The Ones Who Burned

“You’re not going.”

Her father’s voice cracked like a whip across the tent, heavy with finality. But Serenya stood her ground.

Bare feet braced on the hide-lined floor, fingers clenched at her sides, she stared down the only man whose approval had ever meant anything to her—and for the first time in her life, she didn’t care if she had it.

“I wasn’t asking for permission,” she said evenly.

Arava, her mother, stepped between them, the lines on her face drawn tight with worry. “Serenya, we’ve been through this. The tribe needs stability. You need to heal. We can’t lose you too.”

“You already lost me,” Serenya said quietly, “the moment those monsters crossed the border and slaughtered half our people while everyone stood frozen.”

“That’s not fair,” her father snapped, jaw tightening. “We did what we could—”

“You ran, Deylan!” she shouted, chest heaving. “You hid the children, yes, and I’m not saying that wasn’t important—but who fought? Who stayed behind and bled for the herd? I watched elders die! Warriors fall! And you expect me to sit here and braid my hair and wait for a mate I didn’t choose?!”

Her voice broke on the last word, bitter and choked. The silence that followed was deafening.

Solana stirred in her chest like thunder rolling low across a plain. Her spirit was restless. Proud. Unbroken. Wild.

The buckskin would never accept a chosen mate, no matter how strong or kind. Serenya had felt it in her bones from the first time she shifted—they were meant for something greater. And now… now there was blood on the wind, a pull in her soul, and a need she couldn’t explain that pointed her toward the rising sun.

“I have to go,” she whispered, softer now, but even more resolute. “I feel them calling. The others. I don’t know where, or how far, but they’re out there. I felt it the night of the battle—the same night Solana awoke. And I need to know what those creatures were that attacked us. I need to stop them before they destroy someone else’s home.”

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “But you’re just a girl.”

“I was,” Serenya said. “But they made me something else.”

Her father turned away, unable to meet her gaze.

She looked around the tent one last time—her childhood home, her safe haven, the place she once believed she’d raise her own family in someday.

Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she said, softer this time. “But I can’t stay. I’ll never belong to one place again. Not when I belong to the wild now.”

Solana’s presence pressed against her ribs like warm breath. Yes, she seemed to say. Run.

Outside, the wind met her like an old friend. The open plains stretched endlessly before her—golden under the rising sun. Her pack was light, her boots were worn, but her resolve had never felt sharper.

It had been a full year since that night.

Since the sky turned red. Since the shadows with teeth tore through her tribe like they were nothing. Since she heard the howl that wasn't meant for any of them—but for her.

No one ever identified the beasts. They weren’t normal shifters. Not werewolves. Not vampires. Something older. Uglier. And faster than anything she’d ever seen.

She’d buried friends. Elders. Cousins.

She’d watched warriors—real warriors—die screaming.

And no one could tell her why.

So she left.

She crossed borders and mountains. Lived off the land. Spoke to seers and trackers. She rode as Solana, the golden buckskin, silent and fast, swift as windfire across the continent.

Still the pull led her further.

West. Always west.

Her dreams were growing stronger now—always the same: The white wolf standing on a ledge of stone. The sky burning behind her. A crown of thorns and stars over her head. And five glowing pillars of colored light shooting into the heavens—each pulsing with raw power.

She didn’t know what any of it meant.

But she would find out.

And she would find the wolf.

And when she did… maybe then the pieces would start to make sense.

Maybe then she'd stop feeling like a loaded weapon waiting for a target.

Somewhere ahead—beyond the edge of the world she knew—was a pack who called the Rockies home. A pack whose Queen had already become legend in whispers and rumors. The one the wind had been whispering to her about for over a year now.

The Queen Alpha. The wolf who saw the future in fire and blood.

Cheyenne.

Serenya didn’t know her name until recently. But now… she was certain.

Whatever was coming, it would begin—and end—with her.

And Serenya? She would be ready.

But first, she had to find her. And that meant asking the wolves. The journey was long. Each hoofbeat of her horse form echoed through the dust and wind, but today she walked in human skin. She crossed valleys, threaded through dense forests, and climbed sunbaked plateaus where hawks soared overhead.

Solana was ever-present, a warm pressure in her chest, nudging her thoughts when she pushed too hard, when hunger gnawed at her ribs or fatigue blurred her focus. But Serenya refused to rest long. Not until she found the wolf.

