The flash of silver caught my eye, and I turned my head just in time to avoid a swift strike.

Fast.

This must be the fastest opponent I’ve faced so far.

The attacks kept coming. I sidestepped several follow-up strikes, narrowly avoiding each one. Indeed, very fast—both in reaction and movement. But for me, it’s still too slow. By focusing a bit more, I could clearly see every slight movement: which muscles contracted, where his gaze shifted. So, when he left an opening, yes—right now!

I caught his wrist, knocking the dagger out of their grasp. Before he could react, I sidestepped, cutting into their guard and spinning to drive my reverse-gripped dagger upward beneath his ribs.

Got it! I knew it was too slow… What? My thrust was stopped, my wrist caught in an iron grip. My opponent gave me a cold smirk.

I’d fallen for it. That opening was a trap, bait to draw me in. I needed to switch to defense quickly, to shield my vital organs. Damn, he really is fast. He twisted my wrist, forcing my dagger toward my own chest. I had no choice but to grab my own arm with my free hand to halt the blade’s momentum. Painful cracking sounds echoed from my right hand; I might have fractured a few bones, but at least I stopped the attack. The blade hovered about five centimeters from my chest, but the searing pain in my hand weakened my grip.

Suddenly, he kicked toward my shin. I noticed the move and prepared to counter, but his grip on my wrist tightened sharply, sending a jolt of pain through me. It threw off my balance.

Damn it.

The world flipped as I hit the ground hard, the impact forcing the air from my lungs. Damn, I’d been outplayed. I let go of the dagger, losing control of my weapon. No, I had to move, now! But the short paralysis from being winded rendered me immobile. I could only watch as the silver dagger descended toward my chest.

Damn, it hurts—so much pain.

The distinctive barking of wolfhounds echoed around me, mingled with a few wolf howls.

“Hey, give it a few more years and more experience, I probably wouldn’t stand a chance against you,” said Instructor Dillon as he extended a hand to pull me up. “Sorry if I hit a bit too hard. You’re not an opponent I can afford to hold back against.”

I’ll take that as a compliment.

“Even though the blades aren’t sharpened, my strikes probably injured you.” He pointed to the hole in my white training shirt. “Go get checked at the infirmary.” Instructor Dillon gave me a pat on the back before leaving, surrounded by a swarm of wolfhounds celebrating his championship defense with their unique rituals. Most of the gray wolves gave a quick tail flick before leaving, though a few came over to offer me some words of comfort.

“Very promising,” Crescent remarked after most of the crowd had dispersed, his gray eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Don’t mock me,” I replied, pressing my right wrist to check for fractures.

“Most gray wolves probably don’t know this, but Dillon is the best in close combat and blade work in the entire unit.” Crescent chuckled at some amusing thought.

Really? That wiry wolfhound?

“The first time I challenged him, he dislocated my shoulder and broke my arm. I was in a cast for months. I’m sure he did it on purpose.” Crescent finished with a knowing look that I greeted with skepticism, but he gave me a firm nod to confirm his story.

“What’s going on between you and Nighteye?”

What?

“That look on your face—put your ears down. I don’t want the wolfhounds sniffing around. You think we haven’t noticed something’s off?”

I didn’t respond, prompting Crescent to sigh in mild frustration and drop his right ear.

“Should I talk to Instructor Clover about it?”

What?

“I said, put your ears down!” Crescent grumbled.

“No, there’s nothing wrong. I can handle it myself,” I bluffed, eager to end the conversation. Come to think of it, it actually makes sense. As the leader of the gray wolf cadets in the academy, Clover couldn’t possibly not stay in contact with Crescent.

“All right, but if there’s a problem, let me know.” He gestured to his tail, and I understood his meaning.

“I think it’s time to invite you to the naming ceremony,” Crescent said, raising an eyebrow at my inquisitive look. “I can’t play favorites, so all I’ll say is this: take things at your own pace. When you feel ready, step forward. Every full moon is a new opportunity. No rush.” With that, Crescent patted my arm and left.

