The Luna They Tried to Bury Came Back

My mate was celebrating the naming feast of his first loves son while our pup lay dying.

I mindlinked him from the healers den, begging him to send the best wolf healer for Evander. His response came sharp, laced with music and laughter in the background.

Dont interrupt us, Viktor said coldly. Elowen, if you let your jealousy spiral again, I swear Ill reject you.

Then he cut the link.

So I stayed by our son alone.

I held Evanders hand as the warmth left it. I whispered old pack lullabies while the healers moonstones dimmed and the den fell silent. I kissed his forehead and felt his chest still beneath my palm, and I did not move even when they gently tried to take him from me.

That was the first pup I lost.

The burning chamber smelled of iron and sacred ash, the kind used to return wolf and flesh to the Moon Goddess. Dust drifted through shafts of pale light, soft and merciless, like the remnants of children already gone.

Soon, my pup would be part of it.

I stood there in a mourning dress that clung to my frame, hollow from days without food or rest. I did not feel hunger anymore, only a quiet emptiness that had no bottom.

I reached beneath the white cloth and touched Evanders small hand. It was cold. Too still for something that once clung to me so tightly.

I placed two small blue paper stars into his palmfolded under trembling fingers the night before, because I did not know what else a mother was meant to give.

Evander

The attendants hesitated before stepping forward. Gentle, careful, as though I might break. But I was already broken long before that moment.

They uncovered him.

My son was seven winters old, though he looked younger. Too small for a wolf pup, too fragile for the world he was born into. His lips were pale, his chest sunken, bruises still faint along his arms from the healers attempts to save him.

There was no dignity in death. Only silence.

The man beside me spoke softly. The infection spread too quickly. He fought as long as he could.

I did not answer.

I only smoothed his hair back, the way he hated when it fell into his eyes.

Then I whispered, Let him go to the Moon Goddess. He doesnt belong in this place anymore.

They carried him into the fire chamber.

I did not cry.

I had no tears left.

Evander was free now. No longer asking questions I could not answer.

Mother why does Father only smile at Rowan?

Mother did I do something wrong?

Mother does Father still love us?

Each question lived inside me like a wound that never closed.

Viktor had promised him a hunting trip beyond the northern forests. Promised to teach him how to call his wolf properly under the full moon. Promised everything a pup could believe in.

Instead, he left for Rowans naming feast with Selene.

And when I mindlinked him, telling him Evander was burning with fever and fading fast, he called me unstable.

Then he hung up.

By the time I carried Evander into the healers den myself, it was already too late. The sickness had reached his blood. His lungs failed. His small heart gave out while I held him and begged him not to leave.

I did not scream.

I only held him tighter and kept whispering, Mother is here. Stay with me.

But I was too late.

Ever since Selene returned with her son, Viktor had turned the pack against me. He called me unfit. Said I was jealous, unstable, dangerous to the heir. He locked me within the estate walls, cut my access to the pack treasury, and told others I was the reason discord spread.

You harmed Selenes child, he said once. You will pay for it.

So I stood outside the cremation grounds alone, Evanders ashes sealed in a small moonstone urnlight as breath, blue as the winter sky he once loved.

I held it close to my chest.

Were going home, I whispered.

The wind moved through the valley. The sun was warm. But I had never felt colder.

**

When I returned to the pack estate, I found Selenes daughter pressing a kiss to Viktors cheek, her hand resting too comfortably on his arm.

Viktor, thank you for making Rowans feast so grand, she said softly. But is Evander alright? Elowen sounded

Viktor did not pull away.

Instead, he rested a hand at her waist and smiled, as if he were not a wolf who had just lost a pup.

She only said that to gain attention, he said. She has always been unstable. Evander was spoiled because of her.

I stood in the hall, the urn pressed against my chest.

Something inside me went very still.

Not anger.

Not grief.

Only silence.

Then Viktor turned and saw me.

He stiffened.

You should have said you were returning, he muttered. I would have sent someone.

He had forgotten the last time I traveled alone beyond pack grounds, when I begged him to meet me and he told me his warriors were not my escorts.

That night, I nearly died on the road back.

And when I called him in fear, he only said, You should not have been careless.

But for Selene, he sent guards. For Selene, he moved the pack.

I looked at him now and said quietly, Its fine.

His gaze lingered on me longer than usual.

Something uncertain flickered there.

Did Evander get better? he asked.

I gripped the travel satchel tighter. Inside it, the moonstone urn felt heavier than it should have, as if Evanders silence itself had weight. I nodded slowly.

Evanders

A sudden impact slammed into me before I could finish. A child ran straight into my path, and I fell hard onto the stone floor. Pain shot through my wrist. The urn nearly slipped from my arms.

I caught it just in time.

Watch it! I snapped.

The boy was ElricNyras son.

He stood over me, glaring without fear. You watch it! Why are you even back here? he shouted.

A low growl rumbled through the hall. Viktor.

Thats enough, Elric, he said sharply. Then, to me, colder, Elowen, hes only a pup. Dont start trouble.

Nyra stepped forward as if she belonged beside him, resting her hand lightly on Viktors chest, her gaze soft and familiar.

Dont be angry, she whispered. Im sorry Elric and I will leave.

Viktors jaw tightened. Then he pointed at me.

You didnt do anything wrong, he said. She did.

The words split something open in me. Not pain anymoresomething worse. Absence. Like I was already being erased.

Then Elric lunged again.

Whats in your bag? Im hungry!

The urn slipped. It hit the floor with a heavy crack of stone.

No! I gasped. Dont touch that!

Elric reached for it anyway, his hands careless. What is it? Is it food?

I shoved him back without thinking. I didnt care anymore. I had nothing left to protect except this.

Viktors voice thundered through the hall.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Hes just a pup!

Elric grabbed my hair and pulled hard. Pain exploded through my scalp. I bit back the sound rising in my throat.

