“The world coils in pain, and no one listens. We come to you barefoot, not crowned. If you choose to rise, your howl will echo beyond the skies. Not as beast. Not as woman. But as memory made flesh. You will not be born. You will be remembered. Say yes, and we will shape you from the storm itself. Say yes, and you will become what the balance forgot. Say yes, and become vólkin.”
—The Circle of the Unmated
Noël
Isit on the massive fur bed, large enough to fit at least two vólkins like Theron, weaving small blue ribbons together. It’s been a while since I crafted something like this. The last time was the spear I made for protection, but before that...
Maybe it was when I made trinkets with my mother.
I nod to myself, taking another ribbon from the wooden container I set beside me. Earlier, as I explored, I came across a room with a small stream flowing through it. The air in there was cooler than the rest of the house, and the scent of herbs andearth filled my nose the moment I stepped inside. Smooth stones lined the edges of the stream, and large leaves formed natural basins.
There was a hollowed-out log that looked like a sink with a smaller stream of water constantly replenishing it. Beside it, I found a box filled with blue ribbons.
These ribbons seem like they’re made for humans, unless Theron secretly ties his fur into tiny ponytails. I smile to myself as I finish weaving the blue strands together.
Standing up, I secure the furs around me once more—just in case—and head to the door.
Taking a deep breath, I open it to find the same two vólkins standing guard by the porch.
The moment they see me, they snap to attention, bowing in unison. Once they straighten again, they look at me quietly, but I can feel their unease.
“I wanted to apologize for my tone earlier,” I say, switching my gaze from one guard to the other, my fists clasped behind my back.
One of the vólkins furrows his brows, and their shoulders stiffen.
“Your Majesty,” the first begins. He swallows hard, and I can see his jaw clenching.
“We’re the ones who should apologize,” the other says, his voice quiet. His tone makes me feel even guiltier than before.
“Your word is beyond anyone’s, beyond Theron’s or Elder Aïna’s. We shouldn’t have hesitated.”
“No. How can you follow me blindly?” My voice is calm but firm. “If I were in your place, I’d want the so-called ethereal leader to prove themselves first.” I lift my chin higher. “I took your kindness for granted, and my bad mood wasn’t your fault.”
I pull my fists from behind my back and extend them toward the two vólkins. “Here,” I say with a small smile. “A token of my apology, a braid for each of you.”
Their eyes widen simultaneously, and after a short pause, they reach out. Slowly, each takes a ribbon braid from my hands, careful not to damage the tiny strands with their claws.
“You were kind to me, and I wanted to repay that kindness,” I say, my smile lingering on my lips.
They look at the braids in their claws, and their gazes soften as their postures become less rigid, their guardedness easing.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” one of them says.
“We do not deserve such kindness,” the other adds.
I offer them another smile and turn to head back inside, wishing them both a good night.
Closing the door behind me, I look at the ribbon container. Should I make one for Theron as well?
A braid from his own ribbons compared to the house he grew for me... I’ll just embarrass myself.
Settling into the bed, I let out a long breath, the weight of the day sinking into my body. The softness of the furs beneath me feels inviting, almost too much, but I don’t resist. Instead, I pull another fur blanket over me, tucking it close as though it could shield me from everything that runs through my mind.
Curling into myself, I let my body relax, my knees drawing toward my chest as I rest my cheek against the plush bed. It’s strange, this comfort feels foreign. And yet, here, surrounded by Theron’s care and Elder Aïna’s wisdom, I feel a sliver of it breaking through.
Body, mind, soul.
The braid she wove into my hair feels heavier, as though carrying the weight of her lesson. She saw something in me I’m not sure I can see in myself, but her faith in me was so real. I hold on to that.
