The grove had always been a place of quiet—where time folded in on itself and the air held a stillness that felt too deep for breath. Few dared walk its path after nightfall, not for fear, but reverence. It was said the moon spoke clearest here, where the trees grew in tight, ancient circles and the ground thrummed with old magic.
Aria stood at its center now, alone.
The council had tried to bury the prophecy, sealing the scrolls behind ritual oaths and silence. But silence was no longer a luxury she could afford. Not after the letter. Not after the whispers that spread like wildfire: the Luna’s rise, Evelyn’s disgrace, the child who would inherit a throne forged not by blood, but belief.
Tonight, she sought the truth beneath myth.
The stones were slick with moss, the altar still stained with lichen and age. She lit no flame. The moon was full above her, casting shadows so sharp they carved her silhouette into the grove’s memory.
In her hands, a scroll stolen from the inner archives.
Or rather, reclaimed.
Zara had found it, buried in a ledger of pack treaties no one read. A prophecy hidden in plain sight—one that had never been fulfilled.
Until now.
Aria unrolled it slowly, careful not to tear the fragile vellum. The ink was dark and deliberate. Handwritten, not copied. A seer’s mark at the bottom in wax long dried.
When blood is severed and bond undone,
The moon’s child shall rise with storm in tongue.
Not chosen by mate, nor by name,
But by the cry that breaks the chain.
From womb to howl, she walks alone,
Yet carries fire in every bone.
The Alpha who casts her out shall fall,
And she who breaks shall lead them all.
Aria stared.
Each line read like a mirror.
Her womb.
Her severed bond.
Kael’s betrayal.
The silence broken by her voice.
The fall of the Alpha.
It was her story—written long before her birth.
And yet… one line made her falter.
She who breaks shall lead them all.
She who breaks.
Not she who rises. Not she who heals.
She who breaks.
Aria folded the scroll again and sat on the altar’s edge. The weight of those words clung to her, heavier than any crown.
What did she have to break?
Hadn’t she already shattered the old ways?
Wasn’t her child the fracture they feared?
Zara appeared between the trees, silent but certain. “I figured you’d come here.”
“I needed… confirmation.”
Zara raised a brow. “Did the moon deliver?”
Aria held out the scroll.
Zara read it quickly. Her eyes widened only once, and she said nothing when she handed it back.
“It’s about you,” she finally said.
“I know.”
“But that line—”
“I know.”
Aria looked up at the moon, full and unmoving. “I thought I’d already done the breaking. I severed ties, I stepped into power. I’ve spoken truth.”
Zara hesitated. “Maybe it’s not about what you’ve already broken… but what’s next.”
Aria met her gaze. “What if it means Kael?”
“You’ve already broken him,” Zara said. “Or maybe… maybe it’s not a person.”
Aria frowned. “Then what?”
Zara crouched beside her. “The system. The Council. The structure that lets people like Evelyn keep wolves in the dark.”
“Break the pack,” Aria whispered.
“Break the mold,” Zara corrected. “So we can build something new.”
The grove trembled, just slightly, as if the trees themselves were listening.
Aria took a breath. “Then it begins here. With the truth.”
“No more hiding?”
“No more waiting.”
They stood together beneath the moonlight.
Zara took her hand. “So what do we do now?”
Aria’s voice was soft but steady. “We call a full-moon gathering. Every wolf, every house, every scout and elder. And we read it aloud.”
Zara smirked. “You’re going to make Evelyn implode.”
“Let her. She had her reign.”
“And Kael?”
Aria’s expression didn’t change. “He’ll listen like the rest. Or he won’t. Either way, the prophecy isn’t about him anymore.”
The wind stirred the leaves, carrying their scent beyond the grove, beyond the keep—into the wild places where stories waited to be reborn.
For the first time in weeks, Aria felt not just strong.
She felt chosen.
