A loud wail rang through the ThunderClan camp, and cats from all around the clearing looked around at each other nervously. By the freshkill pile, Ferncloud's ears flattened in worry, and Dustpelt gave her a few reassuring licks, though his worried glance in the direction of the nursery revealed his own concern. Cloudtail kneaded the ground impatiently with his paws, tearing bits of grass with his claws, and Frostfur flicked her tail uneasily. Bramblepaw, who was now ThunderClan's only apprentice and would remain so until Willowpelt's newest litter reached six moons, lacked the subtlety of the older warriors and stared openly at the nursery entrance, his worry visible in his bristling pelt.

Graystripe, ThunderClan's deputy, sent Ashfur, Longtail, and Mousefur on a hunting patrol. With his tail, he beckoned Brightheart and ordered the young she-cat to go ask Cinderpelt if she needed her to gather more herbs. He was terrified, haunted by the cries of his mate Silverstream as she died during her own kitting moons ago, but he hid it well, projecting a calmness to the Clan that he did not entirely feel.

Only the elders seemed unconcerned.

"My first kitting was difficult, too," Speckletail murmured to Dappletail.

"I remember," Dappletail replied with a mrrow of laughter. "But just think of where those kits went! Lionheart died a strong and courageous deputy of ThunderClan, and Goldenflower is helping Cinderpelt deliver the new kits as we speak."

"It's why I'm not too worried for young Sandstorm," Speckletail said proudly. "She's got Goldenflower to help her."

Dappletail huffed with laughter, but her amusement faded as another loud yowl emitted from the nursery. "All the same," she said quietly, sharp eyes fixed on Brightheart, who pelted out of the nursery towards Cinderpelt's den for some herbs, "they can go wrong. Remember Leopardfoot's kits?"

"The only one of that litter who survived was Tigerstar," said Speckletail darkly. She shivered.

Dappletail growled low in her throat. "To think that after all these seasons, Goosefeather was right. He should never have survived his kithood."

Speckletail glanced across the clearing to where Bramblepaw, the son of Tigerstar and Goldenflower, sat outside the apprentice's den. He looked just as worried as any other loyal ThunderClan cat. "His kin is mine, too," she said in a low murmur to Dappletail, sounding suddenly wearier and wiser than she was. "And Bramblepaw fought valiantly against BloodClan. Perhaps the course is righting itself once more. Once, our leader left our clan to be a kittypet — and now a kittypet has earned his place as our leader. Maybe Bramblepaw is destined to right Tigerstar's wrongs."

Another piercing wail came from the nursery, this one accompanied by the soothing but stern mew of Cinderpelt and the low, urgent murmur of the clan's leader, Firestar. The elders fell silent.

The same could not be said of the spirits of the fallen warriors who gathered around the watching-pool to observe the proceedings of the living cats. One, a blue-gray she-cat, paced nervously, her ghostly pelt bristling as her clear blue gaze remained fixed on the scene below.

"My, Bluestar," purred a large, red-brown tom with stars woven through his fur, his amber eyes flashing with humor, "one would think these kits were your own with how attentive you are to them."

Bluestar flicked her tail impatiently. "To a leader, Oakheart, all her Clanmates are like her kits, or her kits' kits."

"Especially so when their father was alike to your own son, I'd imagine," Oakheart said with an amused twitch of his whiskers.

Bluestar flashed him an annoyed look but didn't argue with the strong warrior. Returning her attention to the pool in front of her, she meowed, "It's a large litter, especially for a first-time mother."

"Sandstorm is young and strong," replied a dark gray she-cat with a squashed nose and glowing orange eyes. "And she has Cinderpelt looking after her. It will not be her time for seasons yet."

"Yes, dear Yellowfang, you are correct," murmured a pretty tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat. "But even still — five kits is nearly unheard of in the clans, though I've heard kittypet queens often have litters of that size."

"Five?" Echoed Oakheart in surprise. The three ThunderClan she-cats ignored him.

"Their destinies are intertwined with that of the clans," said Yellowfang, pricking her ears.

"They each have their own role to play," agreed Bluestar. "Five kits — and five clans. It is no coincidence, of that I am certain. But what does it mean, Spottedleaf?" She asked the tortoiseshell, a trace of unease in her voice.

"I have not yet seen where their paths lead," Spottedleaf mewed, and the other cats shifted uncomfortably. "It is rare that the fate of a cat is entirely shrouded to StarClan. When I look into their futures, I can only see shadows and uncertainty — and yet, I sense that their lives will shape the future of the Clans for generations to come."

Yellowfang and Bluestar exchanged a significant look. Oakheart pummeled the ground with his paws restlessly, as if he was itching to run. Spottedleaf stared down at the watching-pool, an aching, bittersweet expression crossing her face.

Down below the watchful gaze of Silverpelt, Sandstorm let out one more pained groan. Firestar, her mate, licked her ear gently. From the other end of the nursery, Willowpelt swept her tail around Rainkit and Sootkit, who'd never seen a kitting before, while her daughter Sorrelkit craned her neck, ears pressed back on her head as Goldenflower, who was washing Sandstorm's kits, blocked her from getting a good view of the new arrivals.

"This is the last one," Cinderpelt announced, her paw resting lightly on the queen's flank. Firestar's head snapped up, and Sandstorm blinked up at her, eyes glazed with exhaustion and pain.

"There's still one more?" She croaked. Firestar said nothing, but his forest green eyes were wide with shock.

"Just one," Cinderpelt promised. Already, four kits had been born — first a tortoiseshell she-kit with patches of flame-colored fur, then a pair of toms who resembled their mother, and then another she-kit, this one a pale gray tabby, her pelt dappled with splotches of light ginger. Sandstorm's flank gave a final heave, and the last kit, a reddish-brown tom, joined his brothers and sisters. Cinderpelt gave all the kits a few rough licks, then beckoned Brightheart forward with her tail.

Brightheart dropped the herbs by Sandstorm's muzzle, and tiredly, the queen licked them up.

"Congratulations," Cinderpelt said with a warm purr, "you have five healthy kits." She blinked knowingly at Firestar, who was trembling with emotion and only had eyes for his mate and kits. "I'll be back in some time to check on Sandstorm and the kits." She swept out of the nursery, beckoning for Brightheart to come with her to give Firestar and Sandstorm some privacy.

"Five kits," said Firestar in a low voice, licking Sandstorm's ears lovingly.

"That's too many," Sandstorm groaned, though they both knew she would love them all dearly. "I've never heard of a cat having five kits."

"There were five in my litter," Firestar admitted. Sandstorm's eyes narrowed, tired but playful.

"So it's your fault then," she mewed at him. "I should have known — once a kittypet, always a kittypet, isn't it?"

Firestar might have chuckled in any other circumstance, but he was too filled with emotion at the sight in front of him to do more than let out a choked purr. He flicked her ear gently with his tail and crouched over her, looking proudly at their kits.

"They're beautiful, Sandstorm," he whispered. "Just look at them."

He met her gaze and warmth filled him as she blinked slowly up at him before turning her attention to their kits.

"Three toms and two she-kits," she said quietly, staring down at them. "I never would have thought . . ."

Firestar's voice was raspy with emotion. "Welcome to ThunderClan, little ones," he whispered. "May StarClan light your paths."