Its Evanders, I whispered shakily. Its his

Nyra gently pulled Viktor back, her voice soft as silk. Let it go. If it belonged to Evander, then Elric shouldnt touch it.

Viktor scoffed. This is my hall. I decide what belongs where.

I bent down, gathered the urn with shaking hands, and walked past them without another word.

Behind me, I heard him laugh under his breath, as if I were nothing more than a passing storm.

He escorted Nyra and her pup away like they were honored guests.

That night, I packed my things.

The urn stayed beside me.

I stared at it until dawn.

**

That night, I dreamed of Evander again.

He was wandering through a long, endless hall of glass and moonlight. His small feet were bare, his voice echoing as he called out

Father? Father, where are you?

He wasnt looking for me.

He was looking for Viktor.

My chest cracked in the dream. I ran, but I could never reach him. Every time I got close, he drifted further away, his tiny hands slipping through the air like smoke.

I fell to my knees.

Im sorry, my child Im so sorry.

Again and again.

I shouldve taken you away. I shouldve protected you.

When I woke, I was on the floor beside the bed.

My hands were still clasped like prayer.

The estate around me was silentViktors glass-built stronghold of stone and cold light. Beautiful, empty, lifeless. A place built for power, not for children, not for grief.

I curled my arms around myself.

My pillow was soaked. My chest felt hollow, as if something had been carved clean out of me.

And I remembered.

How Viktors warmth had slowly disappeared once Nyra returned.

How he began praising Elric like a future heir.

Elric is strong, he once said. Disciplined. Worthy.

Not like Evander.

He never said it directly.

But I heard it anyway.

Because before Evander fell ill, Viktor looked at me and said

Sometimes I wonder if that child is even mine. If he is, hes too weak to inherit anything. That kind of blood cannot lead a pack.

I couldnt speak.

I had spent years trying to earn his lovethinking if I endured enough, stayed soft enough, loyal enoughhe would return to me.

I never thought he would abandon our son too.

Evander loved him.

Worshipped him.

He used to bring him drawings, carved wooden tokens, little wolf charms he made himself.

Viktor never looked.

And when Evander became ill, truly ill, Viktor was preparing a feast for Elrics naming celebrationmusic, banners, imported wine, a carved wooden wolf throne no child needed.

My son died without his father beside him.

Only me.

Only silence.

Only the echo of his last question tearing through my sleep

Father where are you?

And I hate myself most because I still wonder.

If I had taken him and run sooner would he still be alive?

But I didnt.

And now there is only grief.

Then I heard footsteps outside.

Unsteady. Drunk.

I opened the door slightly.

Viktor was there, leaning heavily on Nyra, his breath thick with liquor and exhaustion.

Viktor, she murmured softly, are you sure you want to go to her room? Its late

He let out a low, bitter laugh.

Why would I go to her? he said. She humiliated Elric today.

Nyra guided him away. Toward her chambers.

The door didnt close fully.

I heard everything after that.

Her voice. His. The shifting bedframe. The sound of them choosing each other without hesitation.

I did not move.

I did not cry.

I just sat in silence, like a forgotten shadow pressed into the wall.

In the morning, I made hangover broth as I always did.

I placed it on the table.

Viktor came down later, rubbing his temple, avoiding my gaze.

I came back late, he said. I slept in Elrics room.

I nodded.

Okay.

No questions.

No anger.

That was what he expected of me now.

Then I slid a parchment across the table.

Evander is not doing well. I need to return to the healers den for a while. Will you sign the travel parchment?

Viktor did not even look at it. He took the parchment, pressed his seal without reading a single line, and handed it back.

Go, he said lightly. Take care of our pup.

He did not ask what ailed Evander. Did not ask how grave it was. His attention had already drifted elsewhere, his mouth curving faintly as if my leaving were a convenience rather than a plea.

I left the estate before first light. The broth I had prepared still sat upon the table, untouched and cold. Just like everything else between us had become.

Viktor did not bid me farewell.

**

The journey to my fathers domain took six hours by carriage through old wolf roads and forest paths marked with carved stone totems. The gates of House Blackthorne rose ahead of metall black iron bound with ancient sigils, the crest of our bloodline set at its center. Guards in gray stood motionless like carved statues.

Everything was as I remembered.

And yet I was not.

I had grown thinner. Quieter. Worn in places no healer could mend.

When I stepped down from the carriage, no servants came forward. No attendants announced my return. The estate simply watched me as if it had already decided what I had become.

Then the doors opened.

Duke Rafe Blackthorne stood there.

He did not smile.

He did not embrace me.

His silver hair was tied back with precision, his gaze sharp as tempered steel.

You, he said coldly. The daughter who cast our houses honor aside for a man.

I stood straight despite the ache in my body. I did not cry. I had spent all my tears in another mans house.

Looking him in the eye, I said, The marriage pact you once offered me eight years ago. Does it still stand?

Silence stretched through the marble halls. Even the wind outside seemed to pause. Somewhere behind him, the servants gathered like quiet shadows, listening without breathing.

At last, my father spoke.

No. That man is already bound in marriageto a house that did not disgrace mine.

He began to close the door.

I did not step back.

I only held his gaze.

Then he stopped.

But, he said after a moment, voice measured, his younger brother remains unwed. Your sister was once promised to him, though she delays her duty for studies.

His eyes studied menot as a daughter, but as a piece on a warboard.

If you are willing, he said, the seat is open.

I did not hesitate.

I only nodded once.

I would marry whoever he chose.

Not for pride.

Not for love.

Not even for Evander anymore.

Only for survival.

**

They gave me a guest chamber deep within the eastern wing. It smelled of aged wood and lemon oil. My old portraits were gone from the walls. Even the servants avoided my gaze, as though I had already been written out of the house years ago and had only returned as a lingering spirit.

That night, I was summoned.

