Graypaw and Ravenpaw were still working to patch the hole in the apprentices' den when Akhara's ears pricked forward. Even from inside the cramped space, she could hear Firepaw's distinctive pawsteps approaching—quick and light, but with a slight unevenness that spoke of exhaustion.

The ginger apprentice ducked through the entrance a moment later, his flanks heaving. "Hey," he panted, touching noses briefly with Akhara before turning to his friends. He shook his head, disappointment clear in his blue eyes. "No luck with the garlic. Darkstripe was skulking around near the training hollow, watching everything. I couldn't risk it."

Darkstripe. Akhara's lip curled slightly at the name. That warrior had been far too interested in the apprentices' activities lately.

"Don't worry about it," Graypaw meowed, pausing in his work to swipe moss and bracken into place with his paw. "We can slip out and get some tomorrow when he's on the dawn patrol. He can't watch us every heartbeat."

"I'll get some poppy seeds from Spottedleaf instead," Firepaw offered eagerly, already turning back toward the entrance. "That'll help with the—"

"Don't do that, Firepaw." Akhara slid out from the hole she'd been helping to reinforce, bits of dried grass clinging to her white fur. She reached up and licked his ruffled head fur, smoothing down the tuft that always stuck up between his ears. "You'll wear yourself out running back and forth. It's bad enough that Ravenpaw and Graypaw are allowed to be out here helping when they should be resting."

Firepaw's whiskers twitched, and he fixed her with a pointed look. "What about you?" he countered, a hint of scolding in his tone. "Yellowfang will skin you alive if she finds you out here instead of in your nest. You're supposed to be recovering, remember?"

Akhara couldn't help but roll her eyes affectionately at the mention of the cantankerous medicine cat. He sounds like her already, she thought with amusement. "I know, I know," she sighed, sitting back on her haunches. "But I'm fine, honestly. The infection is gone—I can barely even feel the wound anymore." She flexed her injured leg to demonstrate, though a small wince betrayed lingering tenderness. "Besides, fighting off those ShadowClan warriors the other day probably did more for my recovery than lying around in that herb-stinking den ever could."

"That's not how healing works," Firepaw muttered, but there was warmth in his eyes as he pressed his shoulder against hers. "You're as stubborn as a badger."

"And you're as fussy as a queen with newborn kits," Akhara retorted, whiskers twitching with suppressed amusement. "Now, are we going to stand here arguing, or are we going to finish patching this den before Yellowfang does come looking for me?"

Ravenpaw's nervous laughter drifted from deeper inside the den. "I vote for finishing. Quickly."

Akhara laughed, the sound warm and genuine as it echoed off the den walls. She ducked back inside the cramped space to finish reinforcing the weakest section of the wall. "You can go, Firepaw," she called over her shoulder, her voice reverberating in the enclosed space. "Get some rest. You've done enough today."

Firepaw hesitated at the entrance for a heartbeat, as if he wanted to say something more, but finally nodded. "Alright. But promise you'll actually rest too?"

"I promise," Akhara lied smoothly.

His pawsteps faded across the clearing, leaving only the soft sounds of moss being tucked into place and the occasional rustle of bracken. Akhara worked in companionable silence with the two remaining apprentices, her paws moving with practiced efficiency despite her healing leg.

Then Graypaw's voice broke the quiet, hesitant and careful. "You know he likes you, right?"

Akhara's paws stilled. She turned her head to look at the gray apprentice, who had suddenly become very interested in the reeds he was weaving, his ears tilted back slightly. "Who?" she asked, though something in her chest already knew the answer.

"Firepaw."

Akhara let out a soft sigh and resumed her work, pushing a wad of moss firmly into a gap. "I hope so," she replied evenly. "I am his mentor, after all. It would be rather unfortunate if my own apprentice didn't like me."

Graypaw stopped working entirely. He sat back on his haunches and sighed, his yellow eyes finding hers. "No, Akhara. I meant... romantically."

The word hung in the air between them like a bird caught mid-flight.

