Novelas de Chie

The valley had begun to breathe again. For weeks, the air of Ravenshade had carried nothing but the acrid tang of blood and smoke, but now, when the morning mist lifted, the mountains smelled of pine and wet stone again. Wolves padded through the courtyards and the training fields with less tension in their shoulders. The wounded healed. Graves were marked with fresh stones, and pups had begun to chase each other through the grass without flinching at every sound. Nicole watched them from the ridge above the camp, her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders. They looked freer than she felt. Every laugh that rang out below reminded her of what it had cost to win this fragile calm: the council broken, Tomas silenced, Brian scarred but alive, Silas pushed to the edges like a shadow that refused to die. Brian’s hand brushed hers, grounding her. “You’re holding your breath again.” She let it out slowly, the ache in her chest loosening. “I don’t know if I’ve stopped since the battle.” He sai

The storm had passed. It did not feel like peace, not yet, but there was a stillness to the air that had not existed before. Ravenshade had always carried tension like a shadow—something waiting to spring, to rupture, to remind every wolf that safety was only ever borrowed but in the weeks after the fires and the clash that nearly shattered them all, something shifted. Nicole could feel it each morning when she woke. The silence was not sharp anymore. It was wide, open. She rose before the others, a habit she had not been able to break. Her body remembered too well the nights of patrols, the endless hours watching for signs of betrayal. Dawn became her sanctuary. She would dress simply, slip her boots on, and walk the length of the keep until the horizon bled silver and gold. That morning, frost still clung to the earth. The air burned cold in her lungs as she crossed the courtyard. Her boots crunched on stone blackened by fire, but moss was already daring to grow along the cracks. Li

The morning dawned slow, spilling light across the ruined courtyard. The fires had long since been doused, but their memory lingered: black scars where flames had licked stone, ash ground into the cracks beneath boot and paw. The pack gathered again, not for battle, not for mourning, but for something rarer. Renewal. Nicole stood at the center.Her cloak was simple, stripped of ornament. Her throat bore no jewels, no mark of vanity. Only the scars of battle and the dark edge of exhaustion set her apart from the others. She did not want to stand above them, she wanted to stand among them, though every wolf knew she carried the weight no one else could bear. Brian stood to her right, his presence not loud but steady, a counterweight to the fury that often threatened to tear her apart. Silas stood further back, among the shadows of the council, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, burning, unwilling to look away. Elara kept to the left, not hidden, not silent. She had chosen her

Dawn broke red across the sky. Not the soft blush of morning, but the deep, angry hue of coals still smoldering after a fire. Nicole stood at the edge of the courtyard, staring at the light spreading over the forest canopy. It should have felt like rebirth. Instead, it felt like a warning. The courtyard had been scrubbed clean overnight. Blood still clung faintly to the stone between the cracks, but the worst of it had been washed away by the hands of those who had not dared to defy her. The air still carried the sharp tang of iron, threaded with smoke from torches that had burned through the night.Today, the pack would swear. One way or another. Behind Nicole, the council chamber doors creaked open. The elders filed out, one by one, their faces grave, their eyes shadowed with sleeplessness. They had pressed her after the violence, had demanded swift resolution, and she had given them her answer: unity must be made, not begged. The pack had until sunrise to choose their place. Kneel,

The chamber had emptied in fits and starts, leaving only the echo of footsteps and the smolder of torches guttering against stone. Brian had lingered a heartbeat longer than the others, his gaze heavy on her, unreadable. Silas had not looked back at all. Now it was only Nicole. Alone. She leaned her palms against the council table, the wood scarred by centuries of decrees, of battles decided in words that became law. The grain felt warm beneath her touch, almost alive or maybe that was her own pulse, thrumming too loud in her veins. Her decision should have felt like victory. It should have solidified the ground beneath her feet, given her the certainty she had craved through endless nights of blood and fire. Instead, the silence pressed harder, heavier, as though the walls themselves were waiting for her to crack. She let her breath out slowly, though it shook at the edges. Brian. She had chosen him not with tenderness, not with the naïve certainty of a girl still dazzled by the bon

Dawn broke pale and gray, a sky veined with bruised clouds that seemed to mirror the pack’s mood. The courtyard stones had been scrubbed clean of blood, but Nicole swore she could still smell it, the iron tang of wolves who had fallen, of trust split open. The summons came with no ceremony. A sharp knock at her chamber door, a young runner with fear in his eyes: “The council calls you to the chamber. Now.” She had expected it, but her stomach still tightened. Last night’s violence had burned through the pack like wildfire. If she didn’t meet it head-on, it would consume everything she had fought for. Elara walked beside her down the corridor, silent, but Nicole could feel the weight of her friend’s vow. It was an invisible tether, a reminder she was not alone. Yet even Elara’s presence could not soften the chill that pressed against her spine when the heavy doors of the chamber opened. The hall was full. Council members at the raised seats, wolves lined along the walls, their faces et

