The meeting place was neutral ground.
A field at the border of SilverCrest and Greenwood, where the grass grew wild and the wind carried no allegiance. No thrones, no council. Just two wolves and a silence heavy with everything unsaid.
Aria stood alone as the dusk deepened around her, arms folded beneath her dark cloak. She could hear the faint crunch of Kael’s boots before she saw him, the once-familiar cadence now cautious, unsure.
He approached slowly, stopping a few feet away. No guards. No pomp. Just Kael Draven stripped of everything but his name.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said.
Aria’s voice was steady. “You sent the raven. I answered.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
A beat passed. The air between them crackled—not with anger, but with the weight of history.
“You’ve won,” he said. “The council bows. The pack listens when you speak. The old order… it’s cracked wide open.”
“I didn’t do it to win,” she replied. “I did it to survive.”
Kael looked away, the lines on his face deeper than she remembered. “And now?”
“Now I want peace. For me. For our daughter.”
His eyes flinched at the word our. He glanced down, as if seeing her swollen stomach for the first time.
“She’ll be born soon,” he murmured. “And I may never know her.”
Aria’s throat tightened, but she said nothing.
Kael stepped forward. “I called you here because… I want to stop the bleeding. Between us. Between the packs. We can’t keep tearing each other apart.”
“You tore it first,” she said, voice low. “You let them sever me before the council. You didn’t even look at me.”
He winced. “I thought I was protecting the pack.”
“You were protecting Evelyn.”
Silence. Then—
“I know.”
The words were quiet. Hollow. And true.
“I thought love made me weak,” he said. “I didn’t realize losing it would make me even weaker.”
Aria turned her head, blinking hard.
He continued. “You’ve proven yourself. Not just to the council—but to me. You built power without me. You faced down rogues, councils, traitors. You carry my heir, and you’ve never asked for my help once.”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t give it.”
That silenced him.
For a long time, they stood in the falling dark. A crescent moon rose behind Aria, silver light outlining her silhouette like a blade.
Kael’s voice, when it came again, was raw. “I don’t ask to be forgiven. But I offer peace. A treaty. Between us. Between our factions. For her.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden carving—a wolf pup, curled in sleep.
“She’ll be born into a fractured world,” he said, offering it to her. “Maybe this can be her first sign that we tried.”
Aria took it.
The wood was smooth, hand-carved, unfinished. Vulnerable.
“I won’t forget what you did,” she said.
“I don’t expect you to.”
“But I won’t let her grow up hating you. That poison ends here.”
Their eyes locked—no longer Alpha to Luna. Just Kael and Aria, two wolves who had loved, failed, and bled.
She tucked the carving into her coat. “I’ll draft terms for the treaty. You’ll receive them within the week.”
Kael nodded. “Will I see her? When she’s born?”
“I’ll let you know.”
That was all she could offer.
That was more than he deserved.
He bowed his head—not out of ceremony, but out of something like respect. Or perhaps regret.
Then he turned and walked away.
And Aria, standing alone beneath the moon, felt—for the first time in moons—that the future might not be carved in blood.
