“Elian isn’t improving. I need to return to the Moonveil Infirmary,” I said quietly. “Sign this travel sigil.”

Malven didn’t even look at the parchment. He scrawled his mark with a careless flick of his claw and shoved it back.

“Go,” he said flatly. “Handle your own pup.”

I left before the sun dared crest the horizon. The Alpha stronghold lay silent behind me, cold as its stone bones—never a home at all.

***

The journey to my father’s territory took five hours. The gate rose taller than memory—black iron gates crowned with spikes, sentinels standing like carved wolves along the walls.

Everything was immaculate. Controlled. Unmoving.

However, I was not. Thinner. Worn down in places no eye could see. Aged in ways no mirror could name.

I stepped from the car alone. No attendants came. No greeting awaited.

The halls stretched empty, watching. Judging.

Then I saw him.

My father—the Alpha Sovereign who raised me in silence, whose gaze cut sharper than steel.

“You,” he said. “After all your defiance. After burying your own life with your choices.”

I didn’t bow. I didn’t weep. Malven’s dominion had drained that from me.

“The alliance you once proposed,” I said evenly, “does it still stand?”

“No. That Alpha is mated now—to someone who doesn’t stain my bloodline.”

He turned to close the door. I held his gaze. He stilled, hand on the handle.

“But,” he added slowly, “his younger brother remains unmated. Your sister was meant for him, but ambition called her elsewhere. You—if you accept—may take her place.”

I didn’t question. I didn’t hesitate. I nodded.

I would survive. I would play their game. I would reclaim whatever remained of myself.

That night, they placed me in a guest chamber smelling of dust and cold polish. Even the servants avoided my eyes. It felt as though I had died long ago and returned as a shadow.

Before midnight, I was summoned.

The younger brother. The overlooked heir.

Raizen Wildbriar.

He waited in the old observatory, dressed in black, moonlight carving sharp lines across his face. I expected frailty. Instead, he moved like a hunting wolf—measured, assessing, dangerous.

“So,” he said softly, “the runaway Luna returns.”

I couldn’t speak.

“Tell me,”his voice lowered, edged with threat, “are you here to seek absolution… or vengeance?”

I bit my lip to stop the tremor.

He gave a low chuckle and turned toward the window. Moonlight spilled across the glass floor like blades.

“Go,” he said. “Return when your bond is fully severed.”

I wanted to protest. To say it wasn’t so simple. The words lodged in my throat.

I left and returned to the empty room—no blankets, no memories, no proof I had ever belonged anywhere. I sat on the bed, breathing, trying to remember who I was before love hollowed me out.

***

I didn’t sleep.

Dawn arrived without warmth, only more silence. My body moved by habit alone—every motion unchanged since Elian fell ill. Rest had long abandoned me.

The keep remained cold, sterile, alive with a quiet that crushed sound. I sat at the long table when the communicator chimed. Malven’s name glowed on the crystal.

I answered.

“We’re heading out,” he said lightly. “Ryke wants to try sky-sailing. Rivelle couldn’t say no—you know how she is.” He laughed. “My parents will stop by later. Make sure everything’s prepared.”

“Alright.”

The link ended. No date mentioned. No word of Elian.

Today was Elian’s birthday.

I returned to the glass-walled stronghold. Each step echoed. My hands shook as I went straight to my chamber—the only place that still held him.

I lit a small candle beside his portrait and the blue urn beneath it. His favorite dinosaur plush rested against the wall, waiting.

Elian once begged me to take him sky-sailing. He’d seen it in a moving picture and promised to wear his “pirate socks” while flying over the sea. I remembered the light in his eyes. Malven had laughed—sharp, dismissive—said it was too dangerous for a fragile pup. Said he’d be blown away.

Now Ryke would fly. And Elian didn’t even have a birthday.

I stood by the door, trembling, until the gates chimed. The front doors opened. Footsteps echoed. Servants ushered them in like royalty.

Malven’s parents.

I sank against the wall, silent. They didn’t smile. His mother’s gaze brushed over me with open contempt.

“Where’s the sickly pup?” she asked coldly. “Dead—or still clinging to breath?”

I parted my lips to answer, but Malven’s father cut in smoothly.

“Enough of that,” he said. “How is Ryke? I heard Rivelle may be carrying again. Is it true?”

