Luna followed Ariana down the narrow hallway, her legs weak but steadier than she'd expected. The herbal tea coursed through her veins, dulling the worst of her pain while leaving her mind startlingly clear. Every breath brought new scents—unfamiliar spices, smoke from a dozen different woods, the musk of creatures she'd never encountered before.
"This place..." Luna began, taking in the mismatched architecture that surrounded her. Parts of the building resembled an old hunting lodge, but other sections had clearly been cobbled together from scavenged materials—ornate carved pillars next to corrugated metal, stained glass windows beside animal hide coverings. "What exactly is Camp Forsaken?"
"Exactly what it sounds like." Ariana didn't slow her pace, the subtle serpentine movement of her gait hypnotic in the flickering light. "A camp for the forsaken. Outcasts, runaways, freaks... anyone who doesn't fit elsewhere. And everyone—" she cast a pointed glance over her shoulder, those vertical pupils contracting to slits, "—pulls their weight."
They emerged onto a covered porch, and Luna's breath caught in her throat. Below them spread what might generously be called a courtyard—a sprawling, chaotic space that defied any sense of planned design. Buildings of every conceivable style crowded together in magnificent disorder: a pagoda with jade-green tiles stood beside a round earthen structure topped with thatching; a building of gleaming white stucco with indigo trim nestled against what appeared to be a traditional longhouse. Connecting them all were rickety wooden walkways, rope bridges, and stone paths that twisted between gardens bursting with both food crops and wildflowers.
The camp buzzed with life, a riot of color and sound and movement. A woman with copper skin hammered at a forge built into what looked like a Russian banya, her movements leaving trails of sparks in the air. Near a structure that could have been plucked from a West African village, a teenage boy with gills visible on his neck worked the soil alongside a girl whose hair seemed to be made of living vines. Across the yard, beneath the sloping eaves of a building with distinctly East Asian features, a four-armed man wove silk with astonishing dexterity.
"Close your mouth before something flies in," Ariana said, but the faintest quirk at the corner of her mouth softened the words.
Luna snapped her jaw shut, realizing she'd been gaping. "I never imagined places like this existed."
"Most don't." Ariana's posture straightened almost imperceptibly, something like pride flickering in her otherwise impassive expression. "That's the point. The normal world doesn't want us, and we don't particularly want them. Now come on—we need to figure out what you can do."
"Do?"
"Everyone contributes." Ariana was already descending the porch steps, which appeared to be carved from a single massive tree trunk. "No freeloaders. We need to find your talent beyond looking tragic in the moonlight."
Luna bristled but followed, ignoring the twinge in her still-healing muscles. The morning air carried a dizzying array of cooking scents—cardamom and chili, ginger and garlic, flavors she couldn't begin to identify. Her stomach growled embarrassingly loud.
"You'll eat when you work," Ariana said without turning around, her chimera hearing apparently as sharp as Luna's own.
As they crossed the courtyard, Luna marveled at the diversity of beings around her. Most paid them little attention, too absorbed in their tasks. Those who did glance their way gave Luna brief, assessing looks before returning to their work—neither welcoming nor hostile, merely noting her presence the way one might acknowledge a change in the weather.
Ariana moved with assured grace through the labyrinthine paths, pointing out buildings and work areas with terse explanations. "Kitchens—mainly Nigerian and Ethiopian influence, though Chang runs the morning shift and her dumplings are worth fighting for. Laundry—don't mix the whites and coloreds unless you want to get on Fatima's bad side, and trust me, you don't. Weapon forge. Healer's quarters—combination of Western medicine, traditional Chinese remedies, and whatever Thorvald grows in his garden. Vegetable fields—we grow everything from lotus root to teff. Meat smoking shed. Tannery's downwind, for obvious reasons."
They passed the forge where the copper-skinned woman worked. Up close, Luna could see that her hair literally smoldered at the ends, embers rather than curls. She hammered a glowing piece of metal with rhythmic precision, each strike sending a cascade of sparks into the air that seemed to dance around her without ever touching her skin.
"Ember," Ariana nodded toward the woman. "Fire mage from somewhere in the Caribbean—she doesn't talk about her past much. Our blacksmith, weapons master, and resident pyromaniac. Don't touch her when she's working unless you enjoy third-degree burns."
As if hearing her name, Ember looked up. Her eyes were molten amber with flecks of gold that shifted like flames. Sweat glistened on her dark skin, which seemed to glow from within with contained heat.
"New arrival?" she called over the music of her hammer on metal.
"Luna," Ariana said. "Wolf shifter. Thorvald's latest stray."
Ember snorted, returning to her work with a fluid grace that made the brutal task seem like a dance. "Of course it is. What doesn't that man drag home?" Despite her words, there was a warmth in her tone that belied their harshness. She glanced at Luna again, those fiery eyes appraising. "Ever work metal?"
Luna shook her head.