I had a general idea of what Crescent meant. Clover had mentioned the customs of European wolf packs—rituals inherited from the days of the Wolf Empire. In addition to the names given by their parents, wolves could earn new names through notable deeds. They could even challenge others to take their names and status.

Here, names carried many meanings. The name you used and how you obtained it—be it through inheritance, bestowal, victory, or transfer—reflected your essence. Clover explained that such practices were technically forbidden at the academy, but most instructors turned a blind eye to prevent the gray wolves from resorting to more violent means of proving themselves.

Had the pack finally accepted me? Despite being a gray wolf, I’d always been treated as an outsider. Even in modern society, animal instincts still subtly shaped our daily behaviors. Among wolves, territoriality and exclusion were evident. In Central Nation, it was more common to see nervous, skittish nature animals.

Clover advised me against pursuing such dangerous things, but the sense of recognition left me feeling a little light-headed. I wanted to see what the other gray wolves were doing.

Fine, I’ll admit the main reason is that I need a distraction from Nighteye. After finally entering the officer academy, I’d been looking forward to the upgraded living conditions of a shared dorm. But with things so strained between us now, I wasn’t sure what to think.

Forget it. Stop thinking about him. Tonight, I’ll give it my all!

Shaking my head, I headed toward the infirmary.

"Hey, you look really stressed," I said to Nighteye, trying to ease the awkward atmosphere. He was sitting at his desk, reading, and didn’t respond. "If you need some intraspecies contact, just let me know. I’m always happy to help." I lightly touched his arm, but his only reaction was a flick of his tail to the left.

What kind of attitude is that? I sat back at my own desk, trying to focus on my reading, but it was clear that wasn’t going to work.

Sigh, I told myself not to think about him, so what am I doing?

The large full moon bathed us in silver light, making the visibility almost indistinguishable from daytime. Crescent stepped into the central clearing, and the surrounding gray wolves, following his lead, howled in unison.

Uh, I thought we were supposed to keep things low-key. But the harmony formed by the wolves' synchronized howls was truly magnificent. That indescribable resonance felt like an ode to the moonlit dwellers, so beautiful it swept me away. I couldn’t help but join the chorus, instinctively knowing how to blend perfectly. In that moment, the pack was one. Even after the collective howl ended, I remained immersed in the lingering echoes for a while, unaware of what was happening in the clearing until another round of cheering snapped me back to reality.

Crescent’s silver fur gleamed under the moonlight. He squinted slightly, tilting his head toward another wolf, his raised tail swaying slowly from side to side. I hadn’t seen the other wolf before—his coat was brown and coarse, covering his entire body. He bent slightly, fully erecting his tail.

Ah, a leadership challenge.

Crescent also lowered his body slightly, raising his tail in response. A subtle tension filled the air, and the pack's excitement began to rise. Whether it was the moonlight’s influence or something else, every wolf seemed inexplicably energized.

I felt the surge too, as though under some kind of spell. My blood raced, pounding in my ears, making my emotions run high. My teeth trembled faintly.

As if responding to an unspoken signal, the two wolves charged at each other. The confrontation was brief but brutal. The brown wolf tried to bite Crescent, but in doing so, exposed his jaw. Crescent countered with a heavy punch, sending the brown wolf spinning twice through the air. Cheers erupted once again.

Exposing one’s jaw in close combat was a fundamental defensive mistake. But I understood—this atmosphere was calling out to the most primal instincts in our blood, the purest form of the wolf. Any lapse in willpower could lead to losing control.

The brown wolf’s savage attacks drew blood from Crescent, and the scent of it only heightened the pack’s fervor. The challenger, now even more frenzied, launched a relentless assault. Yet, driven solely by instinct, his attacks lacked decisive precision, while Crescent maintained a poised and effortless composure.

In the end, Crescent brought the brown wolf to the ground, pinning him by the muzzle until he calmed down. The brown wolf placed his hands over his chest in a gesture of submission, whimpering softly as the pack’s cheers filled the air.