I stayed silent, fingers clutching my skirt. My chest ached as though it might split.

“You see,” his mother went on coolly, “she brings new life into Malven’s pack without chaos. No outbursts. Calm. Proper. Unlike… some.”

I lowered my eyes.

Then his father’s voice fell like an iron gavel.

“Go assist the kitchen wolves. But first, pour our tea. Inform Malven we expect him at the Moon Hall next week for our mating anniversary. You may bring your ailing pup if you wish.”

I nodded, voice barely sound. “As you command.”

I went to the hearth-kitchen, told the cook they preferred jasmine leaves, arranged the tray myself. Polished porcelain. Balanced. Flawless. Yet inside me, something was screaming itself raw.

As I set the cups down, my hand trembled. One slipped and shattered against the stone with a sharp, final crack.

His mother gasped—then glared.

“You’ve always been careless,” she snapped. “Even pouring tea is beyond you. Bitter, just like the life you lead.”

I stared at the broken shards, then straightened my spine.

“Forgive me,” I whispered. Not for the cup. Not for today. For the girl who once begged them to accept her. That girl had died with Elian.

They didn’t stay for a meal.

Malven’s parents rose, faces carved from quiet contempt. His mother adjusted her gloves slowly, deliberately.

“I’ll tell Malven how feeble you’ve become. Perhaps now he’ll see the truth. You never belonged here. Never worth the inconvenience.”

The doors closed. Hooves rolled down the drive. Silence reclaimed the stronghold—the same silence that had lived here long before Malven ruled it.

I turned to the maid. “You can stand down. Lunch won’t be needed.”

She nodded. I climbed the stairs, one heavy step at a time. My legs felt borrowed, my body distant.

Halfway up, whispers drifted from the kitchen—low, quick.

“She didn’t even cry.”

“Did you see the urn in her chamber? That pup… Elian… gone.”

“Alpha Malven only speaks of Ryke now. Sends Lady Rivelle moon-flowers. Never visits the burial stone.”

“Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Elian was too gentle. Always prey.”

“She used to be Luna here. Now? Just surviving.”

I kept walking. Didn’t turn. Didn’t defend myself. Perhaps they weren’t wrong.

I entered my chamber and closed the door.

My communicator chimed. It was from Malven.

Once. Twice. I stared until it went dark. No message. No follow-up.

The silence returned—heavy, settled, permanent.

***

I changed in quiet.

I chose the soft blue dress Elian loved, stitched with small white clouds. He used to press his tiny hands against it and smile. “Mama, you look like the moms in story scrolls,” he’d say. “The safe kind. The happy kind.”

I lifted his urn, holding it as though I were holding him again, heart to heart. Warm sunlight spilled through the curtains.

I left the stronghold without a word and drove to the only place Elian had ever begged to visit on his name-days—Moonveil Park.

“Just once, Mama,” he’d whisper every year. “I want to see the sea-wolves. I’ll behave. I promise.”

Malven always refused. Too dangerous. Too fragile. Too sickly. The world was perilous for Elian—but never for Ryke.

I bought a pass. Paid for two seats—one for me, one for him.

I kept him with me, told him stories, laughed softly as the sea-creatures leapt through the waves.

Those nearby may have thought me unbalanced—sitting on a bench, murmuring to a blue urn as if it might answer.

I didn’t care.

This day wasn’t for them. Not for Malven. Not for his pack. Not for his bloodline. Not for Ryke.

It was for Elian. Only him.

I lit a small candle by the railing, letting the wind toy with the flame.

“Happy name-day, my pup,” I whispered.

When I returned, night had swallowed the stronghold, turning its glass halls into long, dark veins. The air felt thick. Even the lights seemed afraid to burn bright.

I stepped into the foyer.

And Malven emerged from the shadows.

Before I could draw breath, his hand struck my face—fast, savage. The crack echoed through the halls like thunder. My head slammed into the doorframe. White stars burst across my vision. A ringing filled my ears.

But I didn’t release the urn.

My pup. My last fragment of him. My arms locked around it as if loosening my grip would end me.

Malven’s voice thundered through the stairwell, thick with Alpha fury. “Have you lost your senses, Viora? You dare disgrace my parents inside my own den?”

I blinked, swallowed blood, and said nothing.

