Rafet's boots scraped against the uneven cobblestones, each step a reminder of another day of brutal fights. His muscles ached, but the weight of the coin purse at his hip brought a grim satisfaction. Each bruise, each drop of blood spilled in the pits of the Fifth Circle was a small price to pay for his pack's survival.

He ducked into a narrow side street, the pungent smell of herbs and tinctures guiding him to the apothecary's shop. The bell above the door chimed softly as he entered, and the shopkeeper looked up, initially surprised at the sight of his imposing figure. 

"I need medicine," Rafet said, his voice low and gruff. "For fever and cough."

The apothecary nodded, busying himself with various bottles and powders. Rafet's gaze wandered over the shelves, filled with mostly mundane remedies. Where he had come from, their healers would be well versed in knowledge passed down through generations. 

"Here," the shopkeeper said, presenting a small vial of dark liquid. "This should bring down the fever. And these herbs, steeped in hot water, will ease the cough."

Rafet paid without haggling, the silver coins clinking heavily on the counter. The medicine was expensive, but little Ayşe's life was worth far more than any amount of shillings.

As he left the shop, a thought struck him. Ayşe had been so brave throughout her illness—she deserved a small reward for her strength. His eyes fell on a nearby confectionery, its window display filled with colorful sweets. A ghost of a smile played at his lips as he entered.

The bell tinkled merrily, and the scent of caramel and chocolate enveloped him. Rafet's keen eyes scanned the jars of boiled sweets, sticks of rock, and delicate sugar mice.

The shopkeeper, a plump woman with rosy cheeks, beamed at him. "What can I get for you, sir?"

Rafet began to feel somewhat out of his depth. "Something... nice. For a sick child."

The woman's smile softened. "Ah, I have just the thing!" She reached for a glass jar filled with striped, round sweets and carefully scooped a handful into a small paper bag. "These are peppermint humbugs, sir. They're quite popular with the little ones, and the peppermint is said to be soothing for sore throats and upset stomachs."

As she tied the bag with a neat bow, the shopkeeper continued, "They're hard boiled sweets, you see. They'll last a while, giving the poor dear something to enjoy as she recovers."

Rafet nodded, grateful for the explanation. The peppermint smell was sharp, yet sweet, reminding him of the cool mountain breeze he had grown accustomed to as a child. 

With his purchases secured, Rafet made his way back to the abandoned warehouse that served as their temporary den. With several more fights lined up, he hoped to save enough to move his pack to more proper tenements. In the far corner, Ayşe lay on a makeshift bed, caught in a fit of coughing. Her mother, Fatma, looked up as Rafet approached, wracked with worry. 

"I have the medicine," Rafet said softly, kneeling beside the child. He uncorked the vial, gently lifting Ayşe's head to help her drink. "This will make you feel better, little one."

Ayşe's eyes fluttered open, glassy with fever. "Uncle Rafet?" she whispered, her voice weak.

"Yes, it's me," he replied, his usual gruff demeanor softening. "Drink this, and then rest. You'll be running with the pack again before you know it."

As Ayşe sipped the medicine, Rafet turned to Fatma. "The herbs need to be steeped in hot water. It will help with the cough."

Fatma nodded, taking the packet of herbs. "Thank you, Rafet. I don't know what we'd do without you."

Rafet grunted, uncomfortable with the praise. He wasn't their savior—he was simply doing what needed to be done. As Fatma busied herself preparing the herbal tea, Rafet sat with Ayşe, keeping her hand in his. 

"I have something for you," he said, producing the bag of peppermint sweets. Ayşe's eyes lit up, a spark of her usual spirit shining through the fever.

"What are they?" she asked. 

Rafet smiled, carefully unwrapping one of the striped sweets. "They're called peppermint humbugs. The shopkeeper said they might help soothe your throat." He gently placed the candy on her tongue. "Plus a bit of sweetness to help you feel better."

Ayşe's eyes widened as the cool, minty flavor spread through her mouth. "Tell me a story," she mumbled, her eyes already growing heavy as the medicine began to take effect.

He wasn't one for storytelling, but for Ayşe, he would try. After a moment of hesitation, he began, reciting a tale he had once heard from Amca Emre. "In the time before our grandfathers' grandfathers, when the world was younger and wilder, our people faced a great trial."

The candlelight flickered as Rafet continued. "The Göktürks, mighty as they were, found themselves trapped in a hidden valley, surrounded by unforgiving mountains. This place, Ergenekon, became both their sanctuary and their prison."

Rafet's hands moved, painting pictures in the air. "Seasons turned to years, years to generations. Our ancestors grew strong, but also restless. They yearned for the open steppes beyond their rocky prison, having been there for over four centuries."

"Then came a winter fiercer than any before. As hunger gnawed at their bellies, a strange cry echoed through the valley. It was no ordinary wolf's howl, but something that spoke to the very soul of our people."

He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "A great white wolf appeared, its eyes gleaming with an intelligence beyond that of a mere beast. Night after night it returned, always vanishing into the same craggy cliffs."

"Intrigued, the bravest of our warriors followed. What they discovered changed the fate of our people forever. For in a hidden grove, bathed in moonlight, they saw the wolf transform. Where the beast had stood now rose a woman, her hair as white as snow, her eyes holding the wisdom of ages."

Ayşe gasped with wonder, and Rafet nodded solemnly. "She spoke of ancient magics, of the bond between man and wolf, of a way to harness the strength of both. But freedom, she warned, would come at a price."

"The woman, who called herself Asena, taught our ancestors the secret of shapeshifting. With their new power, they worked tirelessly, their human ingenuity combined with lupine strength. They built great fires, smelted ore from the mountain itself, and forged a path to freedom."

"When at last they broke through the mountain, Asena led them out, not as a wolf, but as one of them—the first of our kind, neither fully human nor wolf, but something greater than both."

"And so," he concluded, "we became the children of Asena, guardians of our people, blessed with the cunning of humans and the might of wolves. Remember this tale, little one, for it is the story of who we are and why we endure."

Ayşe’s breathing had already deepened into sleep. Rafet gently tucked the blanket around her, then stood, his joints cracking.

"She should sleep through the night now," he told Fatma. "The fever should break by morning."

Fatma nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. "You've saved her life, Rafet. How can we ever repay you?"

Rafet shook his head. "There's no debt between pack. We take care of our own."

He moved through the warehouse, checking on the other members of his makeshift family. The elderly were given extra blankets, the young ones reassured with a gentle pat on the head. To each, he was a pillar of strength, a reminder that they were not alone in this strange, often hostile city.

As night fell fully, Rafet stepped outside, needing a moment of solitude. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders. He was not their alpha, not officially, but they looked to him for protection and guidance all the same.

His feet carried him through the quiet streets, his mind churning with plans and worries. How long could they survive like this, scraping by on the fringes of society? Would they ever truly find a place to call home again?

Lost in thought, Rafet didn't immediately notice the group of men that had begun to follow him. It wasn't until he turned down a narrow alley, a shortcut he often used, that an uneasy feeling prickled at the back of his neck.

He slowed his pace, senses suddenly alert. The hairs on his arms stood on end as he caught the faint scent of unfamiliar wolves drifting on the damp night air.

Rafet tensed, exhaustion forgotten as he faced the group of rough-looking individuals that now blocked the exit. Their leader, a scarred brute of a man, stepped forward with a sneer. Standing at nearly seven feet tall, the abnormally large man towered over even Rafet. His most striking feature was his mismatched eyes—one a piercing blue, the other a wavering orange color. 

"You reek of the fighting pits, outsider," he growled. "This is our territory. Your kind isn't welcome here."