Crescent helped the brown wolf to his feet, whispered something in his ear, and patted his back. The brown wolf scratched his head awkwardly, his tail slightly drooping as he returned to the pack. Nearby gray wolves gave him friendly touches, brushing against him in a show of comfort. The brown wolf lowered his ears, accepting their reassurance.

Once the pack quieted, several gray wolves stepped into the clearing at Crescent’s signal. Crescent took a deep breath and started to howl, his beautiful voice resonating in the night sky. One by one, the pack joined in.

I, too, became part of the wolves' harmonized voices, as though pulled by the resonance. Instinctively, I understood the meaning of their howl: “Shadow.” One by one, the wolves celebrated the emergence of new members with fresh names, welcoming them into the pack.

“Moonstep.”

“Longfang.”

The pack howled in unison, their voices ringing out in celebration.

I left the ceremony early, my mind churning with a torrent of emotions. The intense sense of belonging I felt while immersed in the wolf pack’s harmonious howls temporarily dulled my loneliness. It was as if I’d finally found my place in this world. Yet, paradoxically, the overwhelming sense of belonging only served to remind me of a solitude I couldn’t quite articulate.

Nighteye. It felt like a void in my chest, as though something should be pulsing where my heart was, but when I reached for it, I found nothing.

I had to stop thinking like this, or I’d go mad. I needed to confront him and get it all out in the open.

The snap of a breaking twig interrupted my thoughts—barely audible, yet almost overlooked. I spun around quickly, startling a pair of eyes hidden in the underbrush. They flinched, brushing against a branch and making a faint sound.

It was a young gray wolf with mismatched eyes—one blue and one brown—his fur a mix of black, brown, and white, evidence of shedding season.

Heterochromia wasn’t uncommon among gray wolves, though not particularly widespread either. I remembered seeing a few at the academy. He must have snuck out, driven by curiosity. I doubted Crescent had invited him.

“If Instructor Clover catches you sneaking out, you’re in for it. You’ve heard the stories about tails, haven’t you?” I found myself speaking in a tone meant to project seniority, unintentionally saying something odd. Who knows how exaggerated those tales would become in a few years? “Whatever curiosity brought you here, it’d be better if you went back now. Come again when you’re invited in a few years.”

The pup blinked his large mismatched eyes before darting away with a swift rustle. What a curious little pup.

A sudden shift in the wind carried the scent of another wolf. Before I could process it, a sharp pain shot through my tail.

“You cheeky little pup!” I bellowed.

A dark figure darted past my legs, racing toward the camp.

“You’re dead if I catch you!” I shouted, though I didn’t give chase. Before disappearing from sight, the mischievous pup turned back, his blue and brown eyes glinting as he stuck his tongue out at me.

When their scent finally faded from my range, I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. So it was my turn this year. How amusing. I wondered if, years from now, I’d look back on this moment and laugh just as hard.

I smoothed the fur on my tail, recalling my own days as a cadet at the pre-academy.

It was a small tradition among the academy wolves, meant to temper the arrogance of overly bold freshmen. Upperclassmen would concoct excuses to send the young ones on a mission to pluck fur from a senior’s tail.

I still remembered my own attempt—naïve and unsuccessful. Caught red-handed, I’d had my ass thoroughly kicked enough to scurry away with my tail between my legs. Reflecting on such foolishness made me laugh again, easing the heaviness in my heart.

Under the moonlight, accompanied by the distant howls of wolves, I hummed along, matching their melody as I made my way back to the camp. My shadow swayed lightly, my tail wagging in rhythm.

Back in my room, I searched for any sign of Nighteye. He might be in the shower. Tossing my shirt into the laundry basket, I prepared my toiletries.

What should I say to him? I’d resolved to clear the air, yet I hadn’t thought through what to say or how to say it.

While I was still agonizing over it, Nighteye returned. My tail shot up instinctively, catching me so off guard that I froze.

I listened as he shut the door and moved toward his closet, the sounds of him sorting his belongings filling the room. Praying he hadn’t noticed my state, I tried to lower my tail and ears gradually.