The younger son.

The one who was never meant to inherit anything.

Ronan Ashclaw.

He waited in the old observatory where moonlight spilled through arched glass. The room was quiet, filled with dust and pale silver light. He wore black, simple and unadorned. His face was refined, almost fragile, yet there was something unbroken behind his eyes.

I had expected weakness.

Illness.

Stillness.

Instead, he stood when I entered.

Slowly, but firmly.

His gaze met mine and did not waver.

So, he said, voice low, the runaway bride returns.

I could not answer.

He tilted his head slightly.

Tell me, he continued, did you come here seeking redemption or revenge?

My throat tightened, but I forced myself not to tremble. He noticed anyway. Of course he did.

A faint, almost indifferent smile touched his lips before he turned away toward the moonlit glass.

Go back, he said. Return when your bond is severed properly.

I wanted to speak. To thank him. To explain that nothing about this was simple.

But no words came.

So I left.

I closed the door behind me and returned to the empty chamber that held no warmth, no memories, no trace that I had ever belonged anywhere at all. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared into the dark.

Just breathing.

Trying to remember who I had been before grief hollowed me out.

Before love broke me.

Before I became something forgotten.

**

I did not sleep.

Morning came, though it did not feel like dawnonly another layer of silence settling over an already silent world.

I moved because my body remembered how.

The same way it had moved every day since Evander first grew ill.

At the long dining table, I ate dry bread that turned to ash on my tongue. No one spoke to me. No one met my eyes.

Then the mindlink came.

Viktor.

His presence brushed against my thoughts like it had never been severed.

Were heading out, he said casually. Elric wants to ride the sky beasts. Nyra couldnt refuse him.

A short laugh followed, light and careless.

As for my parents, theyll visit the estate later. Make sure theyre accommodated.

I swallowed.

Alright, I answered.

Good, he said, and the link closed.

No mention of Evander.

No hesitation.

No memory.

Today was his birthday.

Evanders birthday.

I told my father I would return to the estate to fulfill my duties. That I would come back once the bond was formally dissolved. He did not respond. Only turned another page of his scroll as if I had never spoken.

When I returned to the glass estate, I remembered the date before I even stepped inside.

Evanders birthday.

My hands trembled as I walked through the halls.

I went straight to my chamberthe only place in that house that still felt like it once held him.

I lit a small flame beside his portrait and placed the moonstone urn beneath it. His carved wooden wolf toy still sat where he left it, leaning against the wall as if waiting for small hands that would never return.

No one remembered.

No offering.

No mourning chant.

No presence.

Not from Viktor.

Not from his kin.

Only silence

and the sound of a pack celebrating another child while mine was already ash.

Evander once told me he wanted to sail across the sea like the warriors in the old wolf tales, the ones who rode wind and tide beneath the blessing of the Moon Goddess. He said he would wear his pirate socks, as if that alone would make him brave enough to cross the horizon.

Viktor only laughed when he heard it. Said the sea winds were too cruel for a sickly pup, that Evander would be thrown from the ropes before he ever touched the water. He denied him then, without hesitation, as if the dream itself was something dangerous.

And yet now, Elric was being taken out to the sky ropes and sea winds, lifted above the waves under Viktors approval, while Evander had not even been given a single birthday under our roof.

I remained where I was, standing in the cold stillness of the hall, until I heard the iron gate of the estate groan open. Footsteps followed, steady and unhurried, and the servants moved at once, bowing as they led the guests in as though they were royalty returning to their rightful throne.

Viktors parents.

I stood near the corridor as they entered. Neither of them smiled.

His mothers gaze swept over me once, sharp and dismissive, before her lips curled slightly in disgust.

Where is your frail little boy? she asked, her voice as cutting as winter wind. Is he already dead, or still clinging to breath?

My lips parted, but no sound came before his father spoke over me.

Enough of that, he said impatiently. Tell me about Elric. We hear Nyra may be carrying again. Is it true?

I stood very still, as though movement itself might betray the fracture forming inside my chest.

His mother continued without pause, her tone almost pleased.

She is a blessing to Viktor, she said. She carries herself properly. No hysteria, no weakness. Always composed. Unlike some women who bring only unrest into a household.

My gaze lowered to the floor, where the polished stone reflected nothing of me.

Then his father spoke again, colder still.

Go and tell the kitchen to prepare tea. And inform Viktor that we expect him for the ancestral gathering next week. You will attend as well. If your sick child still lives, bring him if you must.

My fingers curled tightly into my sleeves beneath the fabric of my dress, nails pressing into my palms until it stung.

Still, I answered.

Of course.

I went to the kitchen and relayed their order for jasmine steeped in the old northern way. I prepared the tray myself, arranging it carefully as though perfection might silence the weight pressing against my ribs.

When I returned, I carried it with steady hands.

My expression remained composed, almost gentle, like polished bone. But inside, something within me was screaming without sound.

As I set the cups down, my hand trembled.

One cup slipped.

It struck the stone floor and shattered, porcelain scattering like broken bone across the hall.

His mother inhaled sharply, then turned her glare on me.

You have always been clumsy, she said coldly. Even now you cannot manage something as simple as serving tea. Truly, you remain a disappointment.

My eyes fell to the broken shards for a long moment. Then I straightened slowly.

Forgive me, I said.

I was not asking forgiveness for the cup.

I was asking it for the girl I used to bethe one who once knelt for their approval, who believed love could be earned through obedience, who thought belonging was something she could build with her own hands.

That girl was gone now.

Just like my son.

**

They did not remain long after that.

Viktors parents rose together, their expressions tight with quiet disdain, as though even breathing the same air as me had become inconvenient.

His mother placed her cup down with deliberate care.

This is bitter, she murmured. Even something as simple as tea you manage to ruin it. Bitter, just like your existence.

