Starlight

The stars had always called to her.

Even as a pup, before she lost her sight, she had spent long nights lying in the open, staring up at the endless sky, wondering what lay beyond.

"The stars never change," her mother had told her once, curling around her to keep her warm. "Even when the world shifts, when everything feels uncertain, they will always be there."

At the time, Starlight had believed her.

But the stars were not what changed.

She was.

A Childhood of Restlessness

Starlight had been born into a pack that valued strength above all else. They were not cruel, nor were they unjust, but they had little patience for weakness.

From the moment she could walk, she had been expected to run.

From the moment she could bite, she had been expected to hunt.

And from the moment she could think for herself, she had known that she would never be enough.

She was smaller than her siblings.

Not by much, but just enough that it mattered.

When they wrestled, she was the one pinned first. When they chased, she was the one left behind. When they sparred, she was the one who ended up limping back to the den, fur bristling with frustration.

"You're too slow," the lead hunter told her.

"You're too hesitant," the elders observed.

"If you can't keep up, you will be left behind."

She hated them for it.

Not because they were wrong, but because they were right.

So she trained.

She ran until her paws bled. She hunted until her lungs burned. She fought until the bruises on her legs became permanent marks.

And still, it was never enough.

Because no matter how hard she tried, she could not change the truth.

She was not the strongest.

She was not the fastest.

She was not like the others.

And in a pack like hers, that meant one thing.

She would never truly belong.

The Hunt That Changed Everything

The elk had been too large.

Even Starlight had known it when she saw it—tall, massive, its antlers wide enough to blot out the sun.

They should not have gone after it.

But their leader had insisted.

"We will take it down together. Stay in formation."

And she had obeyed.

They had chased.

They had lunged.

They had struck.

And when the elk had turned—when its hooves had crashed down like thunder—she had been the one left in its path.

The pain had been unlike anything she had ever known.

White-hot, sharp, ripping through her face like lightning.

Her world had gone black.

And when she had finally regained enough sense to move, she had realized something was terribly wrong.

She could hear the wind.

She could feel the cold.

But when she opened her eyes, she saw nothing.

The world was gone.

At first, she thought it was just the darkness of night.

But as the minutes passed—as the voices of her pack surrounded her, low with uncertainty—she understood the truth.

Her right eye was gone.

Her left eye was useless.

She would never see again.

Left Behind

She had begged to stay.

"I can still hunt," she told them.

"I can still track."

"I can still fight."

But they did not listen.

Because to them, a blind wolf was a dead wolf.

They left her that night.

Without a word.

Without a final glance.

She could not see them go.

But she could hear them.

Their paws faded into the distance, their voices nothing more than whispers on the wind.

And then she was alone.

For the first time in her life, truly alone.

And she had never been more afraid.

The Survivor

She did not die.

She should have.

A blind wolf, abandoned in the wild, had no place in the world.

But Starlight was stubborn.

She adapted.

She learned to listen.

To smell.

To feel the earth beneath her paws.

And in time, she found that she did not need her sight to survive.

She could hear the rustling of prey before it moved.

She could scent the wind, learning the shift of the seasons.

She could run without hesitation, trusting her instincts instead of her eyes.

She was still a hunter.

She was still a warrior.

And when she finally stumbled upon new territory—when she finally caught the scent of wolves who were not her own—she did not turn away.

Because this time, she would not be left behind.

Meeting Haru: A Place to Belong

Starlight had not known what to expect when she stumbled upon the scent markers of Haru's pack.

She had been wandering for days, her body lean with hunger, exhaustion dragging at her limbs. She had only meant to rest for a moment, to catch her breath before the wind carried her forward again.

But the moment she stepped across the invisible boundary between loneliness and the unknown, she knew—something was different here.

She was being watched.

Not with fear. Not with hostility.

But curiosity.

"Are you lost?"

The voice was calm, steady, coming from a wolf standing somewhere ahead of her. She turned toward the sound, ears flicking.

"No." Her voice was rough from disuse. "I go where I want."

A pause. Then—

"And do you want to be here?"

She had expected suspicion. Wolves did not simply allow strangers near their dens.

