The SilverCrest courtyard was quieter than usual.
Too quiet.
Aria stood beneath the frost-bitten arch of the training grounds, watching two warriors spar in stiff silence. Every clang of metal felt sharp, performative—less about strength, more about surveillance.
They were watching her again.
No longer out of curiosity.
Now it was calculation.
Whispers floated behind her like falling snow. She caught fragments:
“…still no Luna mark…”
“…Kael hasn’t claimed her publicly…”
“…the baby’s power—unnatural…”
Aria didn’t flinch. She had grown used to suspicion. What unsettled her now was the tension humming beneath the pack’s surface. It wasn’t resistance—it was division.
Zara approached from the southern corridor, her expression tight. “Three more packs sent messages. StoneRidge is officially neutral. Blackpine pulled their warriors from our borders.”
Aria nodded. “And Greenwood?”
“Silent. Which is louder than I’d like.”
They stood side by side, watching the rest of the pack pretend not to stare.
“Kael?” Aria asked.
“In the old council wing. Sulking.”
Aria let out a breath. “Then let him sulk.”
Because the pack wasn’t watching him anymore.
They were watching her.
Later that afternoon, Aria convened a private gathering in the inner chamber—a once-forgotten space that had once belonged to the Luna of old. Only the most senior warriors, historians, and seers were summoned.
Not Kael. Not Evelyn.
Just those who still remembered when a Luna didn’t need an Alpha to stand.
“I’ve asked you here,” Aria began, “because the ground beneath SilverCrest is shifting. And if we pretend not to notice, it will swallow us whole.”
Several elders exchanged glances. One cleared his throat. “What do you propose, Lady Aria?”
“I propose clarity. No more half-bonded leadership. No more secrets. I propose we stop pretending Kael Draven speaks for the heart of this pack.”
Gasps rippled through the room.
Zara stood at her side, unwavering.
“I bore this pack’s heir,” Aria continued, her voice steady. “I survived their rejection. I’ve returned not for revenge—but to claim what was always mine by right.”
“And what is that?” an old shaman asked, not unkindly.
“Guidance,” Aria said. “Loyalty. And the Luna’s seat, uncontested.”
The room fell silent.
Then one warrior spoke. “We pledged to Kael.”
“You pledged to an Alpha,” Zara countered. “But what has he done with that power? Let the council corrupt it. Let tradition rot. He rejected the bond that made your Luna.”
Aria stepped forward, gray eyes piercing. “I don’t ask for blind allegiance. I ask for truth. Look around you. The wolves are whispering because they don’t know where to stand. Give them a foundation. Let them see who leads now.”
A seer near the back rose. Her hair was white, eyes veiled with the Sight. “The moon favors blood that answers. Yours does. His doesn’t. The pack feels it, even if they won’t speak it.”
Aria nodded. “Then let us give them voice.”
By nightfall, the courtyard was full.
Not from order, but momentum.
News had spread like fire through dry brush—Aria Vale had claimed the Luna seat.
No ceremony. No war.
Just truth, declared aloud, in the room where truth had once lived.
Kael stood near the stone fountain, silent, watching wolves mill like uncertain shadows. No one looked to him for instruction.
He saw it now—the slow unraveling of his power.
It wasn’t stolen. It was withdrawn.
Aria stepped into the moonlight with Elara in her arms. Zara and the others flanked her, quiet but firm.
When she lifted her chin, the courtyard fell still.
“I make no threats,” she said, voice clear. “I issue no decrees. I only say this—those who walk with me walk with the future. Those who don’t… walk away.”
Silence.
Then a howl broke out—one voice, then three, then ten.
Not for Kael.
For her.
For Elara.
For the Luna who had never needed permission to lead.
