Chapter 3. Found by Strangers

Neriah stood at the river’s edge as dusk bled through the clouds, turning the world to bruised silver. The pine needles beneath her bare feet were slick from rain, and the air was thick—charged with the scent of earth and the threat of something about to break. The river below churned fast and black, swollen with meltwater, hurling itself against the stone banks as if trying to escape the weight of the mountains above.

She drew her cloak tighter, trying to will the chill from her bones. She’d come here for quiet, for space to breathe. The camp behind her was a living thing tonight: tense, uncertain, full of voices that dropped silent as she passed. She felt them watching—Stormfang wolves, eyes sharp with suspicion or awe or something darker. Some of the older ones spat when she walked by, muttering about the curse and the Ashen Flame. Others offered wary, respectful nods. The youngest pups just stared with round eyes, as if hoping for a miracle or fearing a monster.

She was both. She was neither. Even she couldn’t say which one she believed.

The river roared, offering no answer.

Behind her, boots crunched on the old path. She didn’t turn—she recognized Kalen’s stride, the heavy step of a wolf who’d spent too many years pretending he could outwalk his own ghosts.

He came to stand beside her, silent for a moment. The only greeting was a shared glance, brief and honest.

“They’re restless tonight,” he said, voice pitched low.

“They’re always restless,” Neriah answered, not looking up. “But tonight I’m the reason.”

He watched the river for a moment, then said, “You’re not the only reason. Word’s out that Blackbriar sent a courier. The Council’s watching us. They want to know if you’ll burn.”

She laughed—a dry, brittle sound. “Let them watch. I’m not a firework.”

“No,” Kalen agreed, “but you’re something they don’t understand. Unpredictable scares wolves more than any prophecy.”

She let the silence fall again. The river’s voice was steady, relentless. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the current would sweep her away, out of the valley, out beyond the reach of pack and fate and flame.

But when she opened them, the world was still here. So was she.

Kalen shifted, folding his arms. “What happened during the last trial? With Thalia.”

Neriah hesitated. “She challenged me. She lost.”

He turned to face her. “That’s not the whole story.”

She looked at him then, really looked—at the lines carved deep around his mouth, the scars slicing through his brow, the old grief that lived in his eyes. “The Flame answered. It took her pain and swallowed it. For a moment, I wanted to let it do more.”

He nodded, as if he’d expected that. “It’s getting stronger.”

“I’m getting weaker,” she whispered. “Every time it rises, it’s harder to bring it back down. I don’t know if it’s changing me, or if I’m changing it.”

Kalen considered her words. “Maybe both.”

She hugged her arms around herself. A cold wind slipped from the river, cutting through the last light. “I dreamed of fire last night,” she said, voice barely audible. “Not just burning the old world—burning myself. Until there’s nothing left. Sometimes, I think that’s all the Flame really wants.”

He shook his head. “No. The Flame’s just power. It doesn’t want anything but a vessel. You’re the one with hunger, Neriah. You’re the one who gets to choose what to do with it.”

She let the words sink in, let herself imagine—for just a second—that choice was truly hers.

“Do you trust me?” she asked suddenly.

Kalen didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang between them, heavy as the coming night. “I trust your heart,” he said finally. “But I don’t trust the world to let you keep it.”

She turned away from the river. “Neither do I.”

A new silence settled, this one softer, almost companionable. She shivered, the night growing colder. Kalen shrugged off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. For a moment, she let herself lean into the warmth.

“Thank you,” she said.

He grinned. “Don’t thank me until you see what the council does tomorrow.”

She groaned. “You’re a true friend.”

He sobered. “No. I’m your Alpha, for now. That means when the council comes, I’ll stand beside you. Even if it means burning with you.”

Her throat tightened. “Don’t say that.”

“You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Footsteps approached along the path—quick, hesitant. Thalia stepped from the trees, her face pale in the moonlight. She hesitated when she saw them, then squared her shoulders.

“Neriah. Kalen.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes darted to Neriah, flickering with something like apology.

Neriah nodded. “Thalia.”

Thalia looked at the ground. “Pack wants to know if you’ll accept the Luna’s seat at sunrise. The council won’t wait forever.”

Neriah’s pulse stumbled. “If I say yes, it brings the council down on Stormfang. If I say no, the pack loses its claim.”

Thalia nodded. “That’s the choice.”

Kalen watched her carefully. “If you run, they’ll hunt you. If you stay, they’ll test you. If you burn… they’ll call it fate.”

Neriah ran her thumb over the edge of the wolf’s-head clasp. The old longing flared—run, survive, vanish. But the Flame inside her was still as a held breath, as if waiting for her answer.

“I’m tired of running,” she said quietly. “I’ll stand.”

Thalia nodded. “I’ll spread the word.”

She turned and vanished into the trees, a shadow among a thousand others.

Kalen squeezed Neriah’s shoulder. “Whatever happens, you’re still you.”

She looked at him, searching for the truth in his eyes. “Am I?”

He hesitated, then pulled her into a rough embrace. “Yes. Even if you burn, you’re still the girl who survived. That never changes.”

She closed her eyes and held tight to his words.

When she finally walked back to camp, the wolves watched in silence. Some stepped aside; others reached out to touch her cloak, as if hoping to draw luck or strength from the flame they feared.

In her tent, Neriah sat alone, the wolf’s-head pendant heavy at her throat. She lit a single candle and watched the flame dance. It flickered, uncertain, bending first one way, then another, as if considering which direction to burn.

She whispered her promise to the night: “I’ll choose for myself, this time.”

The candle flared brighter, then steadied.

Outside, the wind shifted. The river’s roar softened. Somewhere, a wolf howled—a clear, unbroken note that echoed through the valley.

And Neriah, sitting in the uncertain glow, breathed deep and let herself believe—if only for tonight—that fate could be remade, one choice at a time.