juan tipped the cup ever so carefully, letting a few drops slip past. She swallowed sluggishly, and after a moment, her eyelashes fluttered.

Horacio immediately leaned forward. “Regina?”

Her gaze remained hazy, unfocused, but it was progress. Juan continued to help her drink small sips until her breathing evened out again.

When it was clear she could take no more, he gently laid her back down. Horacio watched every movement with a sharp eye, as if ready to act at the slightest sign of distress.

“She’s going to be fine, Horacio,” Juan murmured, setting the cup down. “She just needs time.”

Horacio exhaled slowly. “I know.” But the words did little to quell the unease twisting inside him.

Juan rose to his feet, stretching. “You should sleep too.”

Horacio shook his head. “I’m staying.”

Juan gave him a long look before sighing. “I figured. Just… don’t drive yourself into the ground.”

Horacio didn’t reply.

Juan lingered for another moment before stepping toward the door. “I’ll check in later,” he said before disappearing into the hallway.

Horacio was alone with Regina once more.

He leaned back in his chair, raking a hand through his hair as he stared at her sleeping form.

Then, after a moment, he reached out and gently brushed a strand of silver-white hair away from her face.

“You reckless woman,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “What am I going to do with you?”

She didn’t answer. But even in her unconscious state, Horacio swore her lips twitched ever so slightly.

He allowed himself the faintest of smiles.

And then, with quiet determination, he resumed his silent vigil.

Morning came with the gentle warmth of sunlight filtering through the paper screens. The Stronghold stirred with the sounds of soldiers moving through the corridors, distant voices exchanging orders, and the occasional clang of steel. But inside the quiet room, time moved slowly.

Horacio remained by Regina’s side, his posture stiff from the long hours of sitting. His crimson cloak was draped across his shoulders, though sometime during the night, he had pushed the fur-lined collar aside, no longer caring for comfort. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but he refused to close them.

Regina hadn’t stirred since Juan had coaxed her to drink. She lay still, her breathing steady but shallow, her body caught in the limbo between rest and recovery.

The door slid open again. This time, Juan stepped in with a quiet purpose, followed by a healer carrying fresh bandages and a small dish of crushed herbs.

“How is she?” Juan asked, setting down a tray of food on the low table.

“The same,” Horacio murmured. He hadn’t touched the food left for him the night before, nor had he moved from his place at her side.

Juan sighed but didn’t push him. Instead, he motioned for the healer to step forward. The woman knelt beside Regina, carefully peeling back the blankets to check the wounds beneath her robes. Though most had been tended to, the strain on her body had left deep bruising along her arms and torso, the marks of a battle hard-won.

Horacio’s fingers curled into fists. He had seen her fight before—had seen the reckless way she threw herself into danger, as if her own well-being meant nothing in the face of protecting others. It was infuriating.

“She should have let me handle Kiso,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Juan glanced at him but said nothing.

The healer finished applying the fresh herbs and pressed warm cloths over Regina’s arms before tucking the blankets back around her.

“She will wake soon,” the healer assured them. “Her body is healing, but she is still weak.”

Horacio nodded stiffly, his gaze never leaving Regina’s face.

Juan thanked the healer before dismissing her. When the door slid shut again, silence settled between them.

“She’ll wake up,” Juan said, though there was an edge of concern in his voice. “But when she does, she won’t rest as she should.”

Horacio exhaled sharply. “I know.”

They had both known Regina long enough to understand she wouldn’t take to being bedridden easily. She would push herself too soon, pretend she was fine when she wasn’t, and before long, she’d be walking straight back into danger.

“We’ll have to make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless,” Juan added, crossing his arms.

Horacio huffed a bitter laugh. “You think we can stop her?”

Juan smirked. “We won’t have to stop her. We just have to outlast her.”

Horacio glanced at him, brow raised.

“She’ll fight us on it, but if we stay by her side, she’ll have no choice but to recover properly,” Juan explained. “She’s strong, but she’s not invincible. And whether she likes it or not, she has people who will make sure she takes care of herself.”

Horacio considered his words before leaning back, rolling his shoulders. “You always were the patient one,” he muttered.

Juan grinned. “And you always were the stubborn one.”

Horacio scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, his gaze softened slightly as he looked back at Regina.

“I’ll be here when she wakes up,” he murmured. “No matter how much she fights it.”

Juan smirked. “Then I’ll be here too.”

And so, they stayed—one on either side of her, waiting for the moment Regina would open her eyes.

