The fire crackled low in the hearth as Sayori sat by the window, watching dusk bleed into night.
Outside, the village was quiet again. The uneasy stillness after Fenris's visit lingered like a breath held too long.
Her hands trembled slightly, the memory of his red eyes burning in her mind.
He came for me.
The thought was both a balm and a blade.
She traced the pale scars on her arms—the marks that told stories of lashings, cold nights, and broken hope.
Why me?
She had always been the forgotten one, the servant no one noticed until blame fell like stones.
Now, the Alpha himself claimed her. A mate. Something rare. Something powerful.
But what did she have to offer?
She was weak, bruised, a human among creatures of strength and magic.
The village healer had said, "She's mine," and yet she felt like a ghost.
---
That night, Sayori wandered outside.
The stars were sharp against the dark sky, but no warmth reached her skin.
From the edge of the woods, a soft howl echoed—low, mournful.
Her heart ached with a strange yearning.
A voice behind her made her start.
"Afraid?"
Alder stood there, leaning on his cane.
She shook her head.
"Not of him," she whispered. "Of what I am."
He nodded. "It is hard to believe you're anything but strong."
She gave a bitter laugh.
"Strong? I'm the weakest. A servant. A cage-dweller."
Alder smiled gently. "Strength is not only in the body, Sayori. Sometimes it's in the silence we keep, the pain we bear without breaking."
She looked at him, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"And sometimes," he added, "it's in the courage to choose who you want to be."
---
Back inside, Sayori returned to the small wooden box Fenris had left behind—a simple token, a wolf-shaped pendant carved from dark wood.
She held it tightly.
The world beyond Hollowmere was full of danger and shadows.
But perhaps, with time, she could find a place within it.
For now, she would heal.
Not just her body.
But the pieces of herself lost in chains and silence.