He stalked closer. “My mother told me everything,” he snarled. “You insulted her. Picked up her tea. Threatened our lives.” His nostrils flared. “Do you find that amusing? Playing the mad Luna?”

I opened my mouth—and pain exploded.

My head snapped sideways. Fire tore down my spine. The taste of iron filled my mouth.

Rivelle’s voice drifted down the steps, sweet and venomous. “Malven… please don’t harm her. She isn’t worth it. She’s just… unstable. You know how fragile she is.”

He turned to her, and the rage vanished instantly—softened into something almost gentle.

“You’re too merciful,” he said quietly. “That’s why she still forgets her place.”

Rivelle sighed. “She’s been strange all day. I tried to understand her, but… she hates me. I can feel it.”

From the couch, Ryke didn’t even pretend concern. His sound-crystals hung loose around his neck, music still humming. He smirked at me.

Entertainment. This was sport.

None of the servants intervened. They gathered at the archway, whispering like restless spirits.

“She’s still holding the urn…”

“She never raised a claw…”

“I heard she went to the sea cliffs alone… with the ashes…”

My heart had turned to ash long before they spoke.

Malven’s gaze finally dropped—to my arms, to the white moon-urn cradled against my chest like a newborn.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Before I could move, he tore it from my grasp.

“No—!”

Too late.

He held it as if it were refuse. Turned it over. Scoffed.

“You carried this through the city? Wailing for strangers?” He shook it lightly, as if expecting sound. “What is this? Another pitiful performance?”

My breath stopped.

“It’s an urn,” he sneered. “Who died this time? Your pride?”

Rivelle laughed softly behind him. Ryke snorted.

Blood dried at my lip. My face burned. I spoke.

“Give it back.”

Malven lifted it higher, mocking. “Why? Who’s inside, hmm? You collecting remains now?”

I didn’t blink.

“It’s Elian,” I said quietly.

Silence fell like a snapped bond.

Malven’s grip stiffened. Rivelle’s smile vanished. Ryke’s gaze dropped. The servants stopped whispering.

One long breath passed. Then…

He let go.

“No—!!!”

The urn struck the floor.

A single, clean crack—then ruin.

Ash. Bone dust. Shattered moon-ceramic.

My pup scattered across the tiles as if he had never been held, never been cherished, never existed.

The scream tore out of me. I collapsed, clawing at the floor, gathering what I could into shaking hands. My nails split. I didn’t feel it. I felt nothing but the hollow where he had been.

Behind me, Malven sighed—as if annoyed by dirt near his boots.

“Stop howling like someone killed you,” he said coldly. “You’re not the victim.”

My hands were black with ash. My breath stuttered. Tears blurred the world.

Then he said, casually, “I got word from the healer this morning. Elian is fine. Alive. Sitting up. Smiling. They even sent images.”

I froze.

Alive?

Impossible.

No. I was there. I held him when the runes went dark. When his chest stilled. When the healer covered him and I couldn’t move.

“You lied,” Malven said, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed me. “You staged his death. Drugged him. Built this farce because you wanted sympathy.”

I lifted my face, shattered. “H-he died… he died in my arms—”

“Enough,” he snapped. “Spare me.”

Rivelle glided to his side. “Maybe she did it to wound me,” she whispered, trembling with false terror. “Maybe she hated me so much she wanted me to feel her pain.” Her eyes flicked to the ashes. “Maybe she wanted me to imagine myself like that… broken. Scattered.”

She gasped, collapsed onto the couch dramatically, shaking like glass.

“Come, sweetheart,” she sobbed, pulling Ryke close. “Let’s go. Mommy can’t breathe around this filth. I don’t want you seeing such darkness.”

Ryke didn’t look afraid. Just obedient. A pup trained early.

Malven wrapped an arm around Rivelle, holding her close. “Don’t waste tears on her,” he murmured. “You’re the only one who matters. Let’s go upstairs. Leave her with her mess.”

I was still on the floor, sweeping my pup into my palms. Ash smeared the stone like a ghost begging to stay.

Then Ryke broke free.

He charged toward me.

His boots came down hard—right onto the ashes.

“Witch!” he screamed. “You made my mommy cry!”

He stomped again.

And my boy scattered even further—to the corners of the den, as if he had never been mine at all.