Neither Horacio nor Juan had left Regina’s side in two weeks, for longer than an hour at a time. She had yet to move while healing. 

---

In those two weeks, things had taken a turn for the worse; her pulse slowed to a crawl, her breathing was slight, hesitant.

 Not even the healers knew what was happening to Regina.

 “The Lady should have awakened long ago, My Lord Horacio,” The head healer spoke, concerned. Regina’s bed started to shake; the whole of the Stronghold glowed with a strong protection magic. All the mages and scholars panicked when the alarm was about to be raised, then it stopped.

 Horacio and Juan were expelled from Regina’s bed by a powerful spell. As they scrambled to their feet, a barrier appeared covering the bed and not letting them close. 

Horacio slammed his hands against the invisible barrier, his fangs bared in frustration. “What the hell is this?” His voice was a low growl, panic laced beneath his anger.

Juan steadied himself, staring at the pulsating energy surrounding Regina’s futon. The golden glow flickered, intricate sigils weaving through the air like living script. The power humming from it was unlike anything he had ever seen.

“The Stronghold itself reacted,” Juan murmured, his brows furrowing in thought. “This magic… it’s ancient.”

The head healer stumbled back, her hands clasped together as she muttered protective incantations under her breath.

 “I—I do not understand, my lords. This is beyond our knowledge.”

Horacio’s eyes never left Regina’s still form. Three months. Three months of waiting, watching over her, hoping for any sign of recovery. And now, when she should have woken up, this—this unnatural force had sealed her away from them.

The scholars rushed into the room, murmuring in hushed voices as they examined the barrier. Some of them placed their hands against it, only to be repelled by the overwhelming force. One elder scholar shook his head, his expression grave.

“This is no ordinary protection magic,” he said solemnly. “It is divine in nature, a force that predates even the Stronghold itself.”

Horacio’s claws dug into his palms. 

“Then break it,” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

The scholar hesitated, looking between Horacio and the pulsing cocoon of light that encased Regina’s bed.

 “We cannot. This is not a barrier meant to keep something out… but to contain something within.”

A cold weight settled in Juan’s chest. He exchanged a wary glance with Horacio.

 “Contain what?”

Before anyone could answer, Regina’s body arched off the bed, her back bending at an unnatural angle. A guttural sound tore from her throat, both pained and primal. The room trembled, the very walls of the Stronghold groaning under the weight of whatever force was at play.

Golden cracks of energy spiderwebbed across the floor. The sigils encircling the barrier spun faster, shifting between languages long forgotten.

“Regina!” Horacio roared, slamming his fist against the barrier again. The impact sent a shockwave through his body, throwing him back once more.

Juan barely had time to react before Regina’s eyes snapped open.

They weren’t the moon-flower silver they had always been.

They burned gold, brighter than the sun, and for the first time in centuries—Horacio felt something he had never associated with Regina before.

Terror.

---

“He is right, you know,” A voice came from Juan’s side. 

“Who-?” Juan started. The man put a clawed finger to his lips. And with a wave of his hand, all within the stronghold but ‘the man’, Juan, Horacio, and Regina seemed to be frozen in place. 

“The barrier, this barrier took me centuries to perfect.” The man lapsed into silence as he floated toward the barrier with a sad smile. “It was made especially for Regina! Or should I say Regina’s soul,” he spoke. “Within this soul, Regina’s soul rages a battle you two would never understand.” 

“Make us understand,” Horacio growled. The man waved his hand, and the sigils whirled faster, changing form. The golden-eyed Regina roared from the bed, unable to move.

 “Good girl,” They heard the man whisper to Regina, but they could not understand anything after that. The words, if that’s what they were, stopped as the man turned toward them. The man looked like he could be Regina’s father. He had waist-length black-as-night hair, obsidian eyes, and brown skin. They also saw his fangs and claws as well; with the power he held, they knew this had to be a divine entity. 

“Mea Regina is such a good girl. But this is not of her doing,” the man started and stopped. He sighed and hesitated like Regina always did, eyeing them carefully as if judging them worthy before he spoke again.

 “Kasa always wanted a special child. So she made a deal, a scheme for power, really, and had Mea Re-gin-a. Beautiful sun-kissed skin, pale moonflowered eyes, Hair the pitch of night, a father’s dream. When Regina showed no outward signs of divinity, Kasa did the unthinkable and sold Mea Re-gin-a to a camp of slavers to-to-satisfy their disgusting desires on a child, on Mea Re-gin-a,” He snarled, clenching his fists.  “Kasa had broken Mea Re-gin-a’s soul and invited in the darkness; you see now, trying to take over her soul.”

