The early morning light filtered through the blinds of the sheriff's office, casting faint, uneven stripes across the desk where Emma Swan sat, her fingers tapping lightly against the wood. Her sharp gaze was locked on Kathryn, who sat across from her, wrapped in a blanket the medics had given her earlier. Kathryn's hands trembled slightly as she clutched a cup of tea, her eyes glassy and distant.
David Nolan, the sheriff, leaned against the corner of the desk, his arms crossed and his face a mix of concern and quiet frustration. He'd seen survivors like Kathryn before—haunted by memories they couldn't quite grasp, trapped in the liminal space between fear and recovery.
"I don't remember much," Kathryn whispered, her voice cracking. "It's like… it's all in pieces. I was in someone's basement. Dark. Cold. There was a smell…" She shuddered, her words faltering. "Rust and mold. That's all I can remember."
Emma exchanged a glance with David, her brows furrowed. "Kathryn," she said gently, leaning forward, "think about the last thing you remember before waking up in that basement. Did you see anyone? Hear anything?"
Kathryn shook her head, her fingers tightening around the cup. "No faces. Just… sounds. Footsteps above me. A door opening and closing. It felt like days. Maybe weeks. I don't know. I—" Her voice broke, and she looked down, tears spilling onto her cheeks.
David stepped in, his voice calm and reassuring. "You're safe now. Whoever did this can't hurt you anymore. Ruby found you behind the diner—do you remember how you got there?"
Kathryn's eyes flickered with confusion. "Behind the diner?" She shook her head slowly. "I don't remember. One moment I was in the basement, and the next… I woke up outside. It's blank."
Emma sighed, leaning back in her chair. She hated when cases felt like chasing shadows. Kathryn's amnesia, whether from trauma or something more sinister, only deepened the mystery. She glanced at the clock, the weight of the unanswered questions settling heavily on her shoulders.
The faint hum of the hospital's machines filled the room where Regina Mills lay, her breathing steady but shallow. Her face, though pale and framed by loose strands of dark hair, retained its air of quiet strength. Henry, perched in a chair beside her bed, held a book in his lap, its cover worn and well-loved. He flipped a page, his small fingers tracing the words as he read aloud.
"And that's when she saw the wild horse galloping toward Snow White," Henry said, his voice steady and clear. "Regina didn't think. She just acted. She grabbed the reins of her own horse and chased after it."
He glanced at his mother, hoping for a flicker of recognition, but she remained still. Undeterred, Henry continued reading, weaving the story of a young Regina who had once been innocent, her heart unburdened by darkness.
In his mind, the scene came alive: Regina, barely nineteen, her riding cloak billowing behind her as she urged her horse faster. Snow White, no older than twelve, clung desperately to the reins of her panicked mare, her cries for help carried by the wind. The meadow stretched wide and golden under the sun, its grasses swaying like waves.
"Daniel was there, too," Henry narrated, his voice softening. "He stood in the distance, shouting pointers to Regina. 'Steady her reins! Don't pull too hard!'"
In her unconscious state, Regina stirred slightly. The edges of Henry's voice blended with the faint echoes of her memories, pulling her into a dream.
The meadow unfolded around her, vivid and golden, the air filled with the scent of wildflowers and freshly turned earth. She was on horseback, her younger self—unscarred by betrayal and grief—urging her steed forward. The thundering hooves of the panicked horse carrying Snow White were loud in her ears, a drumbeat of urgency.
"I've got you, Snow!" she called, her voice high and clear. Her arms strained as she leaned forward, her fingers gripping the reins tightly.
"Steady, Regina!" Daniel's voice rang out from the edge of the field. He stood tall, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched her with pride.
Regina felt the wind whip past her face, the exhilaration of the chase mixing with her determination. She reached out, her fingers brushing the reins of Snow White's horse just as the meadow seemed to shift around her.
The golden light of the meadow darkened, the vibrant greens and yellows fading into muted grays. The air grew colder, and the sound of the horses' hooves was replaced by a distant hum. Regina's surroundings blurred, and she found herself standing in the eerie stillness of the Hollow Veil.
A figure emerged from the mist—Selene. Her white-and-silver fur shimmered faintly in the half-light, her piercing silver and ocean-blue eyes locking onto Regina with an intensity that made her chest tighten.
