They walked through the night. Aryeta distracted Oryen from the grim subject of collars and rotgor by teaching him more lycanthropic swear words—the things always deemed most essential when learning a new language. It was difficult not to like Aryeta. Harder still to equate her with the monsters Oryen found on most of his missions.

He tried to push away the thought of what would become of him if he was discovered to be a Fen. It wouldn't do to dwell. He was here now.

The landscape within quarantine was ever changing. They tended to skirt around settlements or civilization, keeping to nature and roads reclaimed by plants and earth. What civilization Oryen glimpsed from a distance looked equally overgrown and nothing like the world he'd left behind. Aryeta explained that it was best to avoid other packs or lone wolves, who were sure to lurk within the dilapidated shelters pocketed across the sector.

By mid-afternoon, with sweat sticking every inch of clothing to him in a way that felt deeply violating, they made it to the top of a craggy hill to stare down into the valley below. A river wound its way through the valley, and between—Oryen needed a moment to take it in—two giant wolves. Wolves as tall as the canyon from which they'd been carved. They reared onto their hind legs, jaws wide and grasping for one another, locked in an eternal battle. At their feet, a circular scar of blackened grass marred an otherwise wild landscape. It looked like the site of an explosion or a meteor crash. As the other recruits reached the top of the hill and took it in, he heard several intakes of breath, awe settling over them all.

Oryen had heard about the statue in history books. Its origins and creators had once been a topic of debate for historians. For years, it had been barred to the public while scientists researched its origins. Or so he'd been told. Though he'd never thought about it, it seemed strange to lock such a massive and mysterious part of history behind quarantine walls.

Oryen let out a long whistle. "That's... It looks a lot bigger than it did in textbooks."

Aryeta glowed with pride, as though she'd carved them herself. "Welcome to Kolraga."

"Kolraga—" Oryen cut himself off. "You live here?" He couldn't see any wolves scattered throughout the valley, nor any houses or buildings.

"You'll see."

They travelled into the valley, crossing the scar of blackened earth. As they drew closer, Oryen recognized what had made it. There had been a battle here not long ago. The grass was beginning to recover, poking through the deadened parts. Blackened not by fire, but blood. Here and there, a broken rib or a silver blade poked out of the earth like teeth.

Oryen's stomach turned. "What happened?"

Aryeta looked at the grass and then at him. "Kahleir happened."

"And who are they?"

Aryeta hesitated. "I don't want to alarm you. You just got here, and they shouldn't be a problem really. We won this fight."

"Congrats," Oryen said mildly.

"They're another pack. Terrorists, more like. They don't approve of the quarantine initiative, or Mardero's affiliation with it. They voice that displeasure in a number of...violent ways."

Oryen couldn't say, after his years as a Fen, that this part of quarantine surprised him. Inter-pack conflict, while uncommon, had sometimes helped set the stage for their better captures. A divided foe was a defeated one.

"Not one wolf from Kahleir made it inside," Aryeta reassured him. "We have the best defenses in the whole sector. You'll see."

The sun had begun to set as they passed beneath the enormous sentry statues, towering over their passage like sleepless guardians. Beyond them, in the long and twisting path of the canyon, eyes seemed to survey from the stone walls. Long, deep grooves had been cut into the red rock, and from that were carved many more wolves. Green stones set into their eyes made the statues appear to watch and follow their movement through the gorge. In the dark recess beyond the statues, Oryen saw flickers of movement and heard the rustle of footsteps.

At night, he would never have known that the statues hid living threats behind them.

"I see what you meant," Oryen said, "about why no one ever found out what was beyond the statues."

The place was a fortress. The bottleneck of the gorge and the cover of the statues would reduce any combat into a massacre.

Aryeta glowed with pride. "It's impenetrable. Don't worry, they won't fill you with silver so long as you're with me."

"Comforting."

Oryen moved closer to her side all the same. Around him, the other recruits eyed the statues warily.

Aryeta continued, unphased, "The story goes that no enemy in its long history has ever successfully breached the gates."

"I don't understand how it could have existed so long, and nobody knew. About werewolves. The quarantine initiative only started two decades ago, and this place looks ancient."

"It is. I don't have all the answers, to be honest. Lots of people think that any adventurers who got close enough were turned into werewolves themselves. Some think it's protected by ancient powers. Others say it was just luck."

"Ancient powers? Like gods?"

Aryeta tilted her head from side to side. "Yes and no. I shouldn't be the one to explain it all. I'm pretty new to being a werewolf myself."

"You seem pretty in-the-know." Oryen caught her sly smile before she hid it.

They walked the canyon while darkness fell, the glinting eyes of the statues watching their progress. The gorge turned sharply ahead of them. Around the bend was another long stretch with a massive gate of wood and iron at the end barring passage. Oryen glimpsed sentries patrolling its top, mere silhouettes against the setting sun.

When their group was within spitting distance, one of those sentries greeted their arrival with a long, siren-like howl. The haunting sound was followed by the groan and creak of wood and chains. Slowly, the gate shuddered upwards in its struts, raised by a pulley system. He could see two wolves in the platform above turning a wheel around to operate it, straining against the force and weight. The gate halted when it was just high enough to permit them if they ducked a little. Oryen was keenly aware that a slip from those wolves operating the gate could bring it crashing down on his head, but they all passed under it unscathed.

They emerged beyond into a city carved from the cliffs themselves.