“If the darkness wins,” Juan is curious.

 “Your world will perish, and your Mother will be its destroyer.” 

Horacio and Juan stood frozen, not by the entity’s power, but by the sheer weight of his words. The air around them grew heavy, suffocating, as if the truth itself carried a physical force.

Horacio’s hands clenched into fists, his claws digging into his palms.

 “That’s a lie,” he growled, though a part of him—a part he didn’t want to acknowledge—felt the truth in the stranger’s voice.

The man—this divine being—sighed, his gaze never leaving Regina’s thrashing form within the barrier. 

“If only it were.”

Juan’s breath came slow, steady, despite the storm raging inside him.

 “You’re saying… Mother was born from darkness? That her soul—”

“—was broken before she even had a chance to know what it meant to be whole.” The man turned to them, eyes like endless voids. “The darkness is not something she chose. It was something forced upon her. And now, it is trying to claim what it believes is rightfully its.”

Horacio stepped forward, his body trembling with rage. 

“Then tell us how to stop it.”

The divine being studied him for a long moment. Then, with a wave of his hand, the sigils flared brighter, illuminating Regina’s writhing body.

“You don’t stop it,” he said. “You bring her back.”

Horacio and Juan exchanged a glance before turning their attention back to the golden-eyed Regina.

“How?” Juan asked.

The man smiled, sad and knowing.

 “By reminding her that she is not alone.”

The words struck deep, the weight of them sinking into the marrow of their bones.

Horacio took a step closer to the barrier, ignoring the way it pulsed violently at his presence. His voice was raw when he spoke. 

“Regina… you are not alone.”

Juan followed, his voice firm despite the emotion threatening to crack it. 

“Come back to us, Mother.”

The golden light in Regina’s eyes flickered.

A battle raged inside her, unseen but deeply felt, and neither of them could afford to lose.

The golden light dimmed slightly, then flared back to life, even stronger. But the barrier held; no longer was it pulsing violently in their presence, but rather it seemed to be acting as a soothing whisper of their words turned into sounds in a language neither understood, but it felt like it was working.

 The man approached the bed; he walked through the barrier as Regina fell back and cradled her head down to the pillow below, whispering.

 “You are no longer alone, Mea Re-gin-a” 

“F-father” Moon-flower eyes open, her voice hoarse and cracked.

Horacio and Juan froze at the word that left Regina’s lips.

Father.

The divine being knelt beside her, his obsidian eyes soft with something ancient—something that had endured the passage of time. He brushed a clawed hand over her hair, smoothing it away from her damp forehead.

 “Yes, my little star,” he murmured, his voice rich with sorrow and warmth. “I am here.”

Regina’s golden glow flickered wildly, the remnants of the darkness still clinging to her, desperate to take back what it had lost. The barrier pulsed with a steady hum, carrying Horacio and Juan’s voices through it like a sacred hymn, but it was the presence of her father that seemed to be pulling her back from the abyss.

Her breath hitched, her fingers trembling as they reached up—hesitant, unsure.

 “I… I saw…” Her voice broke, and she turned her head away as if the weight of her memories were too much to bear. “I saw it all again.”

The man—her father—sighed deeply, his hand never leaving her hair.

 “I know.”

Horacio took another step forward, pressing his palm against the barrier. 

“Regina,” he said, his voice softer than before. “You’re safe.”

Juan, standing beside him, nodded. “We’re right here, Mother.”

Regina’s breath came in slow, uneven gasps. Her moonflower eyes flickered between gold and their usual pale glow, as if she were still caught between two realms—between two versions of herself.

Her father’s hand settled over hers, and for the first time, she didn’t flinch.

“You have always been strong, Mea Re-Gin-a,” he whispered. “But even the strong are not meant to stand alone.”

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. 

“I… don’t know how to be anything else.”

Horacio’s heart clenched, but he didn’t hesitate.

 “Then let us show you.”

The golden light dimmed further, giving way to something gentler—something softer.

And the barrier… finally began to crack.

“Quomodo?” Regina questioned her father.

 “Lupus dominus,” he spoke, still stroking her hair. 

“Quare?” she questioned again.

 “Shh. . sleep for me, Mea Re-gin-a, and know you are no longer alone.”

