The wind howled through the high peaks of SilverCrest, cold and biting, as if mourning the old ways.
But within the heart of the pack’s keep, warmth radiated — not from the hearths, but from something deeper. A shift. A reckoning. A return.
Aria stood at the center of the great hall, no longer a guest, no longer a threat, no longer a forgotten mate.
She stood as Luna.
And this time, no one dared question it.
The air felt different around her. Wolves watched from every archway, every stone balcony. Their eyes didn’t hold pity or suspicion anymore.
They held awe.
Zara adjusted Aria’s mantle, a silver-lined cloak of midnight black that shimmered with the crest of the Vale family. It had once been her mother’s — buried and forgotten when the family was disgraced. Now, it returned to the hall, not as a relic, but as a crown.
“I still think it should be red,” Zara muttered with a teasing grin.
“Black shows less blood,” Aria murmured back.
They both laughed quietly, tension humming beneath the surface.
At the far end of the hall, the council stood waiting. New faces. Younger. Balanced. Corin still sat among them, but even he now leaned forward not as judge, but as witness.
Maya stepped forward first. She carried a staff — carved from ash, inlaid with silver runes — the same one Evelyn had once used to silence opposition.
She knelt.
“To the Luna who chose truth over power.”
Her voice rang through the chamber.
One by one, others followed.
Sentries. Healers. Warriors. Wolves who had once looked away when Aria passed, who had whispered and doubted and moved aside — now they came forward, kneeling in a circle around her.
“For the child who will never be a pawn.”
“For the mate who stood alone.”
“For the bloodline that refused to vanish.”
The floor was covered in bent knees and bowed heads.
Aria’s fingers curled tightly at her sides.
She hadn’t come for a throne.
But they were building one beneath her feet anyway.
Zara leaned in again. “Still sure you don’t want Kael here?”
Aria’s jaw tensed.
“He made his choice.”
Outside, in the training yard, Kael watched through a high window.
He was alone.
Not out of exile — he had not been cast away — but by choice. He had offered to step back, to give Aria her moment untainted by his presence. Not as penance. But as understanding.
He had not earned a place beside her.
Not yet.
Inside, Aria turned to the crowd.
Her voice was clear, no magic behind it — just a woman who had been broken and built herself again.
“I was not born to lead,” she began. “I was not chosen by prophecy or council vote. I was not fated for power.”
Her eyes swept the crowd.
“I was cast aside. Lied to. Stripped of my bond. Left to bleed alone. And yet, I am still here.”
The silence deepened.
“And I do not rise today because I am strong,” she continued, voice trembling. “I rise because you believed me. You stood beside me. You lifted me when I could not stand. You protected my child when I could not protect myself.”
Tears welled in the eyes of some wolves.
“I do not want your blind loyalty,” Aria said. “I want your truth. I want your courage. I want your howl when the night is darkest.”
She drew a deep breath.
“I will be your Luna not because I claimed the title… but because I lived it.”
A pause.
And then, from the back of the hall — a howl.
Sharp and high and full of something primal.
It spread.
Wolves raised their heads, voices lifting in a chorus that shook the stone walls. Not mourning. Not fear.
Reverence.
Victory.
Aria closed her eyes.
And howled back.