Akhara sniffed, her whiskers twitching. What does a mortal know about love? The thought came unbidden, edged with something ancient and weary. She'd seen countless moons, watched generations of cats live and love and fade like autumn leaves. Romantic affection was for them—for cats who lived and died within the natural order of things.

"I'm not sure I understand, Graypaw," she said carefully, her tone gentle but dismissive. "Firepaw respects me as his mentor, that's all. You're reading too much into his concern." She ducked back deeper into the den, focusing intently on a stubborn section of wall that didn't really need more work.

Behind her, Graypaw muttered something—it sounded like "blind as a bat"—but she pretended not to hear. Ravenpaw's nervous shuffle suggested he was trying very hard to become invisible.

Akhara's paws moved automatically, weaving and tucking, but her mind wandered. Is it even possible? The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit. For any of them to care for me like that?

She was the guardian. The protector. The one who stood between ThunderClan and destruction, who had walked these territories long before Bluestar's grandmother was born. She was not... she was not someone who could be loved in that way. Admired, perhaps. Respected, certainly. Feared, undoubtedly.

But loved? As a mate? As an equal?

Impossible.

Akhara released a long breath through her nose and firmly pushed the entire conversation from her mind. If Firepaw harbored feelings beyond respect and mentorship—which she doubted—then he would have to find the courage to speak them aloud himself. She would not chase shadows of maybes and what-ifs.

Some things, she decided, were better left unexamined.

"Almost done here," she announced, her voice perhaps a bit too bright. "Ravenpaw, pass me that last bundle of moss, would you?"

"Graypaw!" Firepaw whispered urgently into his sleeping friend's ear, nudging him with his muzzle. "Wake up!"

The gray apprentice groaned and burrowed deeper into his moss-lined nest, his tail flicking irritably over his nose. They had been allowed to rest all morning after working on den repairs most of the night, and exhaustion clung to them like cobwebs. But Tigerclaw had made it clear yesterday that they were to resume training at sunrise—and the deputy's orders were not to be ignored.

From her den across the clearing, Akhara's white form emerged, stretching languidly in a patch of early morning sunlight. She yawned, her pink tongue curling, then fixed Firepaw with an amused look. "Firepaw, leave him alone," she called, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. "He's tired, and so are you. Let him sleep."

Firepaw's ears flattened in frustration, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. "But Tigerclaw told us to train today," he protested, his tail lashing. "If we don't show up, he'll have our pelts."

"I'm your mentor, Firepaw," Akhara replied calmly, settling down on her haunches and beginning to wash her soft white fur with deliberate strokes. "Not Tigerclaw. I decide when you train, and I say you need more rest before—"

Her words cut off abruptly as a dark gray shadow hurtled across the clearing with startling speed. Yellowfang crashed into Akhara like a badger bursting from its set, bowling the larger cat over onto her side. The medicine cat's rank breath—reeking of bile and herbs—washed over Akhara's ears as Yellowfang pinned her down.

"Get your stubborn, fox-hearted butt back to the medicine den, you hear me?" Yellowfang snarled, her orange eyes blazing with fury. She dug her claws into Akhara's white fur, not enough to draw blood but enough to make her point painfully clear. "I didn't spend three nights fighting off your infection just so you could parade around camp like nothing happened!"

"Yellowfang!" Firepaw yelped in shock, scrambling out of the apprentices' den. She's attacking Akhara!

Several warriors' heads turned at the commotion. Longtail, who had been sharing tongues with Darkstripe near the warriors' den, immediately rose and padded over. With surprising gentleness, the pale tabby warrior hooked his paws under Yellowfang's shoulders and pulled her off Akhara.

"I can take her back to the medicine den, Yellowfang," Longtail said evenly, his amber eyes flicking between the two she-cats. "There's no need to be violent about it."

Yellowfang's fur remained bristled, but she allowed herself to be separated from her patient. "She's been sneaking out every chance she gets," the old medicine cat rasped, glaring at Akhara. "That wound will never heal if she keeps pushing herself like this!"