The first pack she came across was nestled deep in the heart of the Wyoming forests. The Storm Hollow pack. Their territory was thick with pine and steep with cliffs. Wolves watched her warily as she stepped into their borders, even in her human form. She kept her hands open and visible, her chin high but respectful.

“Who are you?” asked a tall, broad-shouldered wolf with a streak of gray in his hair. His amber eyes glinted with suspicion.

“Name’s Serenya,” she answered evenly. “Horse shifter. Guardian-bound. I’m looking for the one they call the Queen Alpha.”

That earned her a pause—and a grunt of recognition.

“You’re a long way from open plains, horse girl.”

“I’m just getting started.”

The Alpha—Cole, she learned—didn’t press her further. But he nodded toward the west.

“Go to Iron Fang. They’re about three hundred miles northwest. Their Alpha’s got ties with Blood Moon Pack—where your Queen resides.”

Serenya nodded once in thanks, but before she turned to leave, the Alpha added, “We’ll send word ahead. If you’re really what you say you are… she’ll want to know.”

The Iron Fang wolves were gruffer. Unimpressed. Their land was colder, wind-whipped, and rocky. She arrived hungry, soaked from a rainstorm, and a little short on patience. But even tired and travel-worn, Serenya carried herself like fire wrapped in skin.

Their Beta, a scarred woman named Mira, met her at the border.

“You don’t smell like any shifter I’ve met,” she said, squinting. “What are you?”

Serenya smiled faintly. “Something old.”

Mira chuckled. “Aren’t we all.”

They fed her, let her rest a night, and when the morning sun rose, Mira handed her a folded map.

“Your best shot is Crimson Pines. They’ve had messengers from Blood Moon territory before. And we’ll be sending one ourselves to let them know you’re coming.”

Serenya folded the map with care. “Why help me?”

Mira shrugged. “We’ve all lost people. Whatever you’re chasing… if it helps stop the next bloodbath, then I’ll pave your road with gold if that’s what it takes.”

At Crimson Pines, things changed. Crimson Pines was nestled near a highland lake, its moon-kissed waters reflecting stars like fireflies.

The Alpha there—an older woman named Ayla—didn’t speak much at first. Just studied Serenya in silence, like a puzzle that didn’t quite fit.

“You’re not from here,” she finally said. “But your name’s been whispered among the wind. It rides with you.”

Serenya blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ayla said, voice low, “that someone in the Rockies is already waiting for you. They don’t know it yet—but the mountain air does.”

Ayla’s next words chilled her.

“They say the light of five rides again. Five Guardians. Five flames reignited. You might be the sixth.”

Serenya didn’t understand but Solana stirred gently in her chest.

That night, Ayla called in her messenger wolf and dictated a letter herself.

“To the Queen Alpha at Blood Moon,” she said as she wrote. “We send you the storm you didn’t see coming.”

That night, Serenya made camp beneath a twisted pine. She’d barely lit the fire when she felt it again.

A prickling across her neck. A shift in the wind. A sound that didn’t belong—something like bone across bark.

She rose slowly, silent as dusk, hand on the hilt of her curved blade.

Nothing. Just trees and moonlight.

But she didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Not with the echo of the drums from her past still vibrating in her bones.

She remembered it like it had happened yesterday.

The moment the wind had shifted. The moment her friends had laughed off her unease.

The moment the war drums had sounded.

Serenya had run—toward the screams, toward the fire, toward the death pouring into her village. The memory of blood and ash would never leave her.

Seasoned warriors had tried to stop her.

She’d pushed past them.

She had saved her family. Saved the chief.

And then he had pulled her out, kicking and screaming. Told her the others were lost.

She had spit fire and grief at him.

“What kind of chief are you?” she had cried. “How can you let our people die like that?!”

They had lost over half their kind that night. The tribe was a ghost of itself now.

She had sworn then—sworn to the gods, to her ancestors, to Solana—that she would find those who had done it.

And she would end them.

Each pack she passed through kept a quiet watch on her. The air grew thinner as she neared the Rockies. The nights colder. But the pull in her soul only grew stronger.

And somewhere in a stone fortress at the base of the mountain range, a Queen began hearing murmurs from her pack network—of a girl with sun-kissed skin and a wild horse spirit, tearing across the continent like she was chasing ghosts.

They didn’t know her name.

Not yet.

But they would.