Oryen knew he must look like a gawking baby bird. The sight left him uncharacteristically speechless. From the edges of Kolraga's canyon, windows lit with candles winked at him. The river, which flowed beneath the gate and past them, now fed into several fountains lining the streets. Irrigation systems provided water to the luscious gardens. Lights, strung in zigzags between the cliff faces, illuminated the streets and square beyond. Market stands with awnings of colourful cloth lined the main street. It looked quiet now, though still wolves, men, women and even some young children walked out of well lit doorways.

Against all these beautiful sights, nothing quite matched the canyon's end. Into the cliff had been carved what Oryen could only assume was a temple. Columns and bas relief sculptures of wolves twisted across the plane of the cliff like dancing entities alive with the soul of the many sculptors who must have toiled all their lives to create such a thing.

Oryen, finally, found his words.

"Holy hell."

Aryeta laughed loud and delighted. "I was waiting all day for a reaction like that! I mean, nothing's perfect, but I bet when you thought quarantine you thought tents and cots and eating dried fruit for the rest of time, right?"

"Yeah." Oryen couldn't stop staring.

"We're very lucky," Aryeta told them as she led them further down the main street. "Not all the packs have the luxuries Mardero does, though they're free to ally with us. Our Alpha is very generous. So much better than our last. He's bartered better rations and supply chains for us from the quarantine head honchos, so we have a few luxuries other places don't."

"Like electricity," Oryen said, pointing to the lights as they passed under a string of lanterns at the door of what seemed to be a restaurant.

"Yep, all solar and water generated. More importantly, we get alcohol here!"

Oryen put a hand to his chest. "Be still my heart."

They carried on through the streets, Aryeta regaling Oryen with tales of the various things that were afforded them by Mardero's status and their Alpha's diplomacy. It felt surreal. They stopped outside a wide doorway framed in climbing ivy, where Aryeta said they'd be sleeping the night. Inside were lines of hammocks that reminded Oryen of a ship's galley.

"Rest up tonight," Aryeta told them. "Tomorrow you'll be officially initiated by the Alpha."

"I've gotta meet him?" That gave Oryen pause.

"He likes to welcome everybody personally. Don't be nervous though. He's a good one. Very personable. Nothing like the stuffy human politicians we're used to."

Fear clenched tight in Oryen's abdomen anyway. What were the chances that the Alpha recognized him? He'd captured many werewolves. His scent, his face, anything could tip them off. He certainly didn't want the scrutiny of the most powerful werewolf in the sector. He'd begun to wonder what the Major had been thinking in sending him here.

Voicing his nervousness would seem suspicious though, so all he said was, "Can't wait."

Oryen needed no prompting to lie down and raise his sore and swollen feet from the ground. The others chose hammocks and settled in for the night. Oryen wanted to stay up and chat with Aryeta some more, but the moment his head hit the wad of blankets beneath him he was asleep.

He vaguely recalled a disturbance in the night. Two people came, speaking in a hush, and at their voices Jezarri tumbled out of her hammock and ran to them. He got the sense they knew one another, but fatigue took him soon after.

In the morning, Jezarri was still absent.

They were told the initiation would take place at noon. Aryeta had new clothes for them. For a moment, the prospect struck him through with a panic he disguised with nervousness. It was quickly replaced with relief when Aryeta brought him a regular grey tunic and trousers, which would easily cover his tattoo. He took great care to change with his back to everyone.

"You'd never have struck me as shy," said Aryeta.

"I'd like to protect my virtue," Oryen told her primly.

She laughed and turned the other way.

Once dressed, she led them outside and towards the Temple. As they passed under the high arches and stone colonnades, Oryen made a silent wish that the Alpha would not know his face.

Inside, blinking away his daylight blindness, Oryen faced a hall as tall as the mountain that encased it. From the top, an oculus carved from the ceiling poured a shaft of light down on a dais that rose some forty feet up. Many steps led to the throne at its top, with several levels below upon which figures stood watching. A redheaded woman with streaks of silver through her hair, an older man with a pointed face and goatee, a man who looked like he used to model for cologne, and a blonde woman with an icy expression all sat observing them.

And Jezarri. She stood between the man with the goatee and the redheaded woman where her resemblance to them both was unmistakable. They clasped Jezarri's shoulders, shrewd eyes watching the assembled recruits.

Oryen didn't have time to wonder. Jezarri was not the only face he recognized.

Light from the oculus cascaded over the stately bearing of a man, illuminating the fade of his close-cropped hair and the sharp cut of his cheeks in a near celestial glow. Looking at that familiar face, the floor shifted beneath Oryen and the world turned

In front of him, their small band of recruits had formed an orderly queue and were, each of them, walking up to dip their heads in a bow, introduce themselves, and then stand aside for the next in line. Oryen's heart froze in his chest. As he got closer, the name came to his lips, but he couldn't speak it. It was a name that no one here might even know him by.

Then, he was next in line. He didn't bow. He was frozen to the spot. The Alpha wore Oryen's expression like a mirror.

He said, "Taron."

A startled silence seemed to fall over the assembled werewolves.

At Oryen's side, Aryeta looked between the two of them in shock. "Forgive me, Lazro," she said. The name struck Oryen like an arrow. "I wasn't aware you knew each other."

"Know each other," Lazro said. His face split into a smile Oryen had dearly missed. Twelve years older, yet no different than that painful day Oryen last saw him.

"He is my brother."