They all watched silently as her breathing evened out and she slept for the first time in a long while. 

The moment Regina’s breathing steadied, the oppressive weight that had filled the room lifted. The golden barrier flickered one last time before fading completely, leaving nothing but a lingering warmth in its wake.

Horacio and Juan hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, their gazes fixed on her sleeping form. She looked… peaceful.

It was the first time in three long months that she wasn’t trapped in agony or teetering between realms.

Her father exhaled softly, still running his claws through her hair with the care of someone who had waited lifetimes to do so.

“Lupus Dominus?” Horacio murmured, his sharp gaze settling on the man. “The Wolf Lord… What does that mean?”

Horacio stiffened at the words, his sharp violet eyes locking onto the man standing before him.

“Lupus Dominus?” he repeated, his voice low, wary. “The Wolf Lord… You’re referring to me?”

Regina’s father gave a small, knowing smile, his obsidian eyes filled with something unreadable. “Yes.”

Juan glanced between them, frowning. “What are you saying?”

The man finally rose from the futon where Regina lay, his clawed hand slipping from her silvery-white hair as he turned his full attention to Horacio. 

“It means, boy, that you are more than—you are to be her equal. The one who stands beside her, commands with her, fights with her. When the time comes, you will be the one to steady her when she falters, the only one she will listen to when the storm inside her rages too fiercely.”

Horacio’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. “She is stronger than I will ever be.”

Regina’s Father tilted his head slightly, considering him.

 “Perhaps. But strength is not always measured in power. She has spent eons running, carrying the weight of a past that should have broken her. And yet, despite it all, she still stands.” His gaze darkened slightly. “You have spent centuries waiting for her, haven’t you? That is why you are Lupus Dominus.”

Horacio exhaled slowly, his hands curling into fists at his sides. It wasn’t just a title—it was a truth the man was forcing him to acknowledge.

Juan looked at Horacio carefully. 

“It makes sense,” he admitted. “You’re the only one who can match her. The only one who has never turned away from her, no matter what.”

Horacio turned his gaze to Regina’s sleeping face, watching the way her expression had softened, free from the agony that had tormented her for months. His hand hovered just above hers before he finally allowed himself to take it, his fingers closing around hers with quiet resolve.

“If that is who I am,” he murmured, his voice quiet but unwavering, “then I will not fail her.”

The elder god studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Then stand ready. When she wakes, she will need you more than ever.”

With that, the man stepped back, his form beginning to fade into the shadows.

Juan watched him go, then turned back to Regina and Horacio. “We should prepare for when she wakes,” he said softly.

Horacio didn’t move, his grip on Regina’s hand tightening ever so slightly. “I am ready.”

And as the golden light surrounding the stronghold finally dimmed, as the battle within Regina’s soul settled into silence, Horacio made a silent vow.

No matter what came next, no matter what darkness still lingered in the shadows—he would not leave her. Not now. Not ever.

“What Language was that, Horacio? You seem to know a few words.” Juan curious.

“Lingua Increata,” Horacio answered quietly. “The Language of the Unformed. It has not been spoken since the First Age. The old stories claim it was the tongue of the Elder Gods themselves. My great-grandfather taught me only a handful of words—and warned me never to seek the rest.”  Horacio replied, not taking his eyes off Regina. 

“What else can you say about this language?” Juan wanted answers.

 “There was an old verse…”

He closed his eyes, searching through memories centuries old.

“…something about Regina Caedes…”

 Horacio was trying to think. 

“What is ?” Juan tried but failed to say the words.

 “Veni ad me, amans. pertinent ad me amica mea, mea lupus dominus. meus es tu mea rex in carilate. Surge ad regina caedes,”Regina spoke.

Her voice was dry.

Cracked.

Ancient.

Not loud.

Yet every candle in the chamber bent toward her as though listening.

The fire dimmed.

Even the wolves outside fell silent.

Horacio growled and stiffened the moment the ancient words left Regina’s lips. His sharp, golden eyes snapped to her face, searching for any sign of awareness beyond the feverish daze she had been lost in for months. But even as her voice cracked and rasped through the poem, there was a certainty in her tone, like something deep inside her had finally woken.

Juan, kneeling at Regina’s side, reached for her hand with trembling fingers. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, his grip tightening as he whispered, “Mother…”

But Horacio… Horacio could barely breathe. The words she had spoken clawed at the edges of his memory, stirring something ancient and unspoken in his blood. Regina Caedes. The Queen of the Slaughter. The Lord of Wolves…

His hands curled into fists at his sides as he recalled the fragmented knowledge passed down from his great-grandfather. 