As Selene disappeared into the mist, another figure replaced her in the dream: Leonard George. His towering frame and piercing golden eyes brought a suffocating weight. He stood like a dark monolith, exuding the oppressive dominance that had once crushed Regina under his rule. She remembered the cold stone of his throne room, the way his voice cut through the air with cruel precision. Leonard had been more than an alpha; he had been a tyrant.
Regina's chest tightened as the memories came unbidden: her forced engagement to Leonard, orchestrated by her mother, Cora, under the guise of securing power for the pack. "It's for the good of us all," Cora had said, her voice smooth and unyielding. Regina had wanted to refuse, but she had no choice. She had grown up in isolation, her every move dictated by her mother's ambitions.
Leonard's cruelty had been evident from the start. He ruled with an iron fist, using fear to maintain control. Regina had tried to mitigate his harsh rule, working quietly to protect those who suffered under his tyranny, but she had been powerless to truly oppose him. Her days were filled with training—Leonard's best guards drilling her relentlessly in combat, pushing her to master her wolf form. Nights were worse, filled with the weight of his threats and her growing desperation.
But amidst the darkness, there had been a light: Daniel, the kind and hardworking farmer who had tended Leonard's horses. He had been Regina's solace, their connection pure and free from the oppressive politics of the pack. Together, they had dreamed of a life beyond Leonard's reach.
The dream shifted again, and Regina saw Maeve, heavily pregnant and struggling under Leonard's disdain. The low-ranking werewolf had been treated as little more than a burden, but Regina had seen her strength and kindness. Maeve's presence stirred something in Regina—a determination to fight for more than herself, to stand against the injustices that surrounded her.
Henry's voice pulled her back, steady and warm. "And that's how you saved Snow White," he finished, glancing up at Regina with a hopeful smile.
Her fingers twitched, the faintest movement, but Henry saw it. His heart leapt, and he leaned closer. "Mom? Can you hear me?"
Though her eyes remained closed, the tension in her face seemed to soften. Somewhere between dreams and reality, Regina's mind held onto the threads of both—the innocence of her past, the weight of her guilt, and the unanswered questions that loomed like shadows.
The air in the stables was thick with the scent of hay and leather, mingled with the faint musk of horses. Regina leaned against the wooden wall, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She had stolen away from the pack's suffocating watchful eyes for a few precious moments of peace with Daniel. He stood a few feet away, his shirt sleeves rolled up as he carefully brushed one of the horses, his movements methodical and soothing. The rhythm of the brush against the horse's coat was almost hypnotic.
"We could leave," Daniel said softly, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of desperation in his tone. "Just the two of us. We could go far away, start over somewhere no one knows us."
Regina turned her gaze to him, her chest tightening at the earnest hope in his eyes. "And leave them to him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn't need to say Leonard's name for the weight of it to settle between them.
Daniel paused, his hand stilling against the horse's flank. "You can't save everyone, Regina," he said gently. "But you can save yourself. You don't owe him anything. You don't owe any of them anything."
Tears stung her eyes as she shook her head. "It's not that simple, Daniel. If I leave, he'll take it out on the pack. On the humans. He'll find another way to tighten his grip." She stepped closer to him, her voice breaking. "You don't know what he's capable of. You haven't seen what I've seen."
Daniel set the brush down and turned to face her. He reached out, his calloused hands gently cupping her face. "I know enough to see what it's doing to you," he said softly. "You deserve more than this. You deserve to be free."
Regina leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek. For a moment, she let herself imagine it: a life where Leonard's shadow didn't loom over her, where she could be with Daniel without fear. But reality was always there, cold and unyielding.
"I can't," she whispered, pulling away. "Not yet."
Daniel's shoulders slumped, but he didn't argue. Instead, he stepped closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Then I'll wait," he said. "As long as it takes."
Months passed, and their secret meetings became a lifeline for Regina. The stables became their haven, a place where she could let her guard down, if only for a little while. But the weight of Leonard's rule pressed heavier with each passing day. The pack lived in fear, their every move dictated by Leonard's brutal whims. Humans fared no better, their lives treated as expendable resources.
Regina did what she could to mitigate his cruelty, but it was never enough. Leonard's power was absolute, and he wielded it mercilessly. Each day, she felt her resolve hardening, her anger simmering beneath the surface.
And then Leonard found out.
The sky was a dull gray the morning the pack was summoned to the central grounds. Regina's stomach churned with unease as she joined the gathering wolves, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Leonard stood at the center, his imposing frame radiating authority. His golden eyes scanned the crowd, sharp and calculating.