At the doorway, she adjusted her gloves slowly, each movement precise, unhurried. When she spoke again, her voice carried the same calm cruelty.

I will tell Viktor how you are unraveling. Perhaps this time he will finally see what I have always seen. You are not suited for this house. You never were. You were only ever a mistake he refused to correct.

I met her gaze then, but said nothing.

I did not nod.

I did not protest.

I only stood there, fingers still resting against the edge of the table, holding on as though strength alone might keep me from breaking apart completely.

Then she turned away.

No farewell was given. None was expected.

The door opened. Closed. The sound of hooves followed as the carriage departed down the stone path, fading into distance until only silence remained again within the estate.

I exhaled slowly, then turned to the maid.

Do not prepare lunch, I said quietly. They have left.

She bowed and withdrew without question.

I climbed the stairs alone. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the house itself resisted my return. Halfway up, I heard voices from belowsoft, careless whispers drifting through the kitchen.

She didnt even cry when they left.

I heard the boyEvanderhas already been laid to rest. I saw the moonstone urn in her chamber.

Such a pity. Lord Viktor speaks only of Elric now.

He sends gifts to Nyra as well. Flowers from the northern groves. Yet he has never once visited the childs resting place.

Even if he knows, he would not go. Evander was always weak. He never had a chance.

She was once the lady of this house. Now she is only surviving.

I continued walking.

I did not stop them.

I did not correct them.

I did not defend what no one wished to believe.

Perhaps none of it mattered anymore.

When I reached my chamber, I closed the door behind me.

Silence returned at once, heavy and complete.

Then the mindlink stirred.

Viktor.

His presence brushed against my thoughts briefly, as if testing whether I would answer.

I did not speak.

The link faded.

I stood there for a long moment before changing my clothes.

I chose the soft blue dress Evander lovedthe one embroidered with pale cloud patterns like the sky he once pointed at through the window. He used to say it made me look like the mothers in the old tales, the kind who stayed, the kind who never left their children behind.

I took up the moonstone urn.

It was small in my arms.

Too small.

As if everything that had once been my son could be reduced to silence and weight.

I left the estate without informing a single soul.

I went to the Ocean Shrine, where salt wind met sacred stone and offerings were made to the Moon Goddess for safe voyages and returning souls. Evander had always spoken of it as if it were a place he might one day reach himself, as though the sea could carry him somewhere kinder.

He used to beg me every year.

Just once, Mother. I want to see the sea spirits. I promise Ill behave.

But Viktor always refused. Said the winds were too harsh, the tides too unpredictable, the world too dangerous for a fragile pup.

So we never came.

Until now.

I purchased a single offering token, though I set it for two souls. One for me. One for him.

We watched the sea together in silence as the tide rolled in beneath the cliffs. I placed a small candle near the stone railing, shielding it with my palm as the wind tried to snuff it out.

I spoke to him as though he could still hear me.

I told him I was proud of him. I told him I loved him. I told him I was sorry in ways language had never been enough to hold.

Once, I even laughed softly, though the sound startled me as if it belonged to another lifetime.

People nearby glanced at me, perhaps thinking I had lost my mind, speaking to an urn as though it could answer.

I did not care.

This day belonged only to Evander.

I lifted my gaze to the sky, where the sun broke through drifting clouds and cast pale light over the water.

Happy birthday, my child, I whispered.

My voice trembled, but I did not let it break completely.

The tears came anyway, quiet and unstoppable, and I wiped them away before they could blind me.

Not today.

Today, he was still mine.

When I returned to the estate, night had already settled over the packlands. The torches along the stone walls burned low, their light trembling in the wind like fading spirits. I crossed the threshold of the great hall with Evanders moonstone urn still held carefully against my chest, as though the world itself might try to take even that last remnant of him from me.

I had barely stepped into the foyer when Viktor appeared.

There was no warning. No question. Only the sudden blur of movement, and then his hand struck my face with such force that my head snapped to the side. My shoulder collided with the carved doorframe, and for a moment the world went white and distant, as if I had been pushed halfway into the spirit realm. A ringing filled my ears, sharp and disorienting, but even then my arms did not loosen.

The urn remained pressed against me.

Instinct more than thought. As if my body understood that if it fell, something far more final than death would occur.

Have you lost your mind? Viktors voice thundered through the hall, echoing off the stone pillars. How dare you speak so disgracefully to my parents in their own hall?

I slowly lifted my gaze to him, though my mouth had not yet found words.

They told me everything, he continued, his eyes blazing with anger. That you insulted them, that you spat in their tea like some feral thing, that you even threatened them under their own roof. What kind of woman have you become?

Before I could even draw breath to answer, his hand came down again.

The second strike was worse than the first. My head turned sharply, and the taste of blood filled my mouth where my teeth had bitten into my lip. My knees nearly gave way, but I did not fall. I did not cry. Not then. Not yet.

Pain bloomed across my face, but my heart remained strangely still, as though it had already been buried elsewhere.

Viktor, Nyras voice drifted from the side of the hall, soft and carefully measured, as if she were trying to appear concerned. But there was something carefully hidden beneath it, something almost pleased. Please dont. Shes clearly not in her right mind. Its better to let her calm herself.

Viktor turned toward her immediately, as though her presence alone soothed the fire in him.

Do not concern yourself, my love, he said, his tone softening in an instant. This has always been her way. She distorts everything, plays the victim, and expects sympathy for it.

He glanced back at me, cold again. You have always been too indulgent toward her, he added, as if explaining something obvious. That is why she believes she can behave however she wishes.

Nyra lowered her gaze with practiced fragility, leaning lightly against the wall like a delicate thing that might break if touched too harshly. Her eyes flicked toward me only briefly, but the disdain in them was unmistakable.

On the couch nearby, Elric sat with his wolf-ear charms still hanging loosely from his neck. One of them slipped as he tilted his head, but he did not fix it. He did not ask questions. He only watched with faint amusement, as though the hall itself had become a spectacle meant for his entertainment.