His great-grandfather had spoken those words only once.

“If you ever hear Lingua Increata spoken by a living soul,” the old wolf had warned him, “do not answer too quickly. She may not be speaking to you. She may be remembering someone who died before the stars had names.”

She had never ruled alone.

Horacio slowly turned his head toward Juan, his expression dark with unspoken understanding. Juan met his gaze, his own face lined with worry, and for the briefest of moments, neither of them spoke. But then—realization struck.

Juan’s breath hitched. Regina’s words… she wasn’t just reciting history. She wasn’t just speaking of a legend long past.

She was calling out.

Juan’s fingers dug into the sheets, his voice urgent.

“What does it mean, Horacio?”

Horacio’s throat felt dry. His mind raced as the weight of her words settled over him like an unshakable chain. He had always known there was something more to her—something untamed, something divine. But this…

He forced himself to swallow the tightness in his chest before he answered, his voice a low murmur.

“What does it mean?” Juan whispered.

Horacio didn’t answer.

His heartbeat had become deafening.

The title echoed through every story his great-grandfather had ever told.

Lupus Dominus.

There had only ever been one.

Juan looked from Regina…

…to Horacio.

His eyes widened.

“No…”

Horacio remained silent.

Juan took one slow step backward.

“…She’s calling you.”

Juan’s frown deepened, but then it hit him—like a blade cutting through fog. His mouth parted slightly, eyes widening as he looked back at Horacio with dawning realization.

The room felt unbearably silent, save for the soft sound of Regina’s ragged breathing. Horacio let out a slow breath, his gaze never leaving Regina’s face. He didn’t know whether she was speaking from memory or instinct, whether she was lost in the past or calling for something—someone—here in the present.

But one thing was clear.

The Queen of Slaughter had remembered her Wolf Lord.

And for the first time in countless ages…

the ancient language had been answered.

---

Juan stared toward the fire.

“I remember Mother reading me an old scroll when I was little.”

He smiled faintly.

“I never understood it then.”

He frowned.

“It said…”

Upon the Isle of Amica there ruled a Queen who sought no kingdom… only a king.

Many came.

None remained.

Until the Wolf.

Juan scratched the back of his neck.

“I don’t remember all of it.”

He looked apologetically toward Horacio.

“I think… she loved him first.”

He paused.

“And I think…”

His brow furrowed.

“…he didn’t love her back.”

 “How? There has to be more to it?” Horacio started and stopped with a loud swallow

Horacio’s jaw tightened as he processed Juan’s words. His mind whirled, tracing the shape of a history long buried—one that now felt dangerously close to repeating itself.

The Queen of Slaughter sought her King, but he rejected her.

Horacio exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “The Lord of Wolves rejected her… why?”

Juan’s eyes narrowed in thought, his fingers still gripping the sheets beside Regina’s frail form. “Something about the Queen being too brutal or bloody… or something like that. Because he feared what she became.”

Horacio flinched before he could stop himself.

Afraid?

That word rang louder in his head than anything else.

Juan continued, oblivious to the way Horacio had gone still. “The Queen caught him in their sacred bed with another. That’s all I remember.”

Horacio swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. “How?” His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. He didn’t even know what he was asking—how did she catch him? How could he betray her? How could he be afraid?

How did it all fall apart?

His heart pounded as the weight of the story pressed against him, tightening around his ribs like an unseen chain. There had to be more—there had to be something missing.

Horacio turned back to Regina, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Could she hear them? Did she know?

Had she always known?

For the first time in his life, Horacio wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest of the story. Because somewhere in his gut, deep in the marrow of his bones, he feared he already knew how it ended.

---

Across the stronghold in Horacio’s office, he was getting a history lesson.

 It is said that back before the realms were formed was the time of the old gods. On the great isle of Amica lived the Warrior queen; Her Name Regina Ceades. None dared stand against her. It is said her father was the elder god of war. It is said she was so brutal that even the love of her life was afraid of her powers. With just a look, the warlords and her people would fall to their knees in worship. But she craved more; she craved love. But her lover was so afraid of her thought nothing of sleeping with her handmaidens. The queen caught her lover in their sacred bed, rutting with her best friend, her handmaid. It is said she ran them both through with her sword in the act; in her rage, she sealed off Amica and formed the realms, forever locking us yokai off from our first home.”

