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Chapter 27.

​The Great Hall had been transformed into a cavern of flickering amber and deep, velvet shadows. The central hearth roared with a fire so massive it seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the mountain itself. The air was a heavy, swirling mist of the Ancestor’s Resin- bitter myrrh, sharp iron, and the sweetness of the mountain’s breath.

​Rhiannon stood near the massive stone pillars, her fingers curled tightly around the Ancestor Ribbon. The charcoal and blue wool felt like a living thing in her hand, a physical record of ten years of silence.

​Then, the drums began.

​It wasn't a sound of instruments, but of hands on wood and feet on stone. The wolves moved to the center of the hall, their bodies shedding the civility of the day. They didn't just dance; they collided with the music. It was a raw, primal display of strength- shoulders snapping, heads thrown back in silent howls, a blur of predatory grace that made the very air vibrate.

​One by one, the families stepped forward. They cast their ribbons into the flames, shouting the names of those they honored.

​"To my father, Harkan!"

"To the sisters of the Silver Trail!"

​The fire leaped higher with every offering. Finally, the room went quiet, the dancers panting, their skin glistening with sweat and firelight. Fenris stood by the hearth, the witness for every soul in the valley. He turned his head, his blue-gold eyes finding Rhiannon.

​As she walked forward, the pull in her chest became an ache. She reached the edge of the heat, her ribbon trembling. Fenris stepped into her space, his presence a shield against the eyes of the pack. He didn't say a word, but he turned his palm upward, offering his hand in the space between them- a steadying ledge for her to hold onto.

​Rhiannon looked at his hand. She remembered the heat of his skin when she’d calmed his rage, and the way he’d led her out of the brothel by her hand, but this felt different. This was a personal ceremony, a reclamation of her own soul. Taking his hand now felt too intimate, a bridge she wasn't yet ready to cross in front of the world.

​Slowly, she looked up and met his gaze, giving a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. No. Not yet.

​Fenris didn't flinch. There was no flash of rejected pride in his eyes- only a deep, quiet respect. He closed his hand and stepped back just an inch, giving her the air she needed to stand on her own.

​Rhiannon turned to the fire. "I honor the girl who lived in the dark," she whispered, her voice carrying through the hushed hall. "And the woman who found the light."

​She cast the ribbon into the heart of the flames.

​The moment the wool touched the embers, the hearth didn't just flare- it erupted. A pillar of brilliant, blinding blue fire roared toward the rafters, a mix of her reclaimed magic and the weight of her story creating a heat so intense the front row of warriors had to shield their eyes. It wasn't the orange of the mountain; it was the neon-blue of a dying star.

​As the blue fire swallowed the ribbon, the world around Rhiannon vanished.

​Her neck snapped backward with a violent jerk, her spine arching as if an invisible wire were pulling her toward the ceiling. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the gold and blue of the Great Hall replaced by a jagged, flashing memory that had been buried under a decade of trauma.

​She wasn't in the North anymore. She was back in the clearing, the air smelling of ozone and betrayal.

​"-Evil!" The word was a shriek, a jagged glass shard of a voice that tore through her mind. It wasn't a man's voice; it was the collective roar of her own kind, the people of the Grove.

​Then came the sound.

​Snip.

​The metallic, rhythmic snap of heavy shears. Rhiannon felt the phantom ghost-pain of the iron biting into the root of her wings, the sensation of her connection to the earth being severed with a cold, clinical finality.

​Snip. Snip.

​The blue fire in the hearth gave one last, thunderous roar before collapsing back into orange embers.

​Rhiannon’s body went limp. Her lungs burned as if she had been underwater for a century, and as the vision of the shears faded into the dark, her knees buckled.

​Fenris was already moving. His predatory speed was a blur, his hand twitching instinctively toward her waist to arrest her fall. But he saw the way she had looked at his hand only moments before- the silent plea for space, for a ceremony that belonged only to her. He knew the weight of his own presence, the heat of his skin, and the way the pack would interpret the Alpha holding a collapsed fairy in his arms.

​It would be a claim. It would be an intimacy she hadn't asked for.

​With a sharp, disciplined wrench of his own momentum, Fenris caught Sora’s shoulder instead, physically surging the weaver forward into the space.

​"Sora! Catch her!" he commanded, his voice a low, urgent rasp.

​Sora didn't hesitate. She dove under Rhiannon’s falling form, her smaller, softer arms catching the fairy before she hit the cold stone. Sora pulled Rhiannon’s head against her shoulder, shielding her from the curious, wide-eyed stares of the warriors.

​Fenris stood over them, a towering wall of protection. He didn't reach down. He didn't touch her hair. He kept his hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white, creating a perimeter of sheer authority that forced the rest of the pack to look away.

​"The ceremony is over," Fenris rumbled, his voice vibrating with a dangerous, protective edge that silenced the murmurs in the hall. "Return to your fires. Kael, see to the pups."

​Rhiannon gasped, her eyes snapping open as she clawed her way back to the present. The "Evil" from her memory was still ringing in her ears, a jagged contrast to the steady, rhythmic tinkling of Sora’s silver hair charms.

​"I’ve got you," Sora whispered, her voice a grounding tether. "You’re okay. You’re just breathing the North air."

​Rhiannon looked up, her vision blurry. She saw Fenris standing a few feet away. He was watching her with an intensity that made the air feel thin, his blue-gold eyes searching her face for any sign of a break. He was close enough to protect her, but far enough to let her breathe.

​She realized then why he hadn't reached for her. He had sacrificed the instinct to protect to ensure she remained the owner of her own moment.

​Fenris gave a single, solemn nod when he saw the clarity return to her eyes. He didn't offer a hand this time. He simply stepped back, melting into the shadows of the Great Hall to let Sora lead her away.

​Rhiannon leaned into Sora’s side, her legs still shaking. She had told the fire her story, and for the first time, the mountain hadn't just listened.

​It had respected her enough to let her stand alone, even when she fell.