The night the twins were cast out, the sky mourned.

  Thunder rolled over the hills, swallowing the cries of the city behind them. Two guards carried a basket through the storm, their torches flickering in the wind. They did not dare look at the infants inside — the sons of their king, sentenced by prophecy.

  “Leave them,” one whispered.

  “No trace,” said the other.

  They placed the basket near the riverbank and hurried away, vanishing into the storm.

  For a moment, there was only rain.

  Then — movement.

  Aegis, the great she-wolf of the hill, emerged from the reeds. Her fur was soaked, her breath sharp with worry. Instinct had dragged her here, something deeper than hunger or territory — something ancient.

  She stepped closer.

  Two newborns, cold and shivering.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Aegis lowered her head, touching their foreheads with her muzzle. Their crying softened, as though they recognized her warmth, as though something unseen had already bound their lives together.

  Even the wolves of the hill paused as if listening.

  Aegis gathered the basket between her teeth and carried it up the slope toward her den beneath a twisted fig tree. She curled herself around the children, pulling them close, letting her breath heat their tiny bodies. Through the long stormy night, she did not sleep.

  The sons of a king — thrown away.

  But Aegis would not let them die.

  The years turned like pages.

  The forest became their cradle, their school, their kingdom. The twins grew fast under Aegis’s watch:

  Romulus — fierce, bold, quick to challenge anything that moved.

  Remus — steady, thoughtful, seeing danger before it arrived.

  Aegis trained them as only a wolf could:

  How to stalk silently.

  How to sense the wind shift.

  How to read the forest’s moods.

  Romulus leapt headfirst into everything; Remus steadied him.

  Remus hesitated; Romulus pulled him forward.

  Their bond was already something unbreakable — something the forest itself took note of.

  They knew nothing of kings.

  Nothing of prophecy.

  Nothing of why they had been abandoned.

  All they knew was that

  Aegis was their mother.

  The forest was their home.

  And whatever waited beyond the hill would come for them one day —

  but they would face it together.