Akhara picked herself up with as much dignity as she could muster, bits of dust clinging to her pelt. She met Yellowfang's glare with an infuriatingly calm expression. "I was just washing myself in the sun," she said mildly. "Is that forbidden now?"

"Don't play coy with me," Yellowfang growled. "I know you were about to go supervise training. Your leg is still healing, Akhara. One more stunt like the battle yesterday, and you'll do permanent damage."

Firepaw's stomach twisted with worry as he watched the standoff. She's right. Akhara shouldn't even be out of her nest yet.

Akhara sighed, a long-suffering sound that spoke of barely restrained patience. She stood and shook herself firmly, dislodging both Longtail's steadying paw and Yellowfang's hovering presence. Bits of dust scattered from her white pelt as she twisted her head down to examine her injured leg.

The bite wound had closed cleanly, the angry red edges now faded to pink. She sniffed at it carefully—no hint of infection remained, no sickly-sweet smell of pus. The cobwebs Yellowfang had applied were crusted with dried blood, but beneath them, the flesh was knitting together properly.

"Look, it's okay, Yellowfang," Akhara said, lifting her head to meet the medicine cat's fierce orange glare. "Stop fussing. The wound is healing fine. See?" She flexed the leg slightly, ignoring the twinge of discomfort. "No infection, no fever. I'm not going to keel over in the middle of camp."

Yellowfang's ear twitched irritably, but she didn't argue further—though her expression suggested she wanted to.

With as much dignity as she could salvage, Akhara padded across the clearing toward the medicine den, acutely aware of Firepaw's worried gaze following her every step. He fusses worse than Yellowfang, she thought with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

The moment she ducked through the entrance into the cool, herb-scented shadows, Spottedleaf's head snapped up from where she'd been sorting dried leaves. The beautiful tortoiseshell medicine cat's amber eyes flooded with relief.

"Oh, thank StarClan, you're here!" Spottedleaf rushed forward, immediately beginning to groom Akhara's dusty fur with quick, anxious strokes. "You don't have to scare us like that! We turned around and you were just gone—" Without warning, she planted both forepaws on Akhara's shoulders and pushed, steering her firmly toward the nearest moss-lined nest.

"Hey!" Akhara yelped in surprise as she tumbled backward into the bedding, her legs tangling beneath her in an undignified sprawl. "Spottedleaf!"

"You stay put this time," Spottedleaf scolded, though her tone was more worried than angry. She continued grooming Akhara's ears, her rough tongue working with maternal determination. "Yellowfang and I have been worried sick. You need rest, not sunbathing expeditions."

"Calm down, Spottedleaf," Akhara grumbled, gently pushing the medicine cat's muzzle away with one white paw. "I was just washing myself. I needed some sun—you know I don't like being cooped up in the dark." She shifted in the nest, trying to find a more comfortable position. "I'm not a kit who needs constant watching."

Spottedleaf sat back, her expression softening but still concerned. "No, you're not a kit," she agreed quietly. "You're a stubborn warrior who doesn't know when to admit she's hurt." Her tail curled around her paws. "Please, Akhara. Just rest. For us, if not for yourself."

Akhara's ears flattened slightly, guilt pricking at her conscience. She looked away, focusing on a crack in the den wall. "Fine," she muttered. "But only because you asked nicely."

From the shadows near her store of herbs, Yellowfang snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it."

She spent the rest of the day confined to the medicine den, though it wasn't as lonely as she'd feared. Firepaw visited regularly, bringing her fresh prey—a plump vole in the morning, a field mouse at sunhigh—and settling beside her nest to tell her everything he'd been doing with the other apprentices. His eyes shone as he described a particularly challenging hunting crouch Lionheart had shown them, or how Graypaw had accidentally fallen into a puddle while stalking a bird.

Akhara appreciated that he never made her feel like an outsider, never treated her as though her confinement diminished her importance. Even Bluestar stopped by from time to time, settling at the entrance to the medicine den to discuss clan matters—new patrol schedules, concerns about ShadowClan's increasing aggression, ideas for better fortifying the camp's defenses.

