The world doesn’t celebrate survival.
It mourns what was lost.
Rain falls in a slow, steady veil over Blood Moon as the pack gathers beneath gray skies. No battle horns sound. No victory howls rise. Only silence stretches across the territory like a wound that refuses to close.
A small flame burns at the center of the ceremonial stone.
Not for a warrior.
For a child that never drew breath.
I stand at the edge of the balcony wrapped in a heavy cloak, my body still weak, my soul aching in ways no healer can reach. Zane stands behind me, his arms around my shoulders, holding me upright when my knees threaten to give.
The pack bows their heads.
Elder Bram steps forward slowly.
“Today, we honor a life that was never named… but was deeply loved,” he says softly. “A spark that burned onl