"Bring him," Leonard commanded, his voice cold and detached.
Two guards emerged from the shadows, dragging Daniel between them. His face was bloodied, his shirt torn, but his eyes burned with defiance. Regina's heart stopped as she stepped forward instinctively, only to be held back by another guard.
"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please, no."
Leonard's gaze landed on her, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. "This," he said, gesturing to Daniel, "is what happens when someone defies their alpha. When someone forgets their place."
"Let him go!" Regina shouted, struggling against the guard's grip. "He's done nothing wrong!"
Leonard's smile faded, replaced by a cold, unfeeling expression. "He's guilty of making you forget who you are," he said. "And for that, he will pay."
Regina's screams echoed through the clearing as Leonard grabbed Daniel by the throat, lifting him off the ground effortlessly. The pack watched in stunned silence, their fear rendering them immobile.
"Please!" Regina begged, tears streaming down her face. "Don't do this!"
Leonard ignored her. With a sickening crack, he snapped Daniel's neck and tossed his lifeless body to the ground. The sound of his body hitting the dirt was deafening in the silence that followed.
Regina fell to her knees, her vision blurred by tears. Her hands clawed at the dirt as a raw, guttural scream tore from her throat. The grief was overwhelming, suffocating. But beneath it, something else stirred. A spark of rage.
Her body trembled as heat surged through her veins. Her vision darkened, and when she looked up, her eyes were no longer the warm amber they had once been. They burned a vivid, menacing red. The pack recoiled, whispers rippling through the crowd.
Leonard stared at her, his expression unreadable. "Remember this moment, Regina," he said, his voice low and venomous. "This is the price of disobedience."
In the distance, the faint cries of a newborn pierced through the tension. Regina's head snapped toward the sound, her rage momentarily giving way to confusion. A tent stood at the edge of the clearing, its flaps partially open. Inside, Maeve, a low-ranking werewolf, cradled her newborn daughter.
Maeve's face was pale, her body trembling from the strain of childbirth. The baby in her arms was small but healthy, her tiny cries filling the space. The juxtaposition of life and death was almost too much to bear.
Regina rose unsteadily to her feet, her fists clenched at her sides. She turned back to Leonard, her red eyes blazing. "You'll regret this," she said, her voice low and steady.
Leonard chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "We'll see."
As the pack began to disperse, Regina lingered, her gaze fixed on Daniel's lifeless body. Her grief was a storm, her rage the thunder that followed. She knelt beside him, her fingers brushing against his bloodied face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I should have run with you."
In the tent, Maeve's soft lullaby carried through the clearing, a fragile thread of hope in the midst of despair. Regina turned her gaze toward the sound, a newfound determination hardening her resolve.
Leonard had taken everything from her. But he had also awakened something far more dangerous: a wolf with nothing left to lose.
The cries of the newborn echoed faintly through the dense mist of the tent. Maeve, cradling her daughter, gazed down at the baby with a mixture of awe and trepidation. Selene's tiny fingers curled instinctively around Maeve's thumb, her fragile form perfect in every way despite the whispered disdain from outside. The soft glow of the lantern illuminated Maeve's tired face, her eyes shadowed with worry. She knew Leonard would come.
And he did.
The tent flaps were thrown open, the bitter night air rushing in as King Alpha Leonard , towering and cruel, stepped inside. His golden eyes swept over Maeve and the child with a cold detachment that sent a shiver through her.
"So, this is what I was disturbed for?" Leonard's voice was low and sharp, cutting through the stillness like a blade. "A weakling born to a mother."
Maeve clutched Selene closer, her knuckles white. "She's healthy," she said, her voice trembling but steady. "And strong."
Leonard stepped closer, his boots heavy against the dirt floor. He crouched, his large frame towering even in his lowered stance, and peered at the infant. "Strong?" he scoffed, reaching out to prod Selene's tiny arm. The baby whimpered, and Maeve flinched. "She's small. Delicate. Like her mother."
Regina stood at the entrance of the tent, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wanted to intervene, to pull Leonard away and shield Maeve and Selene from his venomous gaze, but she knew it wasn't the time. Not yet. Her face remained a mask of composure, though her heart hammered with rage.
"Leave her," Regina said finally, her voice low but commanding enough to draw Leonard's attention. "Maeve just gave birth. She needs rest."
