Always And Forever | ENG ✓

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Wounds That Remain

The days following the battle were filled with a sense of quiet recovery, but beneath the surface, the emotional scars of the pack ran deep. We had fought together, bled together, and emerged victorious-but victory didn't erase the trauma. The physical wounds were easy enough to treat, but the unseen ones-the ones that weighed heavily on the heart-were far more difficult to heal.

I found myself walking the pack house more often than not, checking on the wolves, speaking to them, offering whatever comfort I could. Some were still recovering physically, but others were struggling in ways I couldn't put into words. The younger wolves, especially, seemed distant-haunted, even. The reality of the battle had been too much for them, the darkness of the enemy's power leaving an imprint on their souls.

Dean was at my side through it all, just as he had been during the battle. We moved like two halves of the same whole, checking in with each member of the pack, ensuring no one was left behind in the aftermath. There were no words of comfort that would erase the weight of what we'd endured, but we offered what we could-steadiness, reassurance, and the quiet promise that we would rebuild, together.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I found Keira sitting alone near the edge of the training grounds. She was staring into the distance, her eyes hollow as though she were lost in thought. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides, and the sight of her tension sent a pang through my chest.

I walked over to her, my steps slow and deliberate. "Keira," I said gently, my voice soft enough not to startle her. "How are you holding up?"

She didn't answer immediately, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "I keep hearing it... the sounds of the battle. The screams. The roar of the creature. It's like it's still here, inside my head."

I sat beside her, not saying anything at first, just letting her words hang in the air. I knew all too well what it was like to feel trapped by memories-by the weight of what you'd seen and the things you couldn't unsee.

"I know it feels like the battle is still inside you," I said finally, my voice gentle. "It's not something you can shake off right away. But it will fade. Slowly. You're not alone in this."

Keira turned to look at me, her eyes filled with something I couldn't quite place-fear, guilt, maybe even shame. "I wasn't ready," she whispered. "I didn't think it would be like that. I didn't think it would be so real."

"You're not alone in that, either," I said, my voice firm but soft. "None of us were ready for what we faced. But we did it. You did it. And we'll help each other heal."

She nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly, but I could see the uncertainty still lurking in her eyes. "I just want to feel like myself again."

"I know," I replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "And you will. It just takes time."

As the days passed, I saw similar struggles in other members of the pack. Some were withdrawn, unable to look others in the eye. Some lashed out in anger, frustrated with the feelings they didn't know how to control. The weight of the battle was heavy, and not everyone was dealing with it in the same way.

Dean had his own quiet moments, when he thought no one was watching. There were nights when I would find him outside, staring at the stars, lost in his thoughts. It wasn't the confident, unshakable leader I had come to rely on. It was the brother I had always known-a person who, despite his strength, was struggling in his own way.

One evening, I found him sitting on the porch, his elbows resting on his knees, his face hidden in his hands. The sight of him-so vulnerable, so unlike the leader he had been during the battle-struck a chord deep within me.

I sat beside him without saying a word, just offering my presence. He looked up after a moment, his eyes tired, his face drawn.

"I keep thinking about the others," he said quietly, his voice rough. "The ones we couldn't save. The ones who didn't make it."

His words were a raw admission, the guilt in them heavy and suffocating. I knew what it felt like to carry the weight of those thoughts-the what-ifs, the could-have-beens.

"We did everything we could," I said softly, my voice steady despite the pain that had settled deep inside me. "And we gave everything. We can't change what happened, but we can honor them. By being the pack they believed in. By continuing to fight for each other."

Dean was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant. "I keep thinking about how many of them... didn't have a choice. They didn't ask for this."

"None of us did," I replied gently. "But that's why we fight. For those who didn't have a voice, for those who couldn't make it out of this battle. And for each other."

Dean nodded, but the heaviness in his eyes lingered. "It doesn't feel like enough."

"It will," I said softly. "It's just... a long road ahead."

As the weeks wore on, the pack's recovery continued, albeit slowly. Some wolves found peace sooner than others, finding comfort in training or in the quiet company of packmates. Others took longer, their healing process more complicated by the weight of their experiences. But one thing was certain: we were all in this together. Every wolf, from the youngest scout to the oldest warrior, was walking the same road toward healing.

We had fought side by side, and we would heal side by side.

As I stood on the front steps of the pack house, looking out at the forest that had once felt like a sanctuary, now filled with memories of war, I knew the road ahead was going to be hard. But we would rebuild. We would heal.

The victory had been ours, but the true work-the work of reclaiming ourselves, of healing those wounds that ran deeper than the battle scars-was just beginning. And with the pack at my back, I knew that no matter what came next, we would face it together.