"Pity. Could use an apprentice with some muscle." Ember flipped the glowing metal with tongs, revealing an intricate pattern emerging from the chaos of her hammering. "If you've got the temperament and don't mind the heat, come by after you're settled. Otherwise, stay clear when I'm in the zone."
Ariana was already moving on, weaving between a group of children—some with obvious non-human traits—who raced past carrying buckets of water, laughing in at least three different languages.
"Don't take it personally," Ariana said as they stepped onto a narrow bridge made of rope and wooden slats, swaying slightly over a bubbling stream. "Ember's practically a social butterfly by camp standards."
Luna followed, trying not to look down at the water rushing below. "Everyone seems busy."
"Winter's coming. High altitude means early frost." Ariana navigated the bridge without hesitation, her balance perfect despite the swaying. "We survive because we prepare. Because everyone contributes."
They continued along a path lined with stones painted in bright geometric patterns, passing gardens where plants Luna had never seen before grew in careful arrangements. Workers of all descriptions tended the crops—some looking almost human, others bearing wings or scales or extra limbs. Luna noticed how the gardens themselves seemed to reflect different cultural growing practices—raised beds alongside sunken ones, trellises next to carefully banked mounds.
The path opened onto the lakeshore, where a muscular young man in board shorts was hauling in a fishing net laden with the day's catch. His movements were efficient yet relaxed, suggesting both experience and a natural ease in his own body. Golden-brown skin gleamed in the morning light, and as he worked, Luna noticed faint outlines of what appeared to be suction cup scars dotting his shoulders and back.
"Seid," Ariana introduced, her tone carrying a hint of eye-rolling. "Kraken shifter. Greek mother, Hawaiian father, surfer bro attitude. Resident fisherman, swimming instructor, and self-appointed 'beach philosopher'—which mostly means he quotes Jack Kerouac while pretending to be stupider than he is."
Seid looked up as they approached, pushing wet sandy-blonde hair from his eyes. Despite hauling what must have been hundreds of pounds of fish, he barely seemed to be exerting himself.
"The new wolf awakens!" he called cheerfully, his smile dazzlingly white against his tanned skin. "Welcome to paradise, by which I mean this cold-ass mountain lake that's somehow still better than the outside world." He winked at Ariana. "Our resident ray of sunshine giving you the grand tour?"
"Trying to," Ariana replied flatly. "Some of us have actual work to do rather than playing in water all day."
"Playing?" Seid feigned offense, effortlessly hoisting the bulging net onto a wooden rack constructed in a distinctly Polynesian style. "I'll have you know these fish are the product of deep communion with the spiritual essence of the lake. Also, really good bait."
Luna found herself fighting a smile despite her exhaustion. There was something infectious about his easy-going nature, a welcome counterpoint to Ariana's severity.
"Seid handles anything water-related," Ariana continued, ignoring his theatrics. "Fishing, water purification, hydropower maintenance. He's also got three advanced degrees in marine biology, though he'd rather die than admit it."
"Four, actually," Seid corrected with another wink. "The fourth one's in comparative literature, which is why I speak fluent bullshit." He studied Luna with surprisingly intelligent eyes. "You look better. Less corpse-like than when Thorvald carried you in."
"Thanks... I think," Luna replied, unsure whether to be amused or offended.
"Highest compliment around here," Seid assured her, already turning back to his catch. "Most newcomers look like death warmed over. You're upgrading to merely half-dead." He said with a wink as he returned to sorting his fish. His hands were worn with years of experience as they deftly maneuvered the knife around the small, delicate fish bodies
"Let's keep moving," Ariana said, already 3 steps away from Luna.
As they continued their circuit of the camp, Luna began to understand its organization—or rather, its organized chaos. The place operated like a small, self-contained village, but one built by people from a hundred different cultures, each adding their own techniques and traditions to the mix. There was no visible hierarchy that she could discern, no alpha or leader giving orders, yet everything functioned with a peculiar efficiency born of necessity.
"How many people live here?" she asked as they passed what appeared to be a school where children of various non-human appearances sat in a circle listening to a lesson being taught by a woman whose blue-black skin was covered in luminous patterns that shifted as she spoke.
"About forty permanent residents," Ariana replied, ducking under a clothesline strung with garments of every description. "Another twenty who come and go. Traders, mostly, who travel between hidden communities like ours."
"And everyone just... works together? Without leaders?"
Ariana gave her a sidelong glance. "We have a council for disputes and major decisions. Mostly, people do what needs doing because the alternative is freezing or starving." She paused, considering. "It's not about hierarchy. It's about knowledge. The people who know how to do something teach others. The strong lift heavy things. The clever solve problems. The fast run messages."
"And you?" Luna asked, curious despite herself. "What do you do here?"
For the first time, Ariana seemed slightly discomfited. "I watch. I listen. I hunt when meat's needed." She quickened her pace. "I'm good at seeing things others miss."
