The sun crested the hills beyond SilverCrest, gilding the courtyard in a soft, peach light.
Inside the keep, no one spoke above a whisper.
Word traveled fast in a pack—even faster when magic was involved. By the time the first light broke, the entire stronghold knew: the child had come. Early. Unnatural. And powerful.
Too powerful.
Aria sat upright in the wide bed, propped against thick pillows, the baby swaddled against her chest. Her storm-gray eyes never left the tiny bundle nestled in her arms. Her daughter had not cried again since the first sharp wail, and yet her presence pressed against the room like fog—soft but inescapable.
Zara stood near the balcony, blade sheathed but close at hand. “They’re gathering outside,” she murmured. “Not just the pack. Allies. Rivals. Even Council envoys.”
Aria didn’t look up. “Let them.”
Zara hesitated. “They’re not all here to celebrate.”
“I know.”
“She doesn’t even have a name yet.”
Aria ran her fingers gently over her daughter’s downy head. “She doesn’t need one to scare them.”
Zara allowed herself a small smile. “True.”
Downstairs, Kael paced the hallway, flanked by guards who no longer answered to him alone. His jaw was tight, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
He hadn’t been invited in since the birth.
He hadn’t asked.
The air around the keep felt different now. Not broken—but reformed. The heir had arrived. The bond severed at council had birthed something stronger, older, ungovernable.
And the world outside was waiting to see who she would become.
The council envoy came before noon.
Two men, one woman, all robed in silver and midnight blue, the crest of the Grand Pack etched into their collars.
Aria didn’t rise to greet them.
She remained seated in the center of her chamber, the baby still pressed to her chest, Zara and the healer flanking her like guards. The message was clear: if they wanted to speak to the mother of the heir, they would come to her.
The oldest envoy stepped forward and bowed stiffly. “Lady Aria Vale,” he intoned. “We come bearing the Council’s request to acknowledge the birth of your child and assess the implications.”
“Implications?” Zara barked. “She’s a baby, not a treaty.”
The envoy ignored her. “The sudden labor, the magical disruption, the defensive wards that failed—these are matters the Council must understand.”
Aria shifted slightly, her arms tightening protectively. “And if I refuse?”
The envoy didn’t blink. “Then the Council will interpret your silence as instability. A threat.”
Aria met his gaze with ice. “Then let them feel threatened.”
The second envoy, a younger man with a shrewd glint in his eye, cleared his throat. “We have records, Lady Aria. Of ancient Lunaris rituals. Of birthmarks associated with old prophecies. Some say the heir of the broken bond will awaken the True Moon.”
Aria said nothing.
The third envoy, the woman, finally spoke. “What is her name?”
Aria glanced down at the child—still quiet, still staring, as if she too were measuring the strangers in the room.
“I haven’t given her one,” she said.
“Then she belongs to no pack,” the woman said coolly. “A child with no name has no claim.”
Aria lifted her gaze slowly. “Wrong. A child with no name has no chains.”
Tension rippled.
Outside the room, a low murmur rose—hundreds of feet, wolves gathering in the courtyard.
Kael appeared in the doorway but didn’t speak. He simply stood behind the envoys, arms crossed, silent witness to what came next.
Aria stood. The healer moved aside.
She unwrapped her daughter just enough for them to see her eyes—storm-gray, aglow with faint silver threads that pulsed in sync with the magic embedded in the walls.
The envoys froze.
The baby blinked.
The floor trembled.
“She doesn’t need your titles,” Aria said. “Or your approval. She is what she is. And she will not bow.”
Kael’s voice was quiet but firm. “Neither will we.”
By dusk, the envoys were gone.
They’d left with no blessing, no decree—just silence and a hundred unspoken fears.
But word of what they saw spread like wildfire. A child born in premature fire. A baby who had not cried again, but whose gaze made the magic-wielders flinch. A daughter who needed no father’s name, no council seal, to be more than legend.
Aria sat alone again as night fell, the baby asleep in her arms.
Kael hovered in the doorway but made no move to cross the threshold.
“She should have a name,” he said quietly.
Aria looked down. “I know.”
He waited, but she didn’t offer one.
Finally, he asked, “Will you let me hold her?”
Aria hesitated.
Then—slowly, carefully—she rose and walked to him.
She held the child out.
Kael’s arms shook as he received her, holding the bundle like something sacred and breakable.
His voice broke. “She looks like you.”
“No,” Aria whispered. “She looks like who we should’ve been.”
Kael swallowed, rocking gently.
Aria watched him for a moment longer, then turned to the window.
The stars were bright above SilverCrest.
And in the quiet that followed, the baby smiled.
