The storm settles with just one thought.
I’ll fight. I will tear the world apart if I have to. I’ll bring him back. No matter what.
Alpha Parrin’s funeral is set exactly as tradition demands.
His body is wrapped in a golden shroud, laid atop a slab of earth adorned with green leaves and wildflowers. A small clearing in the heart of the forest has been chosen — open to the sky, sacred under the eyes of the Goddess.
All of Mirenwulf stands in silence, a sea of bowed heads and heavy hearts, waiting for the final moment.
When the Pack Priestess gives the signal, every shifter present will call upon the sliver of magic inside them and channel it through the King — Draven — into Alpha Parrin’s body. The shroud, the slab, his earthly remains — all of it will turn to dust and return to the soil.
From that sacred ash, something will grow. A tree. A flower. Whatever plant his soul chooses, depending on the power he carried in life.
It’s one of our most sacred rites.
We are creatures of duality — both human and beast — bound together by the Spark the Moon Goddess gifted us long ago. But centuries past, the Goddess of Creation also touchedour kind. She gave us a small piece of her own magic, weaving it through our blood and souls.
It’s not much. A whisper of power. But it changed everything.
Before her gift, the two sides of a shifter — human and beast — waged endless war within a single body. Especially if the shifter was a strong one. Years spent fighting until one side crushed the other. Dominated. Now, we are born balanced. The magic settled the war inside us before it could even begin.
That’s why our births are dedicated to the Moon Goddess, our deaths to the Goddess of Creation — and the fragile, precious thread stretched between those two moments — our lives — belongs to us alone. Ours to fight for. Ours to lose. Ours to claim.
Draven suddenly stops walking, and I stop beside him.
He looks at me — no, through me — like I’m nothing more than a shadow. When he speaks, his voice is completely detached. Distant.
"You should stand back," he says. "You don’t hold an official title. It would be disrespectful to Amira, given our history, if you stood by my side. I have to stand with the family."
Something in me cracks wide open. I know it’s the magic speaking. I know. But my soul doesn't understand logic. My soul only feels the rejection.
Neris whimpers and retreats, curling up in a dark corner of my mind.
I manage a nod. Mechanical. Robotic. Because if I open my mouth, I’ll fall apart.
I have to stay standing. I have to find a way to bring him back. Soon. Because if I don't, I’ll die from a broken heart before the witch makes him kill me himself.
He doesn’t look back. Just turns and walks toward Amira.
And I’m left behind, all alone, to deal with the pain howling inside my chest.
When his arm slides around Amira’s shoulders — casual, familiar — it’s like being stabbed a million times over. And when he leans in and whispers something close to her ear, and I watch her face brighten, her lips lifting into a soft smile like they’re sharing a secret... It feels like dying.
I’m thrown back to all those months ago when I watched them together, looking like they were the perfect couple. Like she was born to be by his side.
Did we ever look like that? Did we ever look like we belonged together?
I'm trapped in my own spiraling thoughts when Sin suddenly steps into my line of vision, blocking the sight of Draven and Amira.
His eyes — usually so full of mischief — are wrecked with emotion.
“He feels wrong,” he whispers, voice raw. “Did we lose him?”
I suck in a shaky breath, but the words won’t come. So I just nod. Barely, but he sees it.
Sin’s lips press into a hard, thin line. His whole face twists with something close to dread.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