They approached a section of the camp where the scents of herbs and medicine mingled with the rich aroma of freshly turned earth. The gardens here were meticulously maintained, plants organized in patterns that seemed to follow some logic Luna couldn't discern. At the center stood a structure that blended elements of a Scandinavian log cabin with intricate woodcarvings that spoke of Indigenous influence.
Thorvald knelt among the plants, his massive frame somehow fitting perfectly in the space despite his size. His hands—large enough to crush stone—delicately tended seedlings with a gentleness that seemed incongruous. He looked up as they approached, his handsome face breaking into a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his amber eyes.
"Ah! The tour continues." He straightened, dwarfing both women with his height. "Has Ariana been civil? Blink twice if you need rescue." His voice carried the faintest accent Luna couldn't place, melodic and resonant.
"I've been perfectly professional," Ariana said before Luna could respond.
Thorvald chuckled, the sound like distant thunder. "High praise indeed." He gestured to the garden. "I'm just tending to the medicinal herbs. Most of what healed you came from this patch, in fact." He indicated a purple-flowering plant. "Russian sage for inflammation." He pointed to a delicate white blossom. "Chinese foxglove for cardiac support." A red-berried bush. "Hawthorn from my grandmother's homeland."
"Thorvald handles most of our medical needs," Ariana explained. "Also some cooking, poetry no one asked for, and enough tea to drown the camp."
"You forgot meditation instructor and conflict mediator," Thorvald added mildly. "Not everyone solves their problems by staring silently until the other person gets uncomfortable and leaves."
Ariana's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
Luna found her gaze drawn to Thorvald's careful hands as he returned to his work, somehow making those massive fingers perform delicate tasks with the seedlings. There was an incongruity to him that fascinated her—his ogre-like size combined with such precision and gentleness.
"We should continue," Ariana prompted. "Still need to find out what she can do."
"Don't push her too hard," Thorvald cautioned. "She's still recovering."
"She looks fine to me," Ariana countered. "And looking fine doesn't feed anyone."
Luna interjected, "I want to help. What needs doing?"
Thorvald's eyes crinkled with approval. "The healer's garden always needs tending, if you have a green thumb."
Luna thought of the pack's territory, how she'd always gravitated toward the woods rather than their more civilized spaces. "I don't know much about gardens. But I know forests. Hunting. Tracking."
"We've got hunters," Ariana said. "But if you're any good, Kall could use help. He handles our meat supply, but he's getting older. Knees aren't what they used to be."
Thorvald nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps you could join tomorrow's hunting party? Test your skills?"
"I'd like that," Luna said, suddenly eager to prove her worth.
They continued the tour, visiting the communal dining hall—a sprawling structure with architectural elements from at least a dozen different cultures, filled with mismatched tables and chairs and smelling of a hundred delicious things. The bathhouse came next, a multi-chambered wonder fed by a hot spring, with bathing traditions from around the world represented in separate sections.
As the day wore on, Luna's head spun with new names and faces. Nadia, a Russian baba yaga who ran the camp's distillery with terrifying efficiency. Kwame, whose mastery of West African drumming literally made plants grow faster. Zhang Wei, whose shadow sometimes moved independently of his body and who crafted the finest silks Luna had ever seen.
By late afternoon, they'd circled the entire camp. Luna was exhausted again, her still-recovering body protesting the exertion. Ariana led her back to her cabin, pausing at the door—a beautifully carved piece of wood that seemed to tell a story Luna couldn't read.
"Rest. Dinner's at sundown in the main hall." She fixed Luna with that unblinking stare. "Tomorrow, you start pulling your weight. Figure out what you can do that benefits the camp."
Luna nodded, struggling to read the chimera's expressionless face. "Thank you for the tour."
Ariana gave a noncommittal grunt that might have been acknowledgment. "This place works because everyone contributes. No matter what you are, no matter where you came from—here, you're judged by what you do for the community."
She turned to leave, then paused, her profile sharp against the fading light. "Whatever you're running from, don't bring it here. We've all got pasts. Leave yours where it belongs."
With that, she was gone, the subtle sideways sway of her hips the only hint of her chimera nature. Luna stood in the doorway, watching her disappear around a corner, then entered her cabin. After the cacophony of the camp, the silence felt almost oppressive.
Luna sank onto the edge of her cot, head spinning with everything she'd seen. Camp Forsaken was unlike anything she'd ever experienced—a patchwork community bound together not by blood or species or homeland, but by necessity and shared difference. No rigid hierarchy, no politics, just a hundred different ways of being, somehow functioning together in glorious, chaotic harmony.
It was strange. Overwhelming. Liberating.
Luna lay back on the cot, staring at the rough-hewn ceiling with its curious carvings—protections, perhaps, or simply decoration. For the first time since fleeing her pack, she felt a glimmer of possibility. Her old life was gone, but perhaps here, among these marvelous misfits, she could build something new. Something that was hers by choice rather than birth.
She closed her eyes, letting exhaustion pull her under. Tomorrow she would hunt. Tomorrow she would begin to earn her place. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would learn who she might become when she wasn't defined by a pack that never truly wanted her.