Harestar's POV

Emberfall's tail vanished through the den's fern curtain, leaving behind the faint musk of determination—and the sharper sting of my own doubt. Whitestorm slid back inside, his broad frame blocking the sunlight momentarily, and settled beside me with a grace that belied his age.

"You told her, then?" he rumbled, his voice a deep, steady current beneath the storm of my thoughts.

I nodded, my gaze fixed on the claw-gouged earth where Emberfall had sat. "Yes. I can't... keep burying truths like bones. Not from her. Not from my kin." The admission tasted bitter. Leaders weren't meant to falter. Leaders certainly weren't meant to envy the simplicity of a warrior's loyalty.

Whitestorm's tongue rasped over a scar on his foreleg, a relic of battles fought long before my time. "Fireheart once said secrets rot faster than crow-food," he mused. "But even he struggled with the weight of them."

I snorted. "Fireheart didn't have Brambleclaw sharpening his claws on his legacy."

The camp beyond the den hummed with tension. Through the fronds, I glimpsed Birchwhisker herding apprentices away from a knot of murmuring warriors. Brambleclaw stood sentinel near the fresh-kill pile, his tail lashing as Oak'song approached—my son's posture rigid, his words inaudible but sharp. Arguing. Always arguing.

Whitestorm followed my gaze. "They're scared," he said simply.

"They're suspicious," I corrected, though my chest tightened. Suspicion was a weed; let it root too deep, and it choked everything.

A breeze carried the tang of the medicine den's herbs—yarrow, cobwebs, the faint iron of my own blood—and beneath it, something fouler. Doubt. It clung to the camp like fog, seeping into every glance, every twitch of a whisker. Even the elders avoided my eyes now, their stories of ThunderClan's glory suddenly hushed.

"What if they're right?" The words slipped out, quiet as a mouse's breath. "What if I've... failed them?"

Whitestorm's head snapped toward me, his ice-blue eyes blazing. "You've kept this clan alive through drought, fox invasions, and leafbare fevers that would've shattered weaker leaders. Ravenscar's rogues are just another storm." He leaned in, his muzzle grazing my ear. "But storms pass, Harestar. If you stand firm."

I wanted to believe him. Stars, I ached to. But then Brambleclaw's voice rose, sharp enough to pierce the den's quiet: "—think she's plotting with RiverClan to weaken us!"

Oak'song's reply was a growl, low and dangerous. "You'd challenge her? Now?"

A kits' squeal split the air—startled, not pained—and the queens hurried to hush them. My claws unsheathed, scoring the moss beneath me. This was my doing. My silence. My clan unraveling while I hid in shadows.

Whitestorm's tail settled over my trembling paw. "They need to see you," he said. "Not the leader. You."

The sun dipped lower, staining the camp in hues of blood and amber. Somewhere beyond the pines, Ravenscar's rogues lurked, their laughter echoing in my skull. We'll drown your clans in their own screams.

I rose, my wounds pulsing, and pushed through the ferns into the fading light.

The clan stilled. Brambleclaw's glare burned. Oak'song's jaw clenched. Emberfall hovered near the nursery, her green eyes wide, pleading.

"ThunderClan," I called, my voice carving through the silence like a claw. "Tonight, we hunt."

Not for prey.

For truth.

SCENEBREAK

The sunlit rocks loomed ahead, their jagged edges clawing at the sky. The air here was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the faint, sickly sweetness of decay. I halted at the base of the outcrop, my paws sinking into the soft earth churned by frantic claws. The body lay sprawled on the stone, its gray fur matted and stiff, the warrior's lifeless eyes staring blankly at the canopy above.

Brambleclaw was at my side in an instant, his amber eyes narrowing as he sniffed the corpse. "What's this?" he snarled, his voice sharp with accusation. "A dead warrior? RiverClan?"

"Yes," I said, my tone steady despite the ache in my chest. The old tom's wounds were brutal—deep gashes across his flank, his throat torn open. Ravenscar's work. I could almost hear the rogue leader's laughter, cruel and guttural, echoing in my mind.

Brambleclaw's lip curled. "And why are we just now finding this? Did Leopardstar forget to send a messenger?"

I turned to face him, my tail lashing. "Leopardstar told me this happens when rogues enter our territory. Their leader, Ravenscar, doesn't just kill for food or territory. He kills to terrify. To weaken us. To make us turn on each other."

The clan shifted uneasily behind me. Birchwhisker's ears flattened, and Oak'song's claws dug into the earth. Emberfall hovered at the edge of the group, her green eyes wide but unflinching.

Brambleclaw's gaze flicked to the body, then back to me. "And you've been meeting with Leopardstar to... what? Swap stories over fresh-kill?"

I stepped closer, my fur bristling. "To stop this," I hissed, gesturing to the dead warrior. "To make sure Ravenscar doesn't carve through our clans like a fox through a mouse nest. That's why I've been seeing her. Not to betray ThunderClan. To protect it."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Brambleclaw's tail twitched, his anger faltering for a heartbeat. Behind him, Whitestorm stepped forward, his massive frame a silent reminder of the loyalty I still commanded.

"Ravenscar's rogues are a threat to all of us," I continued, my voice rising to carry over the murmurs of the clan. "They don't care about borders or allegiances. They'll tear through ShadowClan, RiverClan, and ThunderClan alike unless we stand together."

Oak'song's voice cut through the tension. "And what's your plan, Mother? To trust Leopardstar while our own clan starves?"

I flinched at the bitterness in his tone but held his gaze. "My plan is to survive. To fight. To make sure no more warriors—ThunderClan, RiverClan, or otherwise—end up like him." I nodded to the body, its stillness a grim testament to Ravenscar's cruelty.

The clan fell silent, the weight of the dead warrior's presence pressing down on us all. Even Brambleclaw's defiance wavered, his gaze dropping to the bloodstained rocks.

Emberfall stepped forward, her voice steady despite the tremor in her tail. "Then let's fight. Together."

I looked at her—my granddaughter, Fireheart's legacy—and felt a flicker of hope. "Together," I echoed, my voice firm.

The clan's murmurs shifted, uncertainty giving way to resolve. Brambleclaw's tail flicked once, a reluctant nod, and Oak'song's shoulders relaxed, if only slightly.

But as I turned back to the body, the scent of Ravenscar's rogues lingering in the air, I knew this was only the beginning.

The hunt was on.