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I don’t remember my name before Lupa found me. Whoever I had been, whatever life I had lived, it had all been wiped away like footprints in the sand. My earliest memory is of cold dirt beneath my bare feet and the ache of an empty stomach gnawing at me. The forest around me seemed endless, every shadow hiding a threat I couldn’t see. I don’t know how I survived those first days, stumbling aimlessly, too frightened to cry out.And then, there was her.Lupa emerged from the shadows like a ghost, her golden eyes burning through the darkness. She was enormous, her shoulders taller than any wolf I’d ever seen, her fur sleek and silver as the moon. For a moment, I thought she might kill me. A small, weak child lost in the woods? I would’ve been an easy meal.But she didn’t strike. She simply stared at me, her gaze sharp and unyielding, as though she could see straight through to the marrow of my bones.“You survived,” her voice rumbled in my mind, low and commanding. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. A judgment. “Good. You will need to survive much more.”She turned and walked away, her movements smooth and deliberate. I didn’t know what else to do, so I followed.Lupa’s den was deep within the forest, hidden beneath a network of twisted roots and tangled undergrowth. It wasn’t a comforting place. The air was damp and heavy, filled with the scents of earth and fur. The growls of wolves echoed faintly through the tunnels, though I never saw them, only their glowing eyes watching from the shadows.From the very beginning, Lupa made it clear that this was not a place of safety.“You will not be coddled here,” she said on my first night, her golden gaze fixed on me. “You will not be protected. You will learn to protect yourself, or you will die. The gods have plans for you, child. Plans that do not involve weakness.”She didn’t ask for my name. She didn’t seem to care who I had been. Instead, she gave me a new one.“You are Pearl,” she said, her voice sharp and decisive. “Like the gem, formed through struggle. Small, unassuming, but unbreakable.”I didn’t argue. The name felt strange at first, but it grew on me, fitting like a piece of armor I didn’t know I needed.Training began the next day.“Run,” Lupa commanded as the sun rose over the forest.I blinked at her, confused. “Where?”“Anywhere,” she growled. “Just run.”She didn’t give me time to ask more questions. Her massive body lunged forward, teeth snapping just inches from my arm. I screamed and bolted, my bare feet pounding against the dirt.The forest became a blur of trees and shadows as I ran, every muscle in my body burning. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I couldn’t stop. Every time I thought I might collapse, I heard her growl behind me, felt her presence like a storm at my back.After what felt like hours, I stumbled into a clearing and fell to my knees, gasping for air. Lupa appeared moments later, her breath steady and calm as if she hadn’t just chased me halfway through the woods.“You survived,” she said, her voice cool and detached. “Barely.”That was the pattern of my days. Lupa woke me before dawn and pushed me until long after the sun had set. Running, climbing, sparring—every moment was a test, every failure met with a sharp reprimand.“Bravery is not born,” she said one evening as we sat by a fire, the embers casting flickering shadows on her fur. “It is forged. Fear will always be with you, Pearl. The question is whether you will let it rule you.”The lessons weren’t just about physical endurance. Lupa wanted me to think.“A warrior’s strength is useless without a sharp mind,” she said during one of our sparring sessions. She circled me, her movements smooth and deliberate, as I held a crude wooden sword in my trembling hands.I lunged at her, and she easily sidestepped, knocking the sword from my grip with a swipe of her paw.“Again,” she barked.I retrieved the sword and tried again, this time watching her movements more carefully. When she lunged at me, I stepped aside, using her momentum to throw her off balance.For the first time, she stumbled.“Good,” she said, a glimmer of approval in her eyes. “You are learning.”It wasn’t enough to be strong or fast. Lupa wanted me to be cunning, to think two steps ahead of my opponent.One day, she led me to a clearing where a massive boar grazed beneath the trees. Its tusks gleamed in the sunlight, each one as long as my arm.“You will kill it,” Lupa said, sitting back on her haunches.I stared at her, wide-eyed. “How?”“That is for you to figure out,” she replied, her tone calm but firm.The boar was faster and stronger than me, and it didn’t take long for it to notice my presence. It charged, and I barely managed to dive behind a tree before its tusks tore through the bark.But panic didn’t cloud my mind—not anymore. I watched the boar carefully, noting the way it lowered its head before every charge, the way its movements slowed when it grew tired. Timing my move carefully, I lured it toward a cluster of trees. When it lunged again, its tusks became stuck between the trunks.Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and finished it with a spear Lupa had made me craft.When I returned to the den with the kill, she nodded once. “Clever,” she said. “A true predator does not waste energy. You are beginning to understand.”Over time, the wolves began to accept me.At first, they kept their distance, watching me from the shadows with their glowing eyes. But slowly, they grew bolder. The first to approach me was a gray female with piercing blue eyes. She nudged my hand with her nose one evening as I sat by the fire, and I tentatively reached out to stroke her fur.After that, the pack became my constant companions. They followed me on hunts, their presence a silent comfort. They taught me things Lupa didn’t—how to rely on my instincts, how to read the subtle language of movement and sound.I began to feel like one of them, part of something larger than myself.“You are a pup of the pack,” Lupa said one night as we lay beneath the stars, the wolves gathered around us. “But you are also more. You are human and wolf, a bridge between the two. Embrace it.”When I turned seven, Lupa led me to the edge of the forest. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and earth, and the distant howl of a wolf carried through the trees.“It is time,” she said, her voice tinged with something I couldn’t quite place.“Time for what?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.“To leave.”I stared at her, my chest tightening. “I don’t want to go.”“You must,” she said firmly. “The gods have plans for you, plans that extend beyond this forest. You are ready.”I wanted to argue, to beg her to let me stay, but I knew it was useless. Lupa’s word was final.“Where am I going?”“To Camp Jupiter,” she said. “There, you will learn what it means to serve Rome. But remember: you are not just another legionnaire. You are something greater. Never forget that.”The pack gathered around me as I prepared to leave, their eyes watching me with something like sadness. The gray wolf, my first companion, nudged my hand, and I knelt to hug her one last time.“Will I ever see you again?” I asked, my voice trembling.Lupa tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Perhaps. But you will not need me.”She nudged me forward, and I took my first steps down the path that would lead me to Camp Jupiter. As I walked, her voice echoed in my mind:“Courage. Ingenuity. Loyalty. These are the marks of a true warrior. You have them all. Do not waste them.”I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. But as I left the forest behind, I knew I would carry her lessons—and her strength—with me wherever I went.