Neyza screamed, a raw, animal sound that tore from her throat. The world, still reeling from the shockwave, blurred at the edges. No. Not like this. Not after everything. Not after he had saved her, sacrificed everything. She couldn’t lose him. She wouldn’t. Her knees hit the churned earth hard as she lowered him gently, reverently, onto his back. His skin was already growing cool, the vibrant flush of his magic gone, leaving only a pale, almost translucent quality. She pressed her ear to his chest, desperate for a sound, a tremor, anything. Nothing. An agonizing silence stretched, broken only by her ragged gasps. “No,” she choked out, fumbling at his tunic, tearing it open to expose his chest. The fresh, still-bleeding wound from the impaling blow tore across his ribs. But that wasn’t what she was focused on. She pressed the heel of her hand against his sternum, finding the spot, and began to pump. One, two, three. Her arms burned, but she ignored it, focusing on the rhythm, on the image of his heart beating, strong and fierce. She remembered her mentor’s lessons, the frantic, desperate attempts to revive creatures on the brink. *Compressions, Neyza, deep and fast. Don’t stop until they’re breathing or you’re too exhausted to continue.* Her chest hitched, but she forced air into his lungs, ignoring the copper taste of her own fear. Ten more compressions. Then another puff of air. Her eyes darted around, searching. Chulpan. Where was Chulpan? The lynx, usually a shadow, was nowhere to be seen. A flash of desperate hope sparked within her. The moon-stone. The strange, luminous stone Chulpan had stolen from Dabrak. It had soothed her own lethal fever, its cool light a balm against the burning magic in her veins. Could it… could it help him? Just as despair threatened to swallow her whole, a familiar growl rumbled nearby. Chulpan emerged from the swirling dust, a strange, almost frantic energy in his three-legged stride. He wasn't carrying the stone. He was dragging it, nudging it with his nose, its dull luminescence a beacon in the fading light of dusk. It was larger than she remembered, pulsing with a faint, steady glow. “Chulpan, you genius,” she sobbed, relief washing over her, sharp and sudden. She scrabbled for the stone, her hands trembling as she brought it close to Bozan’s chest. It was cool against her skin, a soft, soothing hum emanating from its depths. She hesitated, unsure how to use it, if it would even work. What if it harmed him? But there was no time for doubt. His lips were tinged blue, his skin growing colder by the second. She remembered the crackle of blue sparks that had hummed around her when the stone had touched her skin, calming her sickness. Inhaling sharply, she pressed the smooth, polished surface of the moon-stone directly against his still chest, over his heart. A blinding flash of azure light erupted from the stone, momentarily searing her vision. A sharp, almost painful *thump* vibrated through her hands, echoing deep within Bozan’s body. She gasped, staggering back slightly as the moon-stone pulsed, its light intensifying, then fading. She stared at him, ribs frozen, terror and hope warring within her. Then, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his chest. A shallow, gasping breath rattled in his throat. And another. His eyelids fluttered, then slowly, agonizingly, opened. His eyes, devoid of the Alpha's golden fire, were a deep, rich umber, hazy with confusion. He looked at her, then at his chest, his brow furrowed. “Neyza?” His voice was hoarse, weak, but it was *his* voice. Not the booming telepathic echo of an Alpha, but the sound of a man. A mortal man. Relief flooded through her marrow, leaving her weak-kneed and dizzy. He was alive. He was truly, utterly alive. Around them, the battlefield was silent, the remaining members of the pack staring in stunned awe. Their patriarch, Dabrak, was nowhere to be seen, having vanished in the chaos. The soldiers, the very ones who had aimed their weapons at Bozan and Neyza just moments before, now lowered their heads, a new kind of reverence in their posture. No longer compelled by ancient magic, they were drawn to him by respect, by loyalty earned through sacrifice. One of the elder wolves, a grizzled female named Rava, stepped forward. “Alpha Bozan,” she rumbled, her voice thick with emotion. “You broke the old ways for us. You shed the power, but not the responsibility. You are our Alpha, now and always.” Others echoed her, a chorus of deep, resonant affirmations. “Our Alpha!” “For Oskara!” “For the new dawn!” They followed not out of an ingrained, magical obedience, but from a genuine, heartfelt choice. Bozan, the terrifying warlord, was gone. In his place stood a leader who had proven his love for his pack and for the human who had saved them all. Over the next few weeks, the transformation in Oskara was profound. Bozan, now fully recovered, though forever bearing the scars of his mortal wounds, worked tirelessly to rebuild. He moved with a new lightness, unburdened by the crushing burden of ancestral power. He was still fiercely protective, still commanded absolute respect, but now it was tempered with a gentle, approachable warmth Neyza had rarely seen. He was just… Bozan. And Neyza? Her own sickness, the lingering burn of the mating bond, had faded completely the moment Bozan’s power had imploded. The moon-stone, now a permanent fixture in her clinic, occasionally pulsed with a faint, calming light. She ceased coughing up glowing blood, free from the insidious magic that had eaten away at her. She was simply Neyza, the veterinarian, her human soul intact and whole. Bozan, with the full support of his newly loyal pack, initiated a project that stunned the entire city. High in the upper rings, near the very pinnacle of Oskara, construction began on a sprawling, magnificent structure of polished stone and gleaming glass. It was to be the largest, most advanced veterinary hospital the city had ever seen, a true haven for all creatures, great and small. He named it the “Varteni Sanctuary,” a direct, public honoring of Neyza. Neyza, overwhelmed but deeply moved, found herself for the first time in her life admitting a truth she had always fought. Standing amidst the blueprints for the grand new facility, its sheer scale daunting, she turned to Bozan, a small, shy smile on her lips. “I… I can’t do this alone, Bozan,” she admitted, the words feeling strange, alien, yet liberating. “I’m going to need help. A lot of help.” A slow, tender smile spread across Bozan’s face, a warmth blooming in his umber eyes. “I know, my heart,” he rumbled, his voice a soft caress. “And you’ll have it. All of it.” He reached out, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. The touch was pure, unburdened by magic, by the ancient, destructive power that had once threatened to consume them. It was simply human touch, full of profound affection. She leaned into his palm, closing her eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her own. The air between them hummed with a quiet, certain intimacy. She rose onto her toes, her lips meeting his in a soft, sweet kiss, a promise of a future finally free from the shadow of the mating sickness, a future they could build together, two souls, whole and intertwined. The moment was perfect, a culmination of everything they had fought for. And then, a small, wet thud disrupted the serenity. Neyza pulled back, eyes still hazy with emotion, and looked down. Chulpan stood there, tail wagging with an almost uncharacteristic enthusiasm, a triumphant gleam in his single good eye. At his paws, squirming slightly, was a bundle of matted, grey fur. It was small, no bigger than Chulpan’s head, with wide, terrified eyes and tiny, razor-sharp claws. It let out a weak, high-pitched mewl. A baby Ghorza beast. An orphaned, helpless infant of the very monsters that had ravaged their city. Neyza and Bozan exchanged a look, a mixture of disbelief, horror, and a dawning, weary acceptance. Their new life, free from ancient curses and war, had barely begun, and already, Chulpan had found them a new, exceedingly dangerous patient. The Varteni Sanctuary, it seemed, was about to earn its name in the most unexpected way possible.

Stitches and Scars