What should I even say? How could I convey my feelings in a way he would understand? And what were my feelings, exactly? The resolve I’d had earlier seemed to have drained away, slipping through the void in my chest.

I sighed, my ears drooping. Perhaps it was better to maintain my distance from this pack. I’d eventually return to the Central Nation; maybe it was wiser not to form attachments here. A farewell under the radiant moonlight would at least be poetic.

Then, a strange sensation spread from my shoulder, like a storm brushing against my skin. My fur stood on end, radiating outward from that point. I turned, nearly colliding with Nighteye’s muzzle. He stood unmoving, his dark eyes meeting mine.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long silence.

In that moment, the void in my chest overflowed, spilling out indescribable emotions. Tears streamed down my face, accompanied by quiet sobs, their rhythm echoed by the faint dripping on the floor.

Nighteye adjusted his necklace, ensuring its pendant wouldn’t scratch me again.

He pulled me into a tight embrace.

I melted into his warmth.

I returned his embrace.

Our warmth became one.

When I finally calmed, I opened my eyes and saw Nighteye’s closet, left ajar.

“That day, I accidentally saw… the photo in your locker,” I said cautiously, fearing I might reopen his wounds. “I also know a gray wolf-red deer hybrid, though he’s more deer than wolf.”

Nighteye chuckled at that.

“My dad’s a Canadian elk, not a European red deer. People always get it wrong,” he explained.

Oh, so that was the case. But why did I lead with, “I know someone like that”? That hardly reflected the resolve I’d built up.

“I actually wanted to tell you…” It hit me then that I’d never shared this with anyone before. “I’m a gray wolf-dwarf rabbit hybrid.”

Nighteye gently stroked the fur on my back.

“No wonder your scent’s always been a little different,” he murmured, pressing his nose against my chest and inhaling deeply. “There’s a familiarity I can’t quite explain.”

Saying it out loud didn’t bring any great relief or an immediate closeness. It was simply an act of vulnerability, an unveiling of my true self.

“Don’t leave me again, okay? I’m terrified of being abandoned,” I whispered, running my fingers through his dark fur and savoring its softness. No matter how many times it happened, I could never get used to the feeling of being left behind.

"I won’t run away anymore," he murmured, licking my neck gently.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his hands stroking my back.

 “And I’m yours,” he said, kissing me as I eagerly responded.

“Promise me,” the sensation slightly damp.

“You’re mine,” the tingling sensation traveled from his tongue.

“Don’t run away again,” warm and reassuring.

“Don’t leave me,” it was this familiar, delicate touch.

The academy’s lights dimmed as curfew set in, making the bright, full moon in the night sky seem even more luminous. For the first time, under the moon’s silvery glow, Nighteye held me tightly as I quietly wept in his arms.

When I plunged the hunting knife into Dusk's chest, his ears shot up in shock, and his pupils dilated instantly.

"What did I tell you? ' When I recover, I'll be sure to skin you'?" Something along those lines, right? Close enough.

I dragged the blade downward, slicing through Dusk's skin.

He let out a choking sound and trembled slightly.

I’d cut a bit shallow, but blood still flowed, pooling at the tip of the blade before falling to the ground along with tufts of severed fur.

Was that a dripping sound?

Outside the tent, about four hundred meters away, a flicker of light caught my eye—it was Dawn.

"Why didn’t you run away?" I paused the blade's tip near Dusk’s groin. I wasn’t bluffing; I truly intended to skin him.

"I… I… we can’t abandon Botchan," he stammered, on the verge of tears. A few more drops of bright red blood dripped down. He trembled helplessly, tail tucked tightly between his legs, yet he didn’t move. I silently watched the blood well from the wound, gathering before splattering onto the ground like blooming flowers. The earlier droplets had already frozen solid.

"I prefer blankets with some warmth." Retracting the hunting knife, I wiped the remaining blood clean.

Dusk exhaled deeply, his overly tense body convulsing slightly as it relaxed.