Around the edges of the room, the servants had gathered, silent as statues. Yet even silence has a voice in a pack house. I heard them whispering anyway.

She is still holding the urn

She didnt even defend herself

Poor thing she looks like a hollowed spirit now.

I heard she went to the sea shrine with it the boys ashes

Their words drifted, but I did not turn to them. I could not afford to.

Then Viktors eyes fell to my arms again, to the pale moonstone urn I held so tightly that my fingers had gone white.

What is that? he asked, as if it were nothing more than a forgotten object. Before I could step back, he reached for it.

No, I said, too quietly, too late.

He took it from me anyway.

For a moment he simply stared at it, turning it slightly in his hand. Then a faint, disgusted laugh left him.

You are unbelievable, he said. You truly went out into the world carrying this like some tragic offering? What is this supposed to be? Another performance for pity?

He gave it a slight shake, careless and thoughtless. My stomach dropped at the sound it made against his grip.

An urn? he sneered. Whose ashes are you pretending to mourn now? Your dignity?

Behind him, Nyra covered her mouth as if to hide a laugh, her shoulders trembling slightly. Elric let out a quiet chuckle, as though it were all some amusing tale he had been told.

I stood frozen, my cheek burning, blood drying on my lip, but my voice came out steady despite everything breaking inside me.

Give it back.

Viktor lifted it higher.

Why? he said. Tell me who it belongs to first. Or is this another one of your lies?

My gaze did not waver.

It is Evander, I said.

The word fell into the hall like a death sentence.

Everything stopped.

Even the torches seemed to still.

Nyras expression changed first, the faint amusement fading. Elric looked away almost immediately. The servants no longer whispered.

For the first time, Viktors smirk faltered.

He looked down at the urn again, slower now, as if hearing something only just reaching him. His grip loosened slightly, but he did not speak.

I did not move.

I could only stand there, empty and shaking, waiting.

Then it happened.

The urn slipped.

It struck the stone floor and shattered with a sound like bone breaking beneath a wolfs teeth.

For a heartbeat, there was only silence.

Then the ash rose.

Not like dust. Not like anything ordinary. It scattered across the floor in a pale, drifting cloud, as though something sacred had been torn apart and scattered by careless hands.

And in that moment, I understood what had just been done.

Evander was on the floor.

Not memory. Not object.

Evander.

I screamed.

It tore out of me without warning, raw and broken, as I dropped to my knees. My hands moved frantically, trying to gather what could no longer be gathered. Ash clung to my fingers, to the cracks in the stone, to everything I touched. I could not tell what was fragments of the urn and what was him anymore.

I only knew I had lost him again.

Behind me, Viktor exhaled sharply, as though inconvenienced.

Stop this screaming, he said coldly. You are embarrassing yourself. No one killed anything here.

I could not even look at him.

My hands kept moving, trembling as they tried to gather impossible pieces.

Then his voice came again, closer now, harsher.

I spoke to the healers den this morning, he said. Evander is alive. He is recovering. They even sent word and confirmation.

My hands stilled for the briefest moment.

Then resumed.

Because I knew what I had held.

You are lying, he continued. You have gone completely mad if you think I will believe you faked his death for attention.

My voice came out fractured, barely more than breath.

He died, I whispered. I held him I felt him leave this world.

But the hall no longer belonged to truth.

Nyra moved then, kneeling beside Viktor with slow, careful grace. Her hand rested lightly on his arm as she spoke, voice soft as spun silk.

Perhaps she blames me, she said gently, eyes lowering. Perhaps she thinks if she causes enough pain, I will understand what she feels.

Her gaze drifted toward the ashes.

I would not be surprised if she wished something like this upon me as well, she added softly, pressing a hand to her chest as though moved by sorrow. To be scattered and forgotten like this.

And then she began to cry.

Not quietly. Not simply.

It came in waves, trembling and dramatic, as though grief itself had been taught to perform. She leaned against the couch as if her strength had failed her entirely.

And Elric watched. Quiet at first.

Until she reached for him.

When Nyra sobbed and curled herself into Viktors side, her voice breaking in just the right places as though grief had been rehearsed, she whispered for him to take her away from the sight of me.

Come on, sweetheart, she said between trembling breaths. Lets go. I cant stay here I cant breathe with her like this. I dont want Elric to see such ugliness.

Elric hesitated only for a moment. Confused, not truly disturbed, as children often are when adults teach them what to feel. Then he rose and followed without protest, already distracted by something else in his mind.

Viktor gathered Nyra into his arms as if she were something precious forged by the Moon Goddess herself, something fragile that the world must not touch. His hand moved through her hair with practiced ease, his voice softening in a way I had not heard in what felt like lifetimes.

Hush now, he murmured against her temple. You are the only one who matters here. Do not waste your tears on this.

Then, as though I were no longer even present in the same hall, he guided her toward the stairs.

Lets go upstairs, he added coldly over his shoulder. Ignore her.

I remained on my knees among the broken remains of what used to hold my son, gathering ash with trembling hands, trying to form a pile as if I could gather him back into existence through sheer will alone.

That was when Elric suddenly turned.

He ran back.

Before I could even understand his intent, his foot came down hard on what I had collected. The ash scattered instantly, lifted into the air like something sacred being desecrated.

Witch! he shouted. You made my mommy cry!

He stomped again, harder, scattering more of what remained until nothing could be gathered anymore. Then, with a final kick of childish rage, he sent the broken remains of the moonstone urn skidding across the hall. It struck the far wall with a dull, hollow sound before collapsing completely.

Something inside me went still.

Not silence.

Stillness.

As if even pain had stopped knowing how to move.

My throat worked soundlessly at first, then broke into something raw and uncontrollable. My body folded forward, trembling as if it no longer belonged to me.