Horacio sat stiffly, his fingers curled into his palms as he listened to the elder recount the tale. The words were heavy, thick with history, but it was the familiarity that made his stomach twist.

The Queen of Slaughter… feared by even the one she loved.

The idea gnawed at him, sinking its teeth into his thoughts. He had spent years yearning for Regina, chasing her like a foolish pup after the moon, but deep down, had there been a part of him that feared her too? Not her strength, not her brutality in battle—but the depth of her emotions, the power of what she might become if she truly let herself love.

And now, this story…

“Afraid of her… but thought nothing of sleeping with her handmaidens.”

His gut twisted. The betrayal, the pain of it, the violent end—it was all too familiar, too tragic. The Queen had given her heart, and in return, she had been met with fear, with faithlessness. Was it truly fear that had driven her lover into another’s arms? Or had he been running from something deeper—something that Horacio himself was only now beginning to understand?

“No.”

Horacio shook his head.

“That isn’t enough.”

The elder blinked.

“My lord?”

“No man betrays the woman he loves because he is afraid.”

Silence.

Horacio looked toward the ancient painting hanging above the hearth.

“Fear makes a man run.”

His jaw tightened.

“It doesn’t make him climb into another woman’s bed.”

Horacio shook his head.

“Home?” Horacio echoed, snapping back to the present.

The elder nodded solemnly. “Yes, my lord. It is said we yokai are the descendants of those forced from Amica.”

Horacio exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. The weight of this history pressed against his chest, suffocating in its implications. His people—Regina’s people—had been shaped by this betrayal, by this war, by the sealing of their first home.

And now, after all this time…

Horacio stood abruptly. “I need to see her.”

The elder said nothing, only nodding in understanding as Horacio strode from the office, his heart pounding with something he couldn’t yet name.

Horacio’s boots echoed down the corridor, each step filled with urgency, as if the weight of the ancient tale pressed harder with every second that passed. He needed to see Regina, to understand what had happened to her, what was happening to her now. The truth of the past hung heavy in the air, but there were still pieces that didn’t fit—pieces he feared might shatter everything he thought he knew about her, about their connection.

---

Regina’s breathing slowed, the weak flutter of her eyelids revealing she was starting to regain some awareness. But it was still too early for her to truly come back. Horacio could feel it in the air—the invisible strain that held her back, the fears lingering just beneath the surface.

She didn’t speak for a long while, and Horacio was content to let her rest. He needed answers, but he wouldn’t push her just yet.

But then—a shift. Regina’s hand stirred beneath the covers, brushing against his. His heart skipped in his chest, and instinctively, he reached for her.

Regina’s eyes fluttered again, but her expression didn’t reveal much. Her lips parted, but she said nothing. She just stared at him for a long, quiet moment.

“I… am I still… her-?” Regina’s voice was so low it barely registered. She didn’t look at Horacio, nor did she look at Juan. She stared at the wall, her mind far away, caught between the fragments of her past and the present. She didn’t voice her fears yet—not truly—but the question was there. In her eyes.

Horacio’s heart sank. But he didn’t press her. “You are not her, Regina.” His voice was soft, reassuring. “You’re not her. You’re you. And you don’t have to face this alone.”

Regina’s gaze shifted slightly, but she didn’t speak again. Instead, she just closed her eyes, her breath shallow.

Juan looked between Horacio and Regina, sensing that the weight of the past still clung to his mother, her silence louder than any words she could’ve spoken.

Horacio stayed by her side, not knowing how much longer it would take for her to truly open up. But in that moment, he knew—when she was ready, they would face it all together.

For now, he just stayed, offering quiet support, his presence a steady anchor as Regina wrestled with the demons of her lineage, and with whatever storm still raged inside her.

It took two more days before Regina could sit up in bed. And she did. Juan made sure she had healing soups and brought the healers in to see her again. Regina herself, quiet as always, just watched everything around her with a detached eye.

 Everyone could tell her mind was elsewhere. Horacio had begun to worry when Regina was back in the training hall once again beating his warriors without breaking a sweat. 

Horacio watched from the shadows of the training hall, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight. The rhythmic clash of wooden swords echoed through the air as his warriors fell one by one, each more frustrated than the last. Regina moved through them like a ghost, her steps soundless, her strikes efficient. There was no fire in her eyes, no amusement, not even frustration—just a cold detachment that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Juan had mentioned she was eating, that the healers had checked her wounds, that physically, she was fine. But this? This wasn’t fine.