"Dawn, come back and stitch up your brother. If I do it, it'll probably get infected." I directed my words toward the location of Dawn's nest, ensuring he could read my lips. I cut nearly reached the muscle layer—this would undoubtedly leave a sizable scar.

"Why didn’t you shoot?" I asked once Dawn rushed back inside.

He busied himself stitching the wound, his expression unsure of what to say.

"When it comes to protecting the ones you love, never hesitate. Did you hear me?"

Dawn nodded, continuing his work on Dusk's wound. My gaze fell to the equipment Dawn had hastily discarded on the ground.

Snipers are meticulous about protecting their gear—sometimes obsessively so. When you're stationed kilometers away, isolated and responsible for safeguarding the entire team, a sniper’s only lifeline is their equipment.

"I’m sorry."

Both Dusk and Dawn's ears perked up, swiveling toward me.

"We weren’t prepared to camp in this snowy wasteland. It’s my fault we’ve stayed in this godforsaken place for so many days because of my stubbornness." A wave of dizziness washed over me, nearly making me vomit. Looks like the concussion hadn’t healed yet.

"Dawn, your scope isn’t suited for tundra use. All this snow glare has exposed your position. Don’t go out again. Just rely on the motion sensors to maintain the perimeter." I sank back into the sleeping bag. "Once I can move, we’ll head back to Central City for resupply and rest." I powered up my laptop, browsing through the records. "No, we’ll stop by Harbin first. The mission’s already planned, it’s conveniently on the way, and it’s a low-risk target. It shouldn’t take much time." I sent the organized data to both Dawn and Dusk’s personal terminals.

"Yes, Botchan," Dawn replied as he finished stitching and began packing up his equipment.

"And stop calling me ‘Botchan’ or ‘sir.’ You both know my name." I sheathed the hunting knife and stored it in its case.

Dusk and Dawn exchanged startled looks.

"Why that expression?" I asked as the second wave of dizziness forced me to lie back into the sleeping bag.

"No… it’s just…" Dusk seemed uncertain about what he wanted to say.

Dawn, after tidying up, glanced at the motion sensors and lightly tapped Dusk’s tail, trying to comfort him.

"I’m cold," I said, watching as Dusk hesitated, then turned to Dawn with a conflicted expression. "Have you ever seen a blanket grow legs and run off?" I explained patiently, pointing out the obvious.

Dusk shook his head and finally lay down beside me.

Careful not to touch his wound, I stroked his fur, relishing the soothing texture. At first, my touch made Dusk flinch, but he gradually relaxed, gently brushing my arm with his paw in response. I nuzzled the fur on his neck, and he turned his head to mimic my motion.

"Did you just smile?" Dusk blinked his heterochromatic eyes, asking softly.

"I remembered something from the past," I replied, my thoughts drifting to two promising young wolf pups.

Dawn crawled into the sleeping bag as well, lying across my chest. He reached out with his right hand, gently stroking the fur on Dusk’s side, his arm brushing against my torso as he moved. I felt the heat radiating from Dawn’s back through my fingertips, and he responded by slowly licking my throat.

"I didn’t realize you’d put Rex’s Holy Fang back on," I said, noticing the necklace dangling from Dawn’s neck. My thumb traced the contours of the fang-shaped pendant.

"I’ve come to understand some things recently, and they’ve restored my faith," he said, meeting my gaze. "I’ve treated the pendant to reduce glare—it won’t affect my operations." His voice carried a steady rhythm, resonating with the vibrations of his chest and syncing with his heartbeat.

"As long as it doesn’t compromise your safety." I relented, allowing certain familiar sensations to seep in.

In the frozen tundra, I felt an unexpected warmth and security. It was in the fine fur, in the sense of belonging that comes from being needed.

"You’re mine," I said, closing my eyes while continuing to stroke the fur. "Dawn and Dusk, you’re mine." For once, it felt like I wasn’t a lone wolf anymore—I’d found my pack.

"Yes," they replied in unison, their voices harmonizing like a melody. "We’re yours," like reflections in a mirror. "And you’re ours," like shadows following faithfully. "Nighteye."

As if, beyond loneliness, there was something more.