Chapter 24, The Weight of Being Seen
Wren
When I finally blinked my eyes open, I felt a jolt of pure panic. The light hitting the peaks wasn’t the soft pink of my arrival. It was high, bright, and silver. I had slept through an entire day and the night that followed.
I sat up, my heart doing a violent kick against my ribs. How could I have slept so soundly in a fortress of monsters? The air here was different; the strange, sharp smells and the terrifying loudness of the Black-Spines had settled into a steady, rhythmic thrum that felt... peaceful?
A chime sounded, a soft, melodic pulse. I scrambled back, eyes darting to the tablet.
“Nutrient intake recommended. Attire ready in the vestibule.”
I climbed out of the bed, my feet sinking into the thick fur rug.
As I walked toward the door, a section of the wall slid back.
Inside lay a stack of clothes; dark, matte fabrics that felt like woven smoke.
I picked up a base layer and noticed a small, glowing filament sewn into the collar.
As I pulled it over my head, the garment molded to my frame, a faint hum resonating against my collarbone.
The tablet now displayed a set of icons I barely understood: Heartrate: 78 bpm. Hydration: Attention Required. Tracking: Online.
Of course. They weren’t just dressing me; they were monitoring my movements.
Driven by a hunger that felt like it would turn to nausea, I stepped out and followed a scent to the main den.
The glass walls were blinding in the full light of the morning.
Skarde was there, standing by a stone counter.
He wasn’t in tactical gear; he wore a simple black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking less like a warlord and more like a man at home.
He didn’t look up, but his voice was quiet. “Seems you were exhausted, Wren.”
“I am sorry. I didn’t realise how tired I was,” I whispered. “The noises... they aren’t as loud as they were.”
“You’re adjusting, don’t be sorry,” he said, turning to face me. He didn’t look at me with the coldness of the border. There was a flicker of something almost accommodating in his gaze. He gestured to the table. “Sit. Eat. You need your strength.”
As I started on the elk and dark berries, Skarde leaned against the table. “I need to know your birthdate.”
I paused, a piece of fruit halfway to my mouth. “Why?”
“The first shift usually happens around the nineteenth year for late bloomers,” he stated, his eyes tracking the pulse in my throat. “When you shift here, I need to know the window. We have to prepare the medical suite.”
“I don’t really have one,” I said quietly, looking down at the dark juice on my plate.
“The High-Ridge found me in the Dead Woods eighteen years ago. They marked my birthday as the anniversary of that day. It’s in three months. But... my father... the man who raised me... he said it might never happen for a Null.”
“It will,” Skarde said, his voice firm, brooking no argument. “The air in the Black-Spines... it forces change.”
“And until then?” I asked, my voice small but steady. “What am I supposed to do? Wait to be tracked like a tagged deer?” I pointed at the collar of my shirt.
“It’s not a leash, Wren.” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Everyone in Ember-Fell wears them. If the system loses your signal, we assume you’re under ten feet of snow. We don’t like losing people here.”
He looked out at the sprawling, tiered city beyond the glass. “Explore, Wren. Meet the people who are now your pack. If you get turned around or in trouble, the tracker will bring you back.”
He finally looked at me, and for the first time, I didn’t see the Alpha who had demanded a life for a life.
“I didn’t bring you here to be a prisoner in a glass cage. I brought you here to finally live your life.”