Viktor descended slowly from the stairs until he stood before me. Then he reached down and seized my face in his hand, his fingers pressing into my cheeks with enough force that I could feel bone against pressure.

Enough, he said, his voice flat. Enough of this performance.

I blinked up at him. His expression did not change. There was no recognition there anymore, no memory of what he had once held sacred.

I almost believed you, he said quietly, almost thoughtfully, as though recalling a moment of weakness he regretted. For a brief moment, I almost felt something. Almost pitied you. Almost mourned your little story.

His grip tightened slightly.

But the healers den sent word, he continued. They sent records. They sent visions. Evander laughing. Evander speaking. The attendants said you manipulated everything. That the child was never as ill as you claimed. That you used him. That you turned even your own son into a tool for sympathy.

The words did not land like accusations.

They landed like execution.

I could not speak. My tongue felt foreign in my mouth.

Behind him, I saw Nyra.

She stood halfway up the staircase, one hand resting lightly on the railing, her posture composed as always. Her expression was soft, but not empty. There was something theresomething faint, sharp, satisfied. A curve at the edge of her mouth that did not belong to sorrow.

A smile.

Small. Controlled.

But real enough to exist.

In that moment, I understood.

Not all lies needed force. Some only needed patience, and a man willing to believe them.

She had done it.

She had reached the healers. She had twisted the messages. The visions. The testimony. Every piece of truth bent until it no longer resembled itself.

And Viktor had believed it without question.

Again.

Just as he always did when it came from her.

Nyra descended slowly, as though nothing in the world weighed upon her. She returned to Viktors side, and he immediately loosened his grip on me, turning toward her as if pulled by instinct.

She leaned into him, fragile and trembling once more.

I feel it again, she whispered faintly. That sickness. That pressure in the air. Ever since she brought that thing into the house I feel like something is choking me.

Her voice broke at just the right moment.

I think she cursed me.

Viktors jaw tightened. A low curse left him.

He looked at me again, and there was nothing left in his eyes but disgust.

Nyra continued, softer now, almost weeping into her sleeve.

I heard the servants speaking they said she brought something unnatural into the estate. Something tied to death. Maybe she meant to use it on me. Maybe she wanted me gone because I carry your child now

A pause.

Then, with a fragile inhale

I dont want to die.

I did not move.

I did not defend myself.

Because there was nothing left in me that believed words could still matter.

Viktor grabbed my wrist again and dragged me forward as though I were no more than a misbehaving servant.

The hall blurred as I was pulled into Nyras chamber. The door struck the wall behind us hard enough to shake the wood.

On your knees, he commanded.

I stood still.

On your knees and beg for forgiveness.

No, I said quietly.

The word cost everything I had left.

His hand struck my face again. The impact forced my vision to scatter in brief, flashing fragments of light.

On your knees, he repeated, harsher.

I still did not move.

That hesitation was enough.

He kicked the back of my legs.

Pain tore through me as I collapsed onto the stone floor. The wound from earlier split open again, warm blood soaking into fabric, spreading beneath me like something slow and final.

Nyra sat upon the couch like a queen in her court, perfectly arranged, a light blanket draped over her lap despite the warmth of the room. Her eyes shone with wetness, but not grief. Not truly.

Only anticipation.

I dont believe her, she said softly. She doesnt mean any of it. I cannot even hear sincerity in her voice.

She tilted her head slightly.

Make her speak louder, Viktor. I want to hear it properly.

Viktor stood behind me like a judge behind a condemned soul, his shadow stretching across the floor until it swallowed me entirely.

Apologize, he hissed. Say it until she is satisfied.

My throat trembled when I spoke.

Im sorry.

My voice barely existed.

Im sorry.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each repetition scraped something raw inside me until sound itself felt like bleeding.

Then Nyra rose slowly.

Her hand pressed against her abdomen, her body swaying just enough to draw attention. A careful instability. A perfect timing.

Her breath hitched.

Viktor she whispered. Something is wrong I think Im bleeding.

Then she collapsed directly into his arms as if she had been waiting for that exact moment to fall. Viktor caught her at once, instinctive and desperate, holding her as though she were made of fragile moonglass that would shatter under the slightest breath.

Nyra Nyra, stay with me, he said, panic cracking through his voice as he pressed his palm to her cheek, checking her pulse, her breath, her every tremor as if the world itself depended on it. Someonefetch a healer. Now!

I remained where I knelt. Blood had already soaked through my dress and pooled beneath me, warm and heavy, but I did not move. I did not speak. I did not even lift my head.

He lifted Nyra into his arms as though she were sacred, as though she were something blessed by the Moon Goddess herself, and turned toward the door with urgent strides.

Before he left, he paused and looked back at me.

His eyes were no longer human. They were sharpened blades.

Do not move, he said lowly. Do not even breathe loudly. Think about what you have done here.

I said nothing.

You do not deserve a bed, he added, each word deliberate, carved out of something colder than hatred.

Then he left.

The door shut behind them with final finality, and the hall returned to silence so complete it felt like burial.

I did not know how long I stayed there. Time lost meaning after a while, as though the estate itself had swallowed it whole. My legs had gone numb beneath me, my body refusing to acknowledge itself. Even pain began to fade into something distant and unimportant.

Then the door creaked again.

At first I did not look up. I thought it was a servant passing through, or perhaps another echo of the house shifting in its sleep. But then I heard small, deliberate footsteps crossing the stone floor.

A childs steps.

Why are you sitting like that? Elric asked.

I slowly lifted my gaze.

He stood there holding a small wooden toy carved in the shape of a hunting beast, painted blue along its sides. His clothes were fresh, his hair brushed neatly, as though he had only just risen from a warm bed and been dressed by careful hands. There was no fear in his face. No confusion. Only calm curiosity, as though I were an object placed incorrectly in his path.

