CHAPTER 28: CH 28: PLANT THIEVES - PART 1

The steam still lingered in the cavern, curling up the walls and dripping off the jagged icicles that had survived the heat.

The suited squad stood in tense silence, the remnants of snow clinging to their boots and shoulders. None of them dared to move too loudly.

None of them dared to even breathe too heavily.

The female flame user stood at the center of it all, her hands still smoldering faintly with dying embers, her chest rising and falling with sharp, controlled breaths.

Her face was twisted into a scowl that promised she wasn’t finished venting her rage. The air around her was oppressive, not from heat, but from the sheer weight of her displeasure.

The subordinates shifted uncomfortably. A couple exchanged glances from behind their masks. One nudged the other, as if saying, You ask her.

The other nudged back, quickly shaking his head. They all knew better than to open their mouths while their captain was simmering. Yet the growing silence made it worse.

The longer they waited, the colder the cavern seemed to become.

Finally, one man drew the short straw—or rather, his companions nudged him forward until his feet moved on instinct.

He swallowed hard beneath his mask, his throat dry, and forced his legs to carry him closer to the flame user.

"C-Captain. It’s... it’s getting late. Should we, um... head back?"

He stammered, voice cracking slightly against the muffled echo of the cavern.

The flame user turned her head slowly, her burning eyes locking on him. For a second, he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

Her gaze slid from him to the rest of the squad, who quickly avoided her eyes, pretending to be interested in their boots or the melted patches of snow at their feet.

Finally, she let out a low, humorless laugh.

"Useless!"

She muttered, though her voice carried enough weight that each syllable dug into their bones.

"The lot of you. Useless, weak, pathetic. Always whining, always waiting for me to make the choice. Fine. We’re heading back. Not because you asked. Because I’ve decided."

She straightened, brushing the soot from her gloves as if dismissing the entire world.

The men breathed shallow sighs of relief, though none dared let it show too much.

Her smirk deepened as she added.

"Since we failed this mission, you’ll all see a cut in your monthly rations. You have no ground to complain. Failures don’t deserve to eat like the rest of us."

The words were like a slap, but no one protested. A few groans slipped past their lips despite themselves, a soft chorus of dismay that echoed off the cavern walls.

But it was hollow—an instinctive sound with no real fight behind it. Complaints meant nothing.

She wasn’t at the top of the chain of command, and even if she was, no one in their organization cared about henchmen like them.

They were replaceable, shadows that would never matter in the larger game.

The flame user walked past them, her boots crunching against the thin layer of ice reforming over the floor. Without another glance, she barked.

"Move."

The squad followed quickly, falling into formation, each one carrying the heavy knowledge that their failure—and her wrath—would haunt them long after they left the cave behind.

---

Far away, beyond the cavern and the anger still festering within it, Lucian, Berry, and Mira returned to the valley with the three wolf pups bundled carefully against their chests.

The snow was softer here, the winds calmer, and the hush of the forest seemed to welcome the pups into its arms.

Berry crouched near the valley’s clearing, studying the pups with a keen eye as Lucian and Mira joined him.

The three tiny wolves wriggled in their arms, their soft whimpers carried on the wind.

Berry grunted, a rare hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

"These pups are just the right age to start taking to training. You should entrust them to her for now. She has the abilities for it."

He said, his tone more approving than usual. He glanced at Lucian, then tilted his head toward Mira.

Lucian looked at Mira, who blinked at him in surprise. His hands shifted as he gently placed his pup into her arms.

"From this day forward, you’re in charge of their training."

Lucian said, his voice firm.

Mira’s eyes widened, the pup squirming against her chest as if sensing her hesitation. She looked down, then back up at Lucian.

"Me?"

She asked, her voice wavering between disbelief and a sudden weight of responsibility.

Lucian nodded once. His expression gave nothing away, but his words carried an edge that anchored her.

Mira’s grip tightened around the small wolf. She drew in a breath, her lips pressing together until her resolve steadied.

"I’ll do it. I’ll raise them to be the most loyal pups possible."

She said softly. Then louder, with more conviction.

Lucian’s gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat before he turned away.

"Do what you want. Just don’t let it affect your other work."

His tone was sharp, but it was no harsher than a slap on the wrist.

Mira knew well enough that she didn’t have much work compared to the others. This was his way of testing her—of giving her something that mattered.

Without another word, Lucian strode away, heading toward the clearing they had left behind.

His figure disappeared into the white haze of the snow, leaving Mira and Berry standing together.

The two exchanged a glance. Berry’s look was calm, steady, as though reassuring her without words.

Mira let out a soft sigh, then crouched down to lower the pups gently to the ground. They wobbled on unsteady legs, their eyes still filled with confusion at the loss of their parent.

Mira’s expression softened. She reached out with her abilities—not in words, but in that subtle connection she could weave between herself and living beings.

Her voice carried through the bond as she whispered.

"Listen to me. From now on, we are your pack. Lucian, Berry, and I. And Lucian is your leader—the alpha you will follow."

The pups tilted their small heads, ears flicking as though they could sense the strange weight of her words. They whimpered softly, torn between instinct and confusion.

Their little eyes darted toward the horizon where their father had been left behind.

But the memory of their parent’s last act was still fresh—the way it had placed them into the humans’ arms with trust rather than fear. That silent choice anchored them.

Slowly, uncertainly, the pups pressed closer to Mira, Berry, and the empty space where Lucian had stood moments before.

They accepted. Not with words—for they had none—but with a subtle shift, an instinctive decision written in the way they no longer resisted Mira’s touch. They had chosen to believe.

And in that quiet valley, the bond of a new pack began to take shape.