The mirror was old, framed in cracked cedar and tarnished metal, tucked in the far corner of the west cabin. Aria hadn’t looked into it much since arriving in SilverCrest. It felt like a relic from another life. One that belonged to a girl who still believed in forever.
But tonight, she faced it.
Lamplight cast soft shadows behind her. Outside, the forest hummed with the early signs of frost. Her hair was down, the golden waves looser than usual. Her tunic clung slightly to the new shape of her body—still hers, but different. Becoming.
She stood in front of the mirror for a long time.
Not adjusting. Not judging.
Just seeing.
And it stunned her.
The Aria in the glass didn’t look like the one Kael had left behind.
She looked like someone risen from fire.
There were shadows under her eyes, yes—but they carried weight, not weakness. Her mouth was set in a line that hadn’t softened in weeks, and her shoulders were no longer bent beneath grief.
She was carrying life.
But more than that—she was carrying truth.
And revenge. And power.
Behind her, Zara moved quietly, folding freshly washed clothes into a drawer.
“You’re staring again,” she said without turning.
“I didn’t recognize myself,” Aria murmured.
Zara paused, then looked over. “That’s not always a bad thing.”
“I thought I’d be broken forever,” Aria said, voice low.
“You were.”
Aria turned, startled.
Zara met her eyes. “But you built something out of the pieces.”
Aria looked back at the mirror.
She touched her belly, feeling the faintest movement—like a ripple through her core.
“I thought being Luna would define me,” she whispered. “That I had to stay Kael’s to matter.”
Zara walked over and joined her in front of the mirror. “And now?”
“I know I matter without him.”
Zara smiled faintly. “Good. Because your reflection isn’t shrinking anymore. It’s growing.”
Later, Aria stepped outside alone.
The air was crisp, her breath visible in pale clouds. The sky stretched wide above SilverCrest, scattered with stars and veiled moonlight.
She wandered toward the old well at the edge of camp—a place she used to sneak away to as a cub, hiding her mother’s letters in a little box beneath the stones.
She knelt there now, fingers brushing moss-covered stone.
She didn’t cry. Not anymore.
But she felt everything.
The quiet ache of being watched. The silent strength of being still standing.
She pulled out the folded sonogram photo from her coat. The ink was smudged at the corners now, but the tiny image remained—her child, caught in the shimmer between flesh and fate.
“I don’t want you to inherit my silence,” she whispered. “Or my shame.”
She closed her eyes.
“I want you to inherit fire.”
When she returned to the cabin, Zara was waiting with news.
“A messenger arrived.”
Aria tensed. “From Greenwood?”
Zara shook her head. “From Draven.”
The name still hit like a bruise.
Zara held out a folded note, its edges crisp, the wax seal broken. “Thorn opened it already. But he left it for you.”
Aria took it slowly.
The handwriting was unmistakable—Kael’s: angled, elegant, always precise.
Aria,
I do not ask for forgiveness. Only an audience. I have no claim. I only want to see you.
- K.
Her fingers curled around the parchment.
“I don’t want to see him,” she said aloud.
Zara’s voice was careful. “Then don’t.”
“But he’ll come anyway.”
Zara didn’t deny it.
Aria looked up. “If he walks into this territory, and I’m not prepared—if I falter—I’ll lose everything I’ve clawed back.”
Zara met her gaze. “Then make sure the next time he sees you, he doesn’t recognize you.”
The next morning, Aria woke before the sun.
She dressed in black—leggings, tunic, and boots that had been too tight until last week but now fit perfectly. Her braid was tight, her face bare.
Zara waited outside with two practice swords.
“No claws,” she said. “Just grit.”
They trained in the cold mist, silent but relentless. Aria struck again and again—faster, harder, smarter. She missed, stumbled, but rose every time. By the end, sweat soaked her collar and her muscles ached.
But she stood taller.
Zara handed her a flask. “Your aura’s stronger.”
Aria drank deeply. “Good. Let him feel it coming.”
Zara paused. “Do you still love him?”
Aria looked out over the hills of SilverCrest, now tinged with frost.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I don’t need to.”
In the heart of the Draven estate, Kael sat alone in the war room, staring into the fire.
He hadn’t slept since the raven returned.
No reply.
Just silence.
But it wasn’t the silence that haunted him.
It was the possibility.
That she was no longer afraid of him.
That she had become something beyond his reach.
That he had broken something irreplaceable.
And that when he stood before her again, it would be him who didn’t measure up.