But there was none.

Only a simple question. A choice.

Starlight hesitated, the wind brushing against her fur.

Did she?

She had spent so long running—forced out, driven away, surviving on her own with no reason to stop. She had never let herself want anything more than survival.

But the way this wolf spoke, the way his voice carried something knowing, made her pause.

Finally, she answered.

"I don't know."

A small, thoughtful hum.

"Then stay until you do."

She blinked.

No demand. No prove yourself before we accept you. No you must earn your place.

Just stay.

"Who are you?" she asked, uncertain.

He exhaled softly, amused.

"Haru."

The name meant nothing to her then.

But in time, it would mean everything.

A Home Among the Unseen

They did not ask questions she did not want to answer.

They did not demand she explain herself.

They only welcomed her.

Rachel was the first to greet her, the storage keeper whose paws were sure despite never seeing the world.

Autumn followed, her sightless eyes alight with warmth, not pity.

The seers watched her with knowing smiles, as if they had already seen this moment long before it happened.

And Momo, Haru's mate, the queen who ruled beside him, only nodded once.

"Rest. You are safe here."

For the first time since she had lost her sight, she believed it.

She had not come to prove herself.

She had come home.

Not Alone: The Blind, the Seers, and the Unseen
Starlight was not the only one who had learned to move through darkness.

Haru's pack was unlike any she had ever known—not just in its acceptance of the outcast, the forsaken, the different, but in how it valued them.

She had never expected to find others like her.

Yet here, she was far from alone.

Rachel: The One Who Grew Blind

Rachel had not been born blind.

She had seen once, just like Starlight had, before spontaneous blindness had crept into her life and stolen it away.

But unlike Starlight, who had been cast out the moment her sight had been taken, Rachel had learned to adapt within a pack.

She knew the storage nook better than anyone, despite never laying eyes on it. She could find her way through the dens without hesitation, listening, scenting, following paths she had memorized in ways sighted wolves never could.

She was gentle but confident, quick to offer guidance when Starlight was still learning the lands.

"You'll adjust," Rachel had assured her once, when Starlight had hesitated at the mouth of the cave, uncertain of the uneven stone before her.

"I already have," Starlight had responded, taking a step forward.

Rachel had simply smiled.

Autumn: The One Who Was Born in Shadows

Autumn had never seen the world.

Her hereditary cataracts had stolen her sight before she had even opened her eyes.

Yet she had grown strong, fearless in her darkness.

She never hesitated when moving, bounding after the other pups as if she could see every obstacle in her way. She had learned by touch, by sound, by smell, navigating the world with a confidence that most sighted wolves never would.

"Does it bother you?" Starlight had asked her once.

"What?" Autumn had tilted her head.

"Never seeing anything."

The young wolf had laughed.

"I see plenty."

And Starlight had understood.

Because so did she.

The Seers: Eyes That See Beyond

Blindness was not the only kind of sightless vision in the pack.

There were wolves who did not rely on their eyes—not because they lacked them, but because they saw beyond them.

Kayla.

Selene.

The Seers.

Kayla, with her Dark Eclipse Eyes, glimpsed pieces of fate, fractured moments of the future that flickered just beyond her grasp.

Selene, with her Total Eclipse Eyes, saw everything. The past, the present, the infinite futures that wove together, spiraling, shifting, never truly fixed.

They did not see the world as it was.

They saw the world as it would be.

Or could be.

And somehow, in ways she did not fully understand, they saw her.

Not as a blind wolf.

Not as broken.

But as something else entirely.

"You still don't believe it," Kayla had murmured once, as if reading her thoughts.

"Believe what?" Starlight had asked.

"That you're exactly where you're meant to be."

Selene had said nothing.

She had only smiled.

And Starlight had shivered.

Because she knew—she had seen it long before Starlight ever arrived.

Running in the Darkness
She had spent so long trying to prove herself.

Trying to prove she was still a hunter.

Trying to prove she was still worthy.

But here, with Rachel, with Autumn, with Kayla and Selene, she did not have to prove anything.

They already knew.

And for the first time in her life—

So did she.