A warrior lunged at her, sword swinging fast. Regina side-stepped, barely glancing at him before twisting his wrist and disarming him with a flick of her fingers. The sword clattered to the ground, and she turned away before he even had a chance to react. Another came at her from behind. She ducked, kicked his legs out from under him, and drove her knee into his chest before he could recover.

No wasted movements. No hesitation. No emotion.

Horacio let out a slow breath through his nose. He had given her space, hoping she’d come back to herself in time. But watching her now, he realized—she wasn’t coming back at all.

She was retreating.

A final challenger rushed forward, and Regina met him head-on. For a moment, Horacio thought maybe, just maybe, she would show some semblance of the playful warrior he knew. But no—she ended it in seconds, sweeping the warrior’s legs out from under him and slamming him into the dirt.

Silence fell over the training hall. The soldiers groaned, picking themselves up, but no one dared challenge her again.

Regina straightened, rolling her shoulders. “Enough,” she muttered, her voice devoid of anything but exhaustion. She turned on her heel, moving to leave.

That was when Horacio finally stepped forward. “Regina.”

She stilled but didn’t turn to face him.

His stomach twisted. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

A soft chuckle, mirthless. “Am I?”

Horacio’s fists clenched at his sides. “You’re not even here,” he said quietly.

This time, she did turn. Her expression was unreadable, her moonflower-colored eyes dull. “Where else would I be?”

The way she said it—it wasn’t sarcastic, wasn’t playful, wasn’t even defensive. It was just… empty.

Horacio took a slow step toward her. “Wherever your mind is, it’s not here. And I don’t believe for a second that you don’t know it.”

Regina studied him for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose. “I’m fine.”

A lie.

Horacio let her have it—for now. But as she turned away and walked past him, he made a silent promise.

If she wouldn’t reach for him, he would find a way to reach for her.

Horacio heard the laughter of mother and son and looked out the window of his office down to Juan and Regina as they raced off toward the nearby forest. Whatever they had been practicing, Horacio had noticed Juan was exhausted by the time his head hit the pillow. The cub had never been happier. But Horacio turned his attention back to the search for answers, and an Idea hit him. A way to keep an eye on Regina to see if she was really recovering. 

Horacio leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as the idea took root. Regina was too skilled at masking her true emotions, too good at pretending she was fine when she wasn’t. But Juan—he was the key.

The cub was too honest, too open to hide his emotions well. If Regina was truly recovering, it would show in him. His energy, his training, his smiles—those would be the proof Horacio needed.

And if she…

The only creature to get any reaction or words was Juan. Eager to understand, Juan held hope that his mother would recover.

“I want to fight like you, Mama. Will you teach me?” Juan exclaimed one day. For the first time, the glow came back to Regina’s eyes as she addressed Juan 

“You should follow in Horacio’s steps, then. His fighting style is excellent! Speed, stealth, I will teach you only okay?” She messed his hair and tickled his ears.

Horacio watched the exchange from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. It was the first time in days—no, weeks—that he had seen even a flicker of life return to Regina’s eyes.

Juan practically vibrated with excitement, his ears twitching as he beamed up at his mother.

“Really? You’ll teach me?”

Regina chuckled softly, ruffling his hair before giving one of his ears a playful flick.

“Only if you promise to actually listen.”

Juan grinned, tail swishing behind him.

“I promise! I’ll be the best student you’ve ever had!”

Horacio leaned against the doorframe, watching the way Regina’s lips curled up, just a little. It wasn’t much—just the ghost of a smile, a mere shadow of what it once was—but it was something.

She was still here.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the first step to bringing her back.

Horacio stayed quiet, letting the moment between mother and son play out. But inside, something in his chest loosened, like the first thaw after a brutal winter.

Juan practically bounced on his feet.

“We should start now! Right now!”

Regina let out a breath of amusement.

“Eager, aren’t you?” She tilted her head, considering him. Then, with a teasing glint in her moonflower eyes, she added, “Very well. Go warm up—twenty laps around the courtyard. Then we’ll see if you can keep up.”

Juan groaned, ears flattening.

“Twenty? But—”

“Twenty,” Regina repeated, her gaze steady. “No shortcuts.”

Horacio smirked as Juan let out a dramatic sigh before dashing off toward the courtyard. His excitement made his steps light, his energy contagious.

Regina, however, didn’t move right away. She exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples as if a headache lingered just beneath the surface. The moment of lightness faded just as quickly as it had come.