The next morning began differently. It didn't begin with dread tightening my ribs or the weight of yesterday pressing down on my chest—just a quiet, steady sense of… possibility. A small one, but real enough to feel.Sunlight slipped through the blinds in thin gold ribbons. Instead of rolling over and hiding from it, I sat up slowly, letting the warmth touch my face. It was strange how unfamiliar simple things had become. The sunlight. Morning. A day that didn’t start with chaos.I stretched—awkwardly, stiff, but determined and moved through the apartment with the quiet intention of someone trying to reacquaint themselves with life.The first step of rebuilding: routine.Something I could touch, structure, rely on.I made coffee. A real breakfast—eggs, toast, slices of tomato. I washed the dishes afterward, then opened all the windows so the apartment could breathe with me.The next step: job applications.My laptop hummed to life, the screen glowing too bright at first. The last time

The next morning began differently than I expected.I didn’t wake up with heaviness.I didn’t wake up with panic.I didn’t wake up with the quiet, spinning dread that had crouched in the corners of my mind for days.I woke up … slowly.Warm.My cheek was pressed to the pillow instead of the couch. I must’ve dragged myself to bed sometime after the world outside went dark, though I didn’t remember doing it. The sunlight filtering through my curtains painted the room in soft gold, catching the edges of the dresser, glinting off a forgotten glass of water on the nightstand.I lay there for a moment, breathing quietly, listening to the gentle hush of morning. No alarms. No responsibilities tugging at me. No frantic thoughts demanding attention.Just a quiet sense of… okay.I stretched beneath the covers, feeling the slight pleasant ache in my muscles from yesterday’s cleaning spree. A real ache. The kind that had nothing to do with stress.My phone rested beside the lamp, still powered of

I woke up with my cheek pressed against the couch cushion, the fabric was warm from where my body had sunk into it overnight. For a few seconds, I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe properly. I just listened to the quiet, to the faint hum of the refrigerator, to the thin morning light nudging its way between the blinds.My head felt heavy, but not in the same way it had for days. It wasn’t confusion or the fog of exhaustion. It was… softness. A kind of weight that didn’t crush me. It just reminded me that I was still here.Yesterday’s conversation with the security guard lingered like a hand on my shoulder. Not a reprimand. Not a warning.Just concern.Someone had seen me, really seen me and instead of recoiling or snapping or demanding something from me, they’d simply asked if I was okay.And for the first time in a long time… I hadn’t lied.I shifted on the couch and felt my spine protest. My clothes were wrinkled, my hair was pulled into a frizzy knot at the base of my neck. I prob

I lost count of the days after the meeting. They folded into one another like pages that had been left out in the rain. They were soft, colorless and impossible to separate. At first, I told myself I was just catching my breath. I’d make coffee, open my laptop, and promise that tomorrow I’d start looking for work again. But the laptop stayed shut, the coffee went cold, and I kept finding reasons to step outside instead. The air felt easier than my apartment did.Sometimes I’d wander to the corner store. Sometimes I’d walk nowhere in particular, only to realize that my feet had taken me back toward the same block again. It became a pattern I didn’t name, a rhythm my body learned on its own. I’d linger near the building where Mark lived, watching people come and go. I told myself I was just walking. Just stretching my legs. But the longer I stood there, the harder it was to believe that lie.Evenings were worse. The city would settle into its warm, humming quiet, and I’d sit by my windo

Monday arrived like a noise I couldn’t turn down. I woke up late again, my stomach was twisting with dread. The clock on my nightstand flashed 9:42 AM. I was supposed to have been at the office an hour ago. For a long moment, I just sat there with the sheets tangled around my legs, the smell of stale coffee hanging in the air. I told myself to move, to get dressed, to at least try. But the effort of pretending normal had grown too heavy. When I finally reached the office, everyone was already moving at that brisk, caffeinated pace that used to feel familiar. I slipped to my desk, trying to look invisible, but the moment I sat down, I knew it was useless.My manager appeared almost immediately. “Can we talk?” he asked quietly, too politely.The walk to the conference room felt longer than usual. My heart thudded like footsteps echoing behind me. Inside the conference room, the blinds were drawn halfway, streaks of light cutting across the table. My manager sat at one end, another super

The week after Anna’s visit had somewhat dissolved into static. I went to bed with my phone glowing beside me, I woke up reaching for it again. It wasn’t even about messages anymore. I just wanted proof that Mark was still out there, that he was still part of the quiet orbit that had begun to rule my days. Every sound in the hallway felt like him. Every silence felt like punishment. At work, I stared through spreadsheets until the numbers bled together. My supervisor asked about a report, and I nodded as if I remembered which one. The moment she walked away, I forgot her question entirely. My attention was a restless creature that kept slipping back to the space next door, to the echo of Anna’s voice asking Is he here?I told myself it was only curiosity, a small bruise that would fade if I left it alone. But by Tuesday I was checking Mark’s profile over breakfast, at lunch and at night before sleeping. It had the same photos, the same familiar smile, yet each time I studied them as i