He squatted down beside me, resting one elbow on his knee as he studied me like something beneath his interest.

My mother is a wonderful actress, isnt she? he said, smiling faintly. Bitch.

My lips parted, but no sound came.

He smiled wider, pleased with himself.

Father always believes her, he continued. Every single time.

He pushed the toy lightly across the floor. It rolled once, then stopped. After that, he rose again and hummed to himself as he walked away, unbothered, unburdened, as though nothing in this world had ever demanded remorse from him.

He did not look back.

And I remained there, staring at the place where he had stood, while something inside me quietly stopped resisting.

Soon, I thought.

Soon this will end.

I had already given my order to the pack scribe. The divorce parchment had been sent forward, carried through proper channels. Once it was sealed by the elders, I would no longer belong here.

Then I would be free.

Then I would make them remember.

He returned before dawn.

I heard his footsteps before I saw him. They were heavier than before, but slower, controlled, as though whatever storm had lived in him the night before had burned itself out and left only ash behind.

He did not speak at first.

He simply placed a vial of bitter healers draught on the table before me.

Take it, he said flatly. And try not to bring ruin upon anyone else next time.

I did not respond.

He turned toward the door, then paused as if something had only just occurred to him.

My parents gathering is this weekend, he said without looking back. You are still bound to me. You will attend.

A pause.

And bring Evander.

Silence settled between us.

You heard me, he added. Bring him. Clean him. Stand properly. Smile when required. You know your place.

Then he left again, as if I were already something he had finished with.

The day of the gathering came beneath a sky too clear to be merciful.

I was placed in the carriage, not beside him, but beside the drivers bench, as though I were part of the escort rather than the house itself. I did not protest. I did not speak.

Behind us, Nyra sat comfortably within the carriage with Elric tucked against her side like a favored heir. Her fingers moved through his hair with practiced gentleness, and he leaned into her as though he had always belonged there.

A perfect picture of what they had decided was family.

I sat in silence, dressed in a plain black gown that felt like mourning cloth stolen from someone elses grief. Around me, everything else shonefinery, embroidered silks, jewelry that caught the light like blessings.

Nyra wore white.

Of course she did.

White like purity. White like innocence. White like something untouched by consequence.

No one spoke to me.

Not even Elric.

Not even once.

We arrived at the ancestral estate as the sun dipped low, casting gold across the gates. The outer grounds were already filled with waiting attendants and visiting nobles. Torchlight flickered along the stone paths like watchful spirits.

Viktor stepped out first, adjusting his sleeves, straightening himself as though entering a war council rather than a family gathering.

Then he opened Nyras door.

She stepped out gracefully, smiling at the gathered eyes as though she had been born into this bloodline. Elric followed at her side without hesitation, holding her hand as though it were the most natural place for him to be.

I stepped out last.

No hand reached for me.

No acknowledgment followed.

My shoes pressed into gravel that had been polished for better feet than mine.

Do not speak unless spoken to, Viktor said without turning.

I gave a small nod.

He did not see it.

He was already walking forward, Nyra at his side like a chosen blessing.

Inside, the hall had been transformed into celebration.

The ancestral ballroom glowed with chandeliers suspended like captured stars. Long tables overflowed with offerings, wine aged in sacred barrels, and musicians played softly in the corner as though even sound had been instructed to behave.

Viktor raised his glass before we had even fully entered.

Everyone, he announced, voice carrying easily across the hall, this is Nyra. The woman who will stand beside me in the years to come.

Applause followed.

Nyra lowered her head gracefully, accepting it as though it had always been hers.

And this, Viktor continued, gesturing toward Elric, is the future of this house.

The elders rose. Smiled. Blessed him. Touched his shoulders. Called him strong, promising, worthy.

I stood near the edge of the hall, where shadows gathered beneath the coat racks. I did not belong among gold or celebration. I had been placed where forgotten things were kept.

Someone nearby asked about me.

Viktors mother answered without hesitation.

Oh, that one, she said with a faint smile. The former wife. The one who could not even keep her own child alive in dignity. Where is that sick boy now? Hidden away, as always?

Nyra placed a hand over her heart, soft and sorrowful in performance.

Evander is resting, she said gently. He is too delicate for travel. It would not be suitable.

Then she looked at me, eyes soft with practiced pity.

How unfortunate, she murmured.

And she kissed Viktors cheek as though I were not standing there at all.

My fingers curled once at my side, then loosened.

I said nothing.

A servant dropped a silver tray near the banquet tables. The sound echoed sharply, cutting through laughter and conversation.

The hall turned.

Viktors father laughed first.

We have guests of importance, he said loudly. Not clumsy distractions. If she wishes to be useful, she may clean it.

A ripple of amusement passed through the crowd.

Nyra stepped forward again, smiling sweetly.

She used to be so helpful, she said softly. Perhaps she can assist the servants until they finish.

Viktor said nothing.

That was answer enough.

So I walked forward.

I picked up the tray.

And I began to serve.

Flutes. Plates. Napkins. Smiles I no longer felt required to own.

Whispers followed me like insects.

The former Luna is that really her?

I heard she was cast out of favor.

They say she brought death into the house.

She looks like she is already gone.

I did not look at them.

I did not stop.

Because none of them understood yet.

Not a single one.

And soonwhen the final seal brokeI would no longer be the one serving.

While I moved among the garden tables serving champagne, I tried to fold myself into the edges of the estate, into the places where light did not linger and eyes did not bother to look. The courtyard of House Viremont had been dressed like a noble court from old war taleswhite marble chairs carved with gold filigree, long tables draped in embroidered linen, banners of the pack crest hanging from the stone arches as if to remind everyone whose blood ruled here.

Laughter drifted through the air like perfume. Easy. Careless. The kind of laughter that belonged to people who had never buried a child.

