Melody's breath hitched. "I was so sure," she whispered, the pragmatic facade cracking as tears hinted at the corners of her eyes. "I was so sure she was dead."
Kyra, still looking green, straightened up slowly, her voice unexpectedly cold and flat. "I have a lot to say to that woman." Three years of pain and abandonment had long since forced Kyra to shut her emotions away, building walls where their mother's memory once resided.
"I expect as much," June replied, understanding. "I've already arranged a carriage to take us back to the palace."
The triplets were just reaching the ornate carriage waiting at the edge of the docks, June already reaching for the door handle, when Kyra suddenly held up a hand. "Wait." She pointed towards the still-shimmering teleportation gate.
Emerging from the fading distortion were two figures. One was largely concealed by a heavy, hooded cloak, their features obscured. The other, however, was unmistakable. Taller and broader than they remembered, but with the same unmistakable set to the jaw, the same piercing wolf eyes, was Torrin.
A wave of recognition and something akin to joyous shock washed over the three catkin sisters. "Nott!" June breathed, her hand dropping from the carriage door. Melody gasped, and even Kyra's stoic expression softened with a flicker of something warm.
Without a word, the three of them surged forward, their feline grace evident even in their haste. They moved as one, their years of shared history and affection propelling them towards the two figures by the gate. "Nott!" June called out again, her voice filled with a relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding onto so tightly.
The cloaked figure looked up, and a familiar, soft smile touched her lips as she saw the girls rushing towards them. But as the triplets got closer, their eyes landed on the uncloaked figure, Torrin, standing beside her. They looked at Torrin, then back at the cloaked figure, a flicker of confusion crossing their faces.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Melody blurted out, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
"Our apologies, we thought you were—" June started, then stopped, her eyes wide as she looked at the cloaked figure.
Nott's hands moved, signing with a hint of amusement, "Why would you be saying you're sorry when I'm right here?" As she signed, she reached up and pulled back her hood.
The triplets did a literal double-take. They stared at Nott, then at Torrin, then back at Nott again, their mouths slightly agape. The resemblance was uncanny, yet distinct.
"Two Notts," June finally managed to say, her voice a disbelieving whisper. "Asha will never believe this."
The ornate carriage rattled through the grand gates of the palace, finally drawing to a halt in the main courtyard. June, Melody, Kyra, Nott, and Torrin disembarked, the air immediately feeling heavier with the weight of royal history and the quiet hum of palace activity.
They found Asha in a bustling corridor, speaking intently with a uniformed guard about her imminent departure. She was focused, her gestures precise as she gave instructions.
"Asha!" June called out, attempting to catch her attention.
The queen, still engrossed, merely waved a dismissive hand without looking. "Not now, June, I'm quite busy."
Melody tried next, a more urgent tone in her voice, but Asha simply offered another impatient gesture. "Later, girls, later."
Kyra, who had been quietly fuming, suddenly let out a sharp, loud declaration that cut through the corridor's murmur like a knife. "Auntie Asha, you would dismiss your nieces when we have Nott with us?"
Asha froze mid-sentence. Her head snapped around, her eyes widening as she truly registered the presence of her three nieces, not just June, but Melody and Kyra as well, back from their six months at the Draconis School of Law in Scholarik Noctis. A brilliant, elated smile broke across her face. "My girls! You're back!" She moved to embrace them, her earlier urgency forgotten.
As she hugged the triplets, her gaze drifted past them, landing on the two figures standing a little behind. Her eyes first focused on Torrin, her brow furrowing slightly, then a knowing smile spread across her face. "Nott! Finally took my advice and bulked up, I see! All that heavy lifting at the bar has paid off!"
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Then her eyes shifted to the true Nott, standing beside Torrin, a familiar, albeit surprised, expression on her face. Asha did a genuine double-take, her mouth falling open slightly. The resemblance was undeniable, yet distinct. "Wait..." she began, looking from one to the other, "who... who are you?"
Nott's hands moved, a whirlwind of signs explaining Torrin's identity. "She's my half-sister, Asha. Torrin."
Asha looked between the two wolfkin women again, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Well, Torrin, welcome to the family!"
Torrin gave Nott a strange look, clearly unaccustomed to such a warm welcome from a Catkin, especially a queen. Her people and the Catkin rarely saw eye to eye, let alone exchanged pleasantries.
Nott signed to Torrin, "It's okay. I've known them for a decade."
Torrin chuckled nervously, a low rumble in her chest. "She keeps high company," she mumbled, glancing around the opulent palace corridor.
"You will see, Torrin," Asha interjected, her smile broadening, "I am not like any queen you have met before."
“Any questions?” Troth finished, his voice echoing across the training grounds. A few hands tentatively rose, and he patiently addressed each one, his explanations clear and concise. For Troth, combat wasn’t just about swinging a weapon; it was a dance, a conversation, a necessary art that, when wielded with purpose and understanding, could protect all that was good in the world. He wanted his recruits to be not just soldiers, but thinkers, guardians.
As he dismissed the recruits, the bovinekin’s gaze once again fixed on the figures walking away. With a joyous rumble building in his chest, Troth took off, his massive frame moving with surprising speed. He easily caught up to the passing wolfkin and, without a word, scooped Nott clean off her feet, letting out a booming, delighted, "NOTT!"
