Years passed, yet Danya still had no idea where her children were. Sometimes it felt as though they had simply vanished from the world, swallowed by the chaos of that terrible night. But Danya refused to believe they were gone. Somewhere deep inside her, the mother in her continued to insist that they were alive. What haunted her most was that she could not remember how she had escaped the estate. She remembered the lady-in-waiting who had guided her through the passageways, remembered the smoke filling her lungs and the flames beginning to surround them, but after that, everything became fractured. She remembered being left alone within the tunnel. She remembered stumbling through the darkness, her body growing weaker with every breath. Then there was the floor beneath her, and the sensation of someone lifting her. A man. She could remember the strength of his arms around her, but never his face. Never his name. Never where he had taken her. That missing piece of the night became one of the many ghosts that followed her long after the flames had disappeared.

The guilt was worse than the memories. Danya could not stop wondering whether she should have stayed. Perhaps she should have searched longer. Perhaps she should have fought through the flames. Perhaps she should have refused to leave without finding her babies. Every question became another blade against her heart. She knew she was not the only mother who had lost children that night. Selene's children had been scattered as well, their family torn apart by whatever had happened within the estate. Still, knowing she was not alone did little to ease the pain. Danya carried the guilt as though it belonged solely to her. Eventually, she stopped trying to find comfort among others. The woman who had once loved family gatherings and surrounded herself with those she trusted slowly disappeared. In her place stood a woman who no longer wanted a pack. Danya became untamed, wild, and fiercely independent—a lone wolf who trusted no one.

The forest became the only place where Danya felt safe. Deep within what many called the Cursed Woods, or the Forgotten Woods, she found a strange kind of peace. Society no longer made her feel protected. People reminded her of everything she had lost, while the forest asked nothing of her. The trees did not question where her children were. The wind did not judge her for surviving. The darkness did not ask her why she had lived when others might not have. So Danya built herself a home among the trees, far enough away from the world that she could breathe again. She built a small cabin with her own hands, planted a garden, gathered what she needed, and slowly created a little oasis that belonged entirely to her. It was not luxurious, and it was not the grand estate she had once known, but it was hers. No one could enter without her knowing. No one could betray her if she never allowed them close enough to do so.

Yet living alone did not make the wolf inside her disappear. Danya still hunted, still wandered beneath the moon, and occasionally found herself causing a little chaos simply to remind herself that she was still alive. The village beyond the woods became an easy target. She knew every path leading into it and every route back into the forest. She knew where the villagers traveled, and which places they believed were safe. Sometimes she would venture close simply to cause trouble, never staying long enough to be caught. In her mind, it served a purpose. If she kept them alert, if she kept them wondering what might be lurking beyond the trees, perhaps she was keeping them safe in her own twisted way. She could never allow another family to become as vulnerable as hers had been. It was almost as though keeping everyone else on their toes could somehow prevent another tragedy from happening.

But no amount of distance could make her children disappear from her heart. Every morning, she woke with the same unanswered question, and every night she went to sleep wondering where they were. The years did not erase the memories; they only buried them deeper. Danya learned how to survive with the pain, but she never learned how to let it go. One afternoon, she stood outside her cabin with an axe in her hands, splitting a piece of wood for the fire. The blade struck the log with a heavy thud. Again. And again. With every strike, the memories seemed to grow louder. Tears gathered in her blue eyes as she stared at the broken wood before her. “My babies,” she whispered. The axe struck again. “My babies. My babies. My babies.”

She repeated the words over and over as though they were a prayer, or perhaps a spell that might somehow reach them wherever they were. Her breathing became uneven as she lowered the axe and rested both hands against it. “Where are my babies?” Her voice cracked. For a moment, the forest became completely still. Danya lifted her head. She heard something.

A voice. It was faint, almost carried away by the wind, and yet there was something painfully familiar about it. She turned slowly, looking between the trees and toward the small path leading away from her cabin. Nothing moved. No one stood there. The voice did not come again, but the feeling remained. For the first time in years, Danya realized something she had spent so long trying to avoid. She could not hide forever. Her children were still out there somewhere, and if there was even the smallest chance, they were alive, she had to find them. The thought terrified her. To find them, she would have to leave the safety of her cabin. She would have to step beyond the forest, face the world she had abandoned, and eventually confront the memories of the night she had spent years trying to forget. She did not even know if she was strong enough to remember everything. She did not know what she would find when she finally uncovered the truth. But she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she was their mother, and a mother did not stop searching for her children simply because the years had passed.

Danya looked toward the sky and took a slow, trembling breath. The moon hung above the trees, watching over the forest that had become her home. She closed her eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely down her cheeks. “My children,” she whispered into the night. “Where are you? Your mother misses you. “Her voice broke as she swallowed hard. “Your mother failed you that night.” For a moment, she could not speak. Then, barely above a whisper, she made the promise she had been too afraid to make for all those years. “Please, my children... wherever you are, be safe. I am coming for you.”