I kept my head lowered as I passed from guest to guest, tray steady in my hands though my fingers had begun to ache from holding it so tightly. Six times I caught the same words slipping between cups and smiles, spoken softly but never softly enough for someone like me not to hear.

They suit each other so well, one woman murmured behind her fan.

Look at them, another replied, voice warm with admiration. A bonded pair blessed by the Moon Goddess herself.

Her son is so well-mannered, a third voice added. You can tell she raised him properly. Unlike some

They were meant to rule together.

She even carries herself beautifully despite the pregnancy.

At last, Alpha Viktor chose correctly.

I pretended not to hear. There was a kind of survival in pretending, in letting the world believe you were too broken to notice its cruelty. I moved between tables like a shadow bound to service, the black dress they had assigned me clinging like mourning cloth that did not belong to my body. Around me, the packs noble women shimmered in silks dyed with silver-threaded runes, jewels passed down through bloodlines that traced back to ancient pacts and wolf oaths. I felt like something misplaced among relics.

That was when it happened.

Elric did not even look at me as he extended his foot. It was deliberate in the way only children taught cruelty can be deliberate. The edge of his polished boot caught my heel, and the world tilted forward.

The tray slipped from my hands.

Crystal flutes shattered across the marble with a sound like breaking vows. Champagne spilled in golden arcs, staining white gowns and polished stone. One glass struck a noblewomans dress, spreading across her hip like a mark of disgrace. Gasps rose instantly, sharp and offended.

The music faltered. Even the wind seemed to hesitate in the courtyard.

I stood in the center of it all, hands trembling, palms empty.

I did not cry.

Elric straightened beside his chair, chin lifted with a childs cruel certainty, as though he had been rewarded for it.

She ruins everything, he declared loudly, voice carrying across the stunned courtyard. Just like she ruined my baby brother.

Silence fell harder than any command.

Every gaze turned to me.

Nyra rose slowly from her seat, one hand resting gently over her abdomen as though she carried the future itself within her. Her expression softened into something delicate and wounded, perfectly arranged for witnesses.

Please, she said, her voice trembling just enough to be believed. He is only a child. He does not understand what he says. He is frightened frightened for me and for the child I carry. Ever since that cursed urn entered this house, he has not known peace.

A ripple went through the crowd. Murmurs, sharper now.

The urn

The childs ashes

I heard something was destroyed

My lips parted. For a moment no sound came, as if even my voice had abandoned me. Then it returned, small and fractured.

The cursed urn, I whispered, almost to myself, was what remained of my son after all of you broke him.

No one reacted. Or perhaps they chose not to.

Then the air shifted.

Viktor crossed the courtyard like a storm given form, his presence heavy with command and fury. He seized my arm without warning, his grip iron-tight, forcing my body to turn with him.

You have humiliated me, he said through clenched teeth, dragging me away from the shattered glass. You have ruined Nyras night.

Before I could respond, his hand struck my face.

The impact rang through me, metallic and sharp. Blood filled my mouth, warm against my tongue. I did not fall. I refused to.

Footsteps followed.

Nyra again, appearing at the edge of his fury like a gentle illusion. She touched his arm lightly, her voice soft enough to soothe a beast.

Please do not hurt her, she said. She is still the mother of your child.

A few elders approached then, drawn by the commotion like vultures to scent. Viktors mothers expression was carved from ice.

End this, she said coldly. Remove her from this family. I will not tolerate such disgrace any longer.

I lifted my head.

No need, I said, my voice unsteady but clear enough to carry. I have already submitted the dissolution request. The bond is broken. You may keep your son.

For a heartbeat, Viktor did not move. As though comprehension itself refused to enter him.

Then his mother stepped forward and struck me across the face.

The sound echoed through the courtyard.

How dare you speak so freely in this house, she snapped.

Whispers rose again, feeding on the moment.

She is insane.

A dissolution?

She cannot survive alone.

She should be restrained.

My hand moved to my pocket almost without thought.

The parchment seal had arrived that morning through the pack messenger, bearing the mark of the elders. I unfolded it slowly.

The bond is dissolved.

I stared at the words until they no longer felt like ink.

Then I smiled.

It was not joy. It was release. The kind that comes when chains finally fall away, even if your wrists are already raw.

I wiped the blood from my lip and straightened.

Then I turned and walked toward the great iron gate of House Viremont.

Behind me, Viktors voice rose.

Where do you think you are going?

I did not look back.

To live, I answered simply. For myself.

His footsteps moved after me. I felt him reaching.

But before his hand could close around my wrist, Nyra collapsed once more, perfectly timed, perfectly fragile, drawing every eye like a practiced spell. The courtyard erupted in movement. Concern. Panic. Attention redirected.

And I kept walking.

No one stopped me.

**

When I returned to the glass mansion, the servants opened the doors as though they had seen a ghost walking back into its own grave. I did not speak. I crossed the threshold alone, my dress torn, my steps steady.

Upstairs, Evanders chamber remained untouched, preserved like a shrine no one dared to acknowledge. His scent still lingered faintly in the carved wood and woven blankets, a sweetness that no amount of time could erase.

I opened his drawers one by one, folding the small garments he had once worn, the toys he had carried everywhere, the worn storybooks marked with his small teeth. Each piece I pressed briefly against my chest before placing it into the travel chest as though preparing him for a journey he would finally be allowed to finish.

When I reached his pillow, I removed my wedding ring and set it down where his head used to rest.

The maid watched from the corridor but said nothing. Some grief does not need witnesses who speak.

I left the mansion without ceremony and walked to the waiting carriage. The driver did not ask questions. He only lowered his gaze.

As the wheels turned, I looked back once at the estate of glass and gold, at the place that had once called itself my home.

My voice left me in a whisper carried only by the wind.

Viktor Viremont when the reckoning comes, may even the Moon Goddess remember what you did.

My fingers closed around the parchment seal in my pocket.

And I did not look back again.