The sudden joyful bellow, followed by the sight of the hulking bovinekin lifting the lithe wolfkin, caused an immediate ruckus among the dispersing recruits. Hushed whispers erupted like startled birds. Even here, in the Lore Ashan Military Academy, the rumors of Nott’s alleged unchecked powers, and the blame attached to them, persisted. Though everyone knew the whispers were baseless, a residue of suspicion clung to her. Nott, accustomed to the hurtful looks, instantly pulled her hood further over her head, her movements practiced and weary.
Beside her, the other wolfkin, Torren—Nott’s sister—stiffened. Her ears, usually poised, flattened slightly, and a low growl began to rumble in her chest as she turned, anger sparking in her eyes, ready to confront the recruits’ disrespectful murmurs.
But Troth was quicker. Still holding Nott, he spun, his gentle eyes hardening into a fierce glare that swept over his troops. His voice, now laced with an undeniable authority, cut through the whispers like a sharp blade.
“QUIET!” he thundered, his voice cracking like thunder. He set Nott down gently, but his gaze remained fixed on the recruits. “Look at her! Look at this little wolf!” His voice softened slightly as he gestured to Nott, then rose in intensity again. “Without her, without what she has done, this world would be a much darker place. You should be thanking her for making sure you still had families to go back to, for making sure you still have homes to protect!”
The force of his words, coupled with the raw emotion in his voice, silenced the recruits instantly. Shame flickered across many faces as they realized the depth of the bovinekin’s conviction and the unspoken truth in his words. Troth turned back to Nott, his fierce expression melting into one of profound affection, as if the entire outburst had been solely to defend her honor.
Nott finally pulled her hood back, the weariness in her eyes visible to Troth, one of the few who truly understood her loss, having been there the day her brother Vidar fell in battle. "You didn't have to do that, Troth," she murmured, a small, tired smile gracing her lips, "but I... I appreciate it."
Just then, a voice, laced with bravado and thinly veiled contempt, dared to cut through the quiet. "Why protect that monster? We all know she killed hundreds in Varshroova!"
Nott’s eyes, which moments ago held only weariness, hardened. A spark of dark humor, sharp and unexpected, flickered within them. She spun towards the voice, her tail lashing once, and yelled back, her voice gaining a surprising confidence, "At least the number went down! Good to know you were there!"
Troth, who had been on the verge of turning back to the recruits with a satisfied sigh, froze. His jaw tightened, and the kind light in his eyes vanished, replaced by an actual, chilling fury. His deep voice, now low and dangerous, rumbled across the yard. "Who said that?!" he bellowed, scanning the faces of his silent recruits. "Show yourself, coward! Come to the front and say it to my face!"
From the ranks stepped a kitsune, one of only three tails, a promising recruit Troth knew. He was full of piss and vinegar, his cold, cruel eyes fixed on Nott. "I said what I said!" he declared, his voice clear and defiant. "This thing has no place in polite society!"
Hushed whispers erupted anew among the recruits, their eyes darting between the confident kitsune and the tense figures of Troth and Nott.
Troth’s glare intensified. "You were but a child," he rumbled, his voice thick with a decade of unspoken history, "when she risked everything, lost everything, to make sure all of us are free now."
The kitsune scoffed, unmoved. "She ended the lives of scores of innocent people!"
And then, Nott finally spoke, her voice surprisingly calm at first. "And it would have been far more if I hadn't stopped her!"
A decade of suppressed fury, of blame and suspicion, finally caused the dam of emotions within her to break. Her eyes blazed, not with weariness, but with raw, unbridled rage. She had endured the whispers, remained silent, never giving in to the rumors. But this kitsune brat had crossed a line she couldn't tolerate.
A faint, ethereal green glow began to emanate from Nott. The air around her crackled, and the ground beneath her feet seemed to hum with contained power. Faster than the kitsune could react, Nott moved, grabbing him firmly by the head. Her glowing power intensified, flowing from her hand into his mind.
"Here, let me show you," Nott hissed, her voice a low, terrifying growl.
And then, the kitsune’s arrogant sneer contorted into a silent scream. His eyes widened to impossible saucers, reflecting a horror far beyond the training grounds. He was plunged into the maelstrom of her desperate battle with Nyx. He didn’t just see it; he felt it. He tasted the acrid smoke of burning lands, smelled the metallic tang of blood in the air, heard the cacophony of crumbling cities and desperate cries. He felt the impossible weight of the choices Nott had been forced to make, each one a hammer blow to her soul, sacrificing moments of agony to avert centuries of darkness. He witnessed the sheer, devastating scale of Nyx’s power, a force that tore reality asunder, and Nott, a lone beacon, fighting to stem the tide. He saw the lives lost, not as numbers, but as individual faces, individual screams, and then, the terrifying realization that for every life taken, thousands, millions, more would have followed if Nott hadn't made the agonizing, brutal decision to become the very thing they now scorned. The sheer, overwhelming burden of her actions, the desperate necessity of her choices, flooded his mind, drowning his bravado in a tidal wave of empathetic terror and profound understanding. It was a torment designed to shatter his simplistic judgment, forcing him to live, in condensed moments, the decade of silent suffering she had endured.