Torn Between Destinies-Chapter 36 - Thirty Six

The trees changed first.

The farther we traveled, the more the land shifted. The thick, dark woods of Thornridge gave way to gentler slopes, sunlight filtering through leaves that didn’t seem so heavy. The air felt cleaner. Softer. Like it hadn’t been touched by pain or blood.

We had been traveling for days. The small group that chose to come with us moved quietly, respectfully. They understood what this journey meant. Not just distance. But change.

I looked over at Darius. He rode beside me, our daughter wrapped against his chest in a soft sling. Erya slept peacefully, her tiny breaths steady even through the bouncing path. She didn’t cry much. Somehow, it felt like she understood that this journey mattered too.

Behind us, Tahlia walked with her bow slung across her back, eyes always alert. Dara and Malen kept watch over the supplies, and old Vell, the quiet elder who had chosen to follow us despite his age, hummed songs from a time before either of us had been born. It made the path feel sacred.

We weren’t in a rush. We didn’t want to be. Every step was part of the goodbye.

Every step was part of the healing.

"I think we’re close," Darius said one morning.

We had just passed a stretch of tall grasses, golden under the rising sun. A small creek wound through the valley, and beyond it, hills stretched into quiet blue sky.

"How do you know?" I asked.

He smiled a little. "I don’t. But I feel it."

And I felt it too.

That night, we made camp by a quiet pond. Frogs croaked somewhere in the distance, and fireflies danced in slow, glowing circles above the water. Erya babbled in my arms, reaching out toward the lights. I laughed softly and held her closer.

"Almost there, little moon," I whispered.

I wasn’t sure what "there" even meant. We had a direction. A guess. But no map. No names for what lay ahead.

Only hope.

When we finally crossed into the new land, it didn’t feel grand. There were no signs. No gates. Just a quiet stretch of forest that opened into wide, flat meadows. Wildflowers covered the ground, swaying in every color you could imagine. Mountains stood far in the distance like silent guardians, their peaks silver and proud.

We stopped.

Darius stood beside me, his eyes scanning the land.

"It’s untouched," he said quietly.

I nodded. "It feels... clean."

No blood had been spilled here. No Alpha had claimed it. No old rivalries waited in the shadows.

It was just... land. Wild, free, and waiting.

We walked forward together, the others following close behind. As we reached the center of the meadow, Erya began to laugh. A bright, full sound that made everyone stop and look.

I held her up, and the wind swept her dark hair back from her forehead. Her little eyes shone.

"She feels it too," Tahlia said softly.

We set up camp again, but it felt different this time. Not like a pause. Like a beginning.

I sat on a flat rock as the sun sank low, painting the sky in fire. Darius sat beside me, his hand resting on my knee.

"We could build here," he said.

"There’s water. Trees. Shelter."

"And peace."

I looked at him. "Do you really think it will last?"

His eyes met mine. "If we protect it, yes."

We had been through too much not to believe in the fight for peace.

That night, we all sat around a new fire. The stars above seemed brighter, closer. Erya lay in a blanket between us, hands curled near her face.

Tahlia told stories of her youth—funny ones, about stealing food from the kitchens and hiding under the healer’s bed. Dara and Malen joked about who would find a mate first. Vell shared a quiet memory of my father, and how Nefang used to sing in the rain.

I cried then. Not from pain. But from release.

This wasn’t Thornridge. This wasn’t what we had lost.

But it was something we could build.

Later, I stood at the edge of the field, alone again. The grass tickled my ankles. The breeze was cool.

This place had no name yet.

Maybe that was a gift.

A blank page. A fresh start.

Darius came to stand beside me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"That maybe this is what my mother was trying to find."

"A place without fear?"

I nodded. "Without chains. Without ghosts."

"We’ll make it that," he whispered.

We stood there for a long time.

The stars kept watch. The land waited.

The next morning, I rose early. The sky was pale, barely awake. I walked to the stream and washed my hands in the cold water. Then I knelt, scooped some into my palms, and drank.

It tasted new. Crisp. Pure.

A new beginning.

We spent the next days exploring the land. Mapping it with our feet and eyes. We found caves in the hills, perfect for storing food. Small deer roamed near the edge of the trees. There were herbs I recognized, and others I didn’t.

No scent of other wolves. No warnings.

This land was unclaimed.

And now, it was ours.

We began to build. Nothing grand. Just tents at first, then stronger shelters from wood. We worked together. Side by side. No titles. No ranks. Just people trying to make something good.

Erya crawled through the grass, chasing beetles and laughing at the wind.

She was safe here.

That meant everything.

At night, we would sit and talk. Share ideas. Dream out loud. What would we call this place? What would we teach our pups?

Would we be a pack again?

Darius asked me that one night as we watched the moon rise.

"Do you want to lead again?" he asked.

I didn’t answer right away.

"Not like before," I said finally. "Not as rulers. As guides, maybe. As a family."

He nodded. "That sounds right."

We would let this land shape us. Not the old ways. Not blood and dominance.

Just trust.

Loyalty.

And love.

On the seventh night, we held a small ceremony.

We stood in a circle around the fire. Erya sat on my hip. Darius held a bowl of water from the stream.

"We came here with scars," he said. "But also with hope."

"We carry our past," I added. "But we don’t let it chain us."

"This land is our chance to begin again."

Everyone dipped their fingers into the water and touched the ground.

A blessing. A promise.

Then we howled. Not loud. Not fierce. Just together.

Our voices rose into the sky, meeting the stars.

We were here.

We had made it.

Into the unknown.