Horacio pushed off the doorway, stepping closer. “You don’t have to push yourself so soon,” he said quietly.

Regina didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

His jaw tightened. He knew that tone—knew it far too well.

“No, you’re not.” He reached out, fingers ghosting near her wrist before he stopped himself. “You don’t have to do this alone, Regina.”

She finally met his gaze, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.

“I know.” The words were so quiet he almost missed them. Then, she turned away, stepping toward the courtyard. “But I need to do something. I can’t just sit here.”

Horacio watched her go, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wasn’t sure if he had just witnessed progress… or if he had just watched her slip further away.

 Wasn’t…

Horacio’s gaze flicked back to the window, watching as Regina and Juan disappeared into the forest, their laughter still lingering in the air. His chest tightened.

He would know. One way or another, he would know.

Still, that wasn’t enough. Regina could still slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful. He needed another measure, something more direct.

He glanced at the scattered scrolls and records before him—histories of Amica, the Old Gods, and their lost kingdom beneath the sea. None of it told him what he needed to know. None of it explained why Regina had whispered those words in the language of the unformed.

If she wouldn’t talk, then he would find the answers himself.

With renewed purpose, Horacio stood, reaching for his cloak. It was time to pay the archives a visit.

---

The archives of the stronghold were ancient, hidden deep within the heart of the fortress. Only a select few were allowed access—Horacio being one of them. The halls were dimly lit by flickering lanterns, casting long shadows against the towering shelves filled with scrolls, records, and forgotten histories.

Horacio’s footsteps echoed softly as he made his way to the farthest corner of the chamber, where the oldest records were kept. He pulled a heavy tome from the shelf, its leather binding cracked with age. Dust rose in the air as he set it down, flipping through the brittle pages with careful precision.

“Amica… The Queen of Slaughter… The Lord of Wolves…” He muttered under his breath, his sharp eyes scanning the text.

The accounts varied—some painted the queen as a ruthless conqueror, others as a tragic figure who had sealed away Amica out of heartbreak. But one passage stood out:

“And so, in her fury and sorrow, the Queen called upon the heavens and the earth, upon the gods themselves, and sealed the gates of Amica forevermore. She banished the Lord of Wolves from her side, cursing him to wander the realms, never to return to the land that had borne him. Yet, even as she condemned him, she whispered his name one last time, a plea woven into a curse, a love that refused to die.”

Horacio clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the pages.

A curse… A plea…

His mind drifted back to the words Regina had whispered that night, spoken in the language of the unformed.

“Veni ad me amans. Pertinent ad me amica mea, mea Lupus Dominus…”

Come to me, my love. Return to me, my Lord of Wolves…

Horacio exhaled sharply. The realization settled deep in his chest, heavy and undeniable.

She hadn’t just been speaking a poem.

She had been calling out to him.

Lupus Dominus. The Lord of Wolves.

His blood ran cold as the weight of the words struck him.

Regina knew more than she let on.

And now, Horacio was certain—he wasn’t just chasing the history of Amica.

He was chasing the truth about Regina herself.

Horacio’s breath caught in his throat as his fingers traced the ancient drawing. His own face, captured in ink and parchment long before he had ever set foot in this world as he knew it. The arrogant smirk, the glint of superiority in his eyes—he recognized that expression all too well. He had been younger, cockier, untouchable.

And then Regina had come.

She had shattered that illusion in an instant. Not with words, not with humiliation, but with sheer power. With the ease of someone who had fought wars before his ancestors had even been born.

He turned the page with a sense of dread curling in his stomach.

And there he was again—her father.

A divine being, his sharp gaze immortalized in the fragile paper. The name beneath the sketch sent a chill down Horacio’s spine.

“Elder god of War…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.

His mind raced through every moment, every interaction he had ever had with Regina. The way she wielded her power as if it were second nature, as if the very earth and sky bent to her will. The way she spoke of things long past as if she had seen them with her own eyes.

And the way she had looked at him that night—the night they had fought.

She hadn’t been fighting him.

She had been fighting a memory. A ghost of a love lost to time.

Horacio slammed the book shut, his breath ragged.

Regina was Regina Caedes.

The Queen of Slaughter.

The ancient ruler of Amica.

A being older than the realms themselves.

He felt his pulse hammering in his ears, his thoughts spiraling.

If this was true—if Regina was the Queen of Slaughter—then what did that make him?