Serena
I used to wonder what Ari’s fourth birthday would look like.
In my mind, it was always quiet. A small cake, maybe, with Ma humming in the kitchen while I lit a candle. A paper crown, hand-drawn. Gifts wrapped in old newspapers. Maybe one or two friends from the neighborhood. Simple. Safe.
But not this.
Not banners bearing his name stretched across the vaulted ceiling of the Moonclaw Great Hall.
Not golden ribbons on every chair, or Elders seated in a row of honor, waiting for the Alpha’s son to appear.
Not waitstaff gliding silently with trays of roasted meat and fruit compotes.
And not Kael tall, silver eyes, immovable standing at the entrance of the hall with Ari in his arms, his hand resting protectively on our son’s back.
This wasn’t the birthday I imagined.
This was so