The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon when Akhara found herself alone, gnawing contentedly on the field mouse Firepaw had brought her earlier. The medicine den was peaceful, filled only with the soft rustle of Yellowfang organizing her herb stores and Spottedleaf's quiet humming as she worked.

Then a shadow fell across the entrance.

"Can I talk to you alone?" Tigerclaw's deep voice rumbled from the opening. His massive frame blocked most of the fading sunlight, and his amber eyes fixed on Yellowfang with an intensity that bordered on hostile.

Yellowfang's ears flattened. She glared at the deputy, her orange eyes narrowed. "Oh, don't mind me," she muttered sarcastically, gathering a bundle of herbs in her jaws. "It's not like this is my den or anything." She pushed past Tigerclaw with deliberate force, her shoulder bumping his chest, and disappeared into the clearing.

Spottedleaf followed without a word, though she cast a worried glance back at Akhara before slipping out.

Tigerclaw ducked through the entrance and sat down heavily, his dark tabby pelt rippling with barely contained tension. He stared at Akhara, unblinking, and the air between them grew thick with unspoken challenge.

"I know what you are," he said, his voice low and controlled.

Akhara paused mid-wash, her tongue still protruding slightly from her mouth. She blinked at him with exaggerated innocence. "What?" she asked, her tone light and teasing.

"You're not a real cat, are you?" Tigerclaw pressed, his ears twitching. His claws slid out, scoring the earth beneath his paws—not threatening, but anxious. "Don't play games with me, Akhara."

Akhara tilted her head, studying him with those ancient amber eyes that seemed to hold more moons than any cat should possess. "I never said I was, did I?" she replied, her whiskers twitching with amusement.

But Tigerclaw was not swayed. His tail lashed once, sharply. "Just admit it. What are you really?" His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I saw a vision of you at the Moonstone. You were standing above the entire Clan—above the whole forest. Everything trembled before you. The ground cracked beneath your paws. StarClan themselves looked small in your shadow." He shuddered, the memory clearly haunting him. "That's why I was so tense on the way back. I thought... I thought I was going mad."

For a long moment, Akhara said nothing. Then she chuckled—a low, knowing sound that seemed to echo strangely in the confined space. She stood, and as she did, her head rose until her ears brushed against the thorn-reinforced roof of the medicine den. She grimaced slightly at the contact but didn't lower herself.

She's too tall, Tigerclaw's mind whispered. She's always been too tall. How did I never notice before?

"You're right," Akhara said softly, looking down at him from her impossible height. "I'm not a real cat. But is that so strange?" Her gaze grew distant, ancient. "You worship dead cats in the stars while ignoring the one who created you. You pray to StarClan for guidance, never wondering who made StarClan itself."

She leaned down, bringing her face close to Tigerclaw's. He fought the urge to back away, his fur bristling instinctively. "If I wanted to," she murmured, her breath warm against his whiskers, "you would be dead. And the whole world would know of your betrayals, Tigerclaw. Every dark thought. Every treacherous plan. Every life you've considered taking to claim what you think you deserve."

Tigerclaw's blood turned to ice. She knows. She knows everything.

"But I kept my promise to your mother," Akhara continued, straightening up again. "And I will continue to keep it. For now."

Tigerclaw stiffened, his claws digging furrows in the earth. "How do you know my mother?" he spat, though his voice cracked slightly. "She died when I was barely out of the nursery. You weren't even born yet—you can't be more than a few seasons old!"

Akhara's expression softened with something that might have been pity. "I know everyone in StarClan, Tigerclaw," she said gently. "Your mother. Your father. Every cat who has ever walked the forest and passed beyond. I know them because I welcomed them home." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "As you said—I am not a true cat."

She moved past him toward the entrance, her white pelt gleaming in the dying light. Tigerclaw remained frozen, his mind reeling.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Akhara said over her shoulder, her tone returning to something almost casual, "I must see how Firepaw is doing. He worries so much when I'm away too long."

She slipped out of the medicine den, leaving Tigerclaw alone in the herb-scented darkness, trembling with the terrible knowledge of what walked among them wearing the skin of a cat.