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The Wisteria Isles were quiet in the late afternoon light, too quiet, almost. The air smelled like salt and flowers, sweet and sharp together, and the wind carried petals across the clearing in slow spirals. They clung to everything: fur, rocks, even the faded roots twisting out of the soft earth.

Camp sat nestled between the heavy-blooming trees, their long lavender curtains swaying like silk banners. The sea beyond them shimmered with fractured sunlight, its surface broken only by lazy ripples and the distant call of seagulls settling for the evening.

It looked peaceful, beautiful even, but Shēnléi could feel the fragile edges beneath it.
The Isles were temporary. A dream wearing a thin disguise of safety.
He knew it.
And he suspected many in Tianlong did too.

Shēnléi stood in the center of the clearing, tall and composed despite the breeze tugging at his dark fur. Even here, without jade walls or thrones or golden marble steps, he carried that quiet imperial authority; the kind born from his lineage and not at all a performance. He waited until the murmurs faded before letting his voice slip into the stillness of the air, loud and booming so that all could hear.

Everyone, he began, tone smooth and steady, we need to discuss our next step.

A wisteria petal drifted down and brushed his cheek before falling at his feet. He resisted the urge to sigh.

He lifted his chin slightly, eyes sweeping across the gathered wolves — familiar faces, worn faces, faces that trusted him far more than he felt he deserved on nights like this.

Ruan returned earlier, he continued. And he found something.

The words felt heavier than they should’ve, settling on his tongue like stones. He let them fall slowly and deliberately.

He found a mountain. Tall, untouched, and strong enough to shield us from whatever storms Mythris decides to throw next at us. And beneath the roots of an ancient tree lies a cave that… carries you there.

He paused, watching their reactions ripple through the group — widened eyes, cautious whispers, disbelief mixing with hope.

Yes.
Hope.
He hadn’t realized how starved they all were for it until now.

The Isles have been… kind, he said, and the wind stirred again, rustling the long curtains of wisteria around them like a soft, uncertain sigh. The group of Egyptian's, however, made it difficult to enojy this place uninterupted. But kindness is not the same as permanence. And this place…

His gaze drifted around the clearing; the flowers, the soft soil, the scattered shelters woven between tree roots.
Too delicate, he thought.
Too easy to burn. Too easy to lose.

…this place may not hold us forever. It is a small island, he finished quietly, already thinking about the potential expansion the Dynasty might face once pups started being born.

He drew in a slow breath, letting the scent of blossoms and brine settle in his chest. The feeling there was complicated, affection, nostalgia, and that ache he never let reach his face.

I want to hear your thoughts, Shēnléi said, lifting his head, voice growing steadier again. Your concerns, your hopes, and whether the Isles feels like home, or if they have only been a temporary solution. He said.

Speak freely, he told them, eyes soft but unreadable. I will listen.

Another quiet beat.

But understand, he added gently, deliberately, wherever we go next… it will be somewhere worthy of Tianlong. Somewhere we can grow. Somewhere we can finally make a home out of.

And though he didn’t say it out loud—not yet anyway—the mountain lingered in his mind like a promise.

He stepped back just slightly, inviting their voices forward.
Come, Shēnléi said. Let us decide our path together.

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