Leonard's golden eyes flicked to Regina, narrowing slightly. There was a long pause before he rose to his full height, towering over both women. "Rest won't make her or the child less useless," he muttered, turning toward the exit. "But enjoy your reprieve while you can, Maeve. Disloyalty is not forgotten."
Maeve's shoulders sagged with relief as Leonard left, but Regina remained tense. She knew the warning in Leonard's words was more than idle.
That night, Regina's resolve hardened. Daniel's death still burned like an open wound, and the sight of Leonard's cruelty toward Maeve and Selene only added fuel to the fire. She couldn't overthrow him outright—not yet—but she could start small. She could protect those who needed her.
In the days that followed, Regina trained harder than ever. Her mornings began before the sun rose, her body aching from relentless drills under the watchful eye of Viktor, Leonard's top guard. Viktor, though gruff, saw something in Regina that others overlooked—a strength that came not just from physical power but from her unyielding spirit.
"You hesitate," Viktor barked during one sparring session, his blade narrowly missing her arm. "That'll get you killed."
Regina gritted her teeth, stepping into his next strike and deflecting it with her own weapon. "I'm learning," she replied, her voice steady despite her labored breaths.
"Learn faster," Viktor said, lowering his blade. He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You're tougher than you let on. Don't waste it."
One evening, Regina approached Leonard in private. She hoped—foolishly, perhaps—that she could reason with him, that appealing to his sense of duty as an alpha might make him see the danger of his cruelty.
"Leonard," she began cautiously, stepping into his chambers. The firelight cast flickering shadows across his sharp features as he lounged in a chair, a glass of wine in hand. "I need to speak with you about Maeve and her daughter."
Leonard's eyes lifted lazily to meet hers, and he smirked. "Do you?"
Regina nodded, swallowing her fear. "They're no threat to you. If you let them go, it would show mercy. Strength."
Leonard's smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, hard glare. He rose slowly, his towering frame looming over her. "You think strength comes from mercy?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. "Strength comes from control. From fear."
Before Regina could react, his hand shot out, striking her across the face. The force of the blow sent her stumbling, and she caught herself against the edge of the table.
"Do not mistake your position," Leonard snarled, gripping her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. "You are here because I allow it. You breathe because I permit it. Don't test me again."
Regina stared back at him, her eyes blazing crimson eyes with unspoken defiance. But she said nothing, nodding stiffly as he released her.
A few nights later, under the cover of darkness, Regina made her move before Leonard had other plans with them. She slipped into Maeve's tent, her heart pounding as she handed the woman a small satchel filled with supplies—food, water, a map, and a dagger.
"There's a path to the north," Regina whispered. "Leonard's patrols don't go that far. Follow it until you reach the river, then head east. You'll find shelter there."
Maeve's eyes filled with tears as she clutched the bag. "Regina, I… I don't know how to thank you."
"Don't," Regina said firmly. "Just go. And keep her safe."
Maeve nodded, her grip tightening on Selene. She hesitated for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Regina's cheek. "You have a good heart, Regina. Don't let him take that from you."
Regina watched as Maeve disappeared into the night, her figure swallowed by the shadows. She stood there for a long moment, the weight of her actions settling heavily on her shoulders. For the first time, she had defied Leonard in a way that mattered. And it wouldn't be the last.
Weeks later, the aftermath of one of Leonard's raids reached Regina's ears. The neighboring pack had been decimated, their territory burned and their members slaughtered under the guise of maintaining dominance. Among the wreckage, Regina found a boy—no older than twelve—huddled beneath the charred remains of a collapsed hut.
His name was Mason, and his eyes were wide with terror as Regina knelt beside him. "It's okay," she said softly, holding out her hand. "You're safe now."
Mason hesitated before taking her hand, his small fingers gripping hers tightly. Regina led him back to the pack, her jaw tightening when Leonard greeted them with a sneer.
"Another stray?" Leonard said, circling the boy like a predator. "He stays as long as he proves useful. If not, he's gone."
Regina stepped between Leonard and Mason, her eyes blazing. "He'll stay," she said firmly. "And he'll be useful."
Leonard's golden eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more, turning and stalking away.
From that day forward, Mason became Regina's responsibility. She taught him how to survive, how to fight, and most importantly, how to hold onto hope in the face of darkness. Her bond with him grew quickly, and she found herself becoming fiercely protective of the boy.
In time, others began to look to Regina for guidance. Quietly, subtly, she had begun to form her own pack within Leonard's. They were not yet strong enough to challenge him, but the seeds of rebellion had been sown.