It was dawn, but the sun refused to rise.
Smoke clung to Eclipse Hollow like a second skin.
The battle was over.
But the fear still lingered—like a wound that hadn't stopped bleeding.
Elara stood in the crater where the Eye of Anun had shattered, ash circling her boots like frost.
Beside her, Caelum knelt over Myra's broken body.
She still breathed.
Barely.
He looked to Elara. "Do we kill her?"
Elara's jaw tightened.
"No."
"Why?"
"The viper you crush may die in silence. But the one you expose will scream until the forest hears."
They shackled Myra with silver-forged chains—the kind only used on elder wolves.
Not to mock her.
But to remind her.
Her throne was gone.
And she would live long enough to hear it break.
In the healer's tent, Caelina lay motionless.
Her skin shimmered unnaturally—white and silver veining like lightning beneath her collarbone.
The Eye of Anun hadn't killed her.
It had done something worse.
It had carved into her soul.
Zela sat beside her, whispering stories of old wolf legends to keep the room calm.
But everyone in the tent knew—
Caelina wasn't just resting.
She was fighting something inside.
Elara paced.
She hadn't shifted since the battle, afraid that if she did, the scent of Caelina's altered blood might pull her under.
Sango entered. His armor was stained with dirt, not blood.
"The nobles are in panic. Half are calling for Caelina to be crowned. The other half want the summit nullified."
"They saw her shift," Elara snapped.
"They saw her scream," he corrected. "They saw her fall."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Elara looked up, eyes like dusk before a storm.
"Then they need to see her rise."
In the inner tent, Caelum stared at his hands.
They still smelled of Myra's blood.
"She raised me," he said. "She protected me when my real mother was executed."
"She also murdered Lycaena," Elara said flatly.
Caelum flinched.
"Was I blind?"
"No. Just… loyal to a version of her that never existed."
He nodded slowly.
"I was raised by the crown. She was raised by the earth. I should've followed the roots, not the gold."
Elara laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Then do that now."
By nightfall, Eclipse Hollow was cleared.
The banners were burned. The gallery empty.
And in the sacred ring, lit by moonfire and wolfflame, Elara stood before the court.
She wore no armor.
Just her mother's bone-thread cloak, and the scar across her eye—the mark of the old wolves.
Sango stood at her left. Caelum at her right.
And then, the tent opened.
Caelina walked in.
Alive.
Changed.
Glowing faintly.
She wore no crown, no cape.
Only her skin—and the burning silver veins of power still coursing down her spine.
The nobles gasped.
Some backed away.
One dropped to his knees.
And then another.
Until half the court had bowed.
Not because of bloodline.
But because they felt it.
"When the river walks, even the mountains must kneel."
Caelina raised her hand.
Voice soft. But unshakable.
"I am Caelina.
Daughter of Lycaena.
Bearer of the Moon Howl.
Not chosen by court.
Not offered by prophecy.
I am the curse they buried.
I am the root you feared would rise."
"I don't ask for loyalty.
I ask for truth.
And if the truth burns your banners—
Then may fire cleanse the throne."
Silence.
Then a noble from House Nyika stepped forward.
"Will you lead us?"
Caelina smiled faintly.
"No."
Gasps.
"I will not lead wolves who wait for permission. I will not rebuild a throne that murdered my mother."
She turned to Elara.
"She will lead. I will guard."
Caelina knelt before Elara, the true shift of power, and bared her neck in the way of wolves.
Elara froze.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Then she nodded once.
"Then rise, Shield of the Blood Moon."
Caelina rose.
And the crowd howled.
Not in celebration.
In acknowledgment.
For the first time in generations, the kingdom had a voice that didn't beg.
It bit.