FROM THE NORTH.
1491 Words
~~~CELESTE.
“Move.”
The shove comes suddenly, forcing me forward before I can steady myself, my bare feet scraping against the rough stone as the guards drag me out of the dungeon and into the open.
The noise hits instantly.
Voices rise from every direction, overlapping, clashing, some laughing, some calling out, all of it loud enough to make my head spin as I squint against the sunlight, my eyes burning after hours in the dark.
“They are bringing her out…”
“That is the witch…”
“Look at her…”
Laughter follows, sharp and unforgiving.
“Shameless omega!”
A stone strikes my shoulder, hard enough to make me flinch, but I keep my lips pressed together, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Lift her head,” one of the guards mutters.
Rough fingers tangle in my hair, yanking my head back, and pain shoots through my scalp as my face is forced up, leaving me no choice but to look at them.
There were faces I recognized.
People I grew up seeing, and people I once thought belonged to the same world as me were now staring as if I am something dragged out of filth.
“Witch,” someone spits.
“Using dark magic now, are we?”
“I always knew something was wrong with her.”
My throat tightens, but I said nothing, because no one here is waiting for an answer, no one cares about the truth, they only want something to hate, and I have already been chosen.
My gaze shifts despite myself and then I sew her.
My stepmother stood near the front, composed as always, her arms folded neatly, and her lips curved in a small, satisfied smile that did not bother to hide itself.
There was no sadness on her face, and no hesitation. Only quiet victory.
My chest tightens, and I force myself to look away.
Then I see him.
My father stands just behind her, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable, and for one weak, foolish second, something rises inside me.
Hope.
Maybe he will look at me, maybe he will say something. Maybe…
His gaze meets mine and then he turns away.
Just like that, as if I am nothing, as if I have never been anything to him
Something inside me cracks, slow and deep, more painful than the chains biting into my wrists.
“Keep moving.”
The guards shove me forward again, and this time I don’t resist, I let them drag me through the parting crowd until we reach the center.
I have walked past this place before, and always from a distance, telling myself I would never stand here.
I was wrong.
“Down.”
My knees hit the ground hard, the rough surface scraping against my skin, but the pain barely registers, because everything feels distant, like I am watching someone else take my place.
The noise begins to quiet, not completely, but enough because then, he steps forward. Alpha Bran.
The crowd shifts for him without being told, parting naturally as he walks, his presence alone enough to silence most of them.
I lift my head before I can stop myself.
He looks the same.
Untouched, composed, completely unaffected, as if all of this meant nothing, as if I meant nothing.
Something bitter rises in my chest.
“You have something to say?” he asks, his voice calm, carrying easily across the clearing without effort.
I swallow, my lips parting.
“Did you ever hesitate?” I ask.
The question comes out softer than I intended, but it is the only thing I can force past the tightness in my throat.
A murmur spreads through the crowd.
Bran studies me for a moment before stepping closer, slow and deliberate.
“About what?” he asked.
My fingers curl slightly against my palms.
“This,” I whisper, my voice barely steady, “any of it.”
He does not hesitate. “No.”
The answer comes clean, immediate, like it costs him nothing to say.
I nod once, the movement small.
Of course.
One of the elders shifts nearby. “Alpha, the charges…”
“I am aware.”
Bran does not look away from me.
“Celeste Hunter,” he says, his voice rising just enough to reach everyone, “you stand accused of using dark magic to manipulate a gathering of this pack.”
The words settle over the crowd, followed by a ripple of murmurs.
“Do you deny it?”
All eyes turn to me, waiting and watching.
I could stay silent, I could let it happen, but something in me refuses to go quietly.
“Yes,” I say, my voice unsteady but clear, “I deny it.”
Laughter breaks out immediately.
“Of course she does…”
“She thinks we’ll believe her…”
“Pathetic…”
Bran lifts his hand slightly, and the noise dies down almost instantly.
His gaze sharpens.
“Then explain.”
My breath catches.
“I don’t know what happened,” I say, forcing the words out, “I didn’t use anything, I didn’t even…”
“You expect us to believe that?” someone interrupts.
“I am telling the truth!” I snap, louder now, desperation slipping through despite myself.
Silence follows, thinner this time.
“You caused a disruption,” he continues, “you drew attention to yourself in a way you were neither permitted nor capable of.”
My chest tightens.
“I didn’t mean to…”
“Intent does not matter,” he cuts in smoothly.
“What matters is what happened.”
“And what happened?” I ask before I can stop myself.
The question hangs, sharp and dangerous.
Bran’s gaze holds mine.
“You overstepped.”
Something bitter twists inside me.“And that deserves death?” I ask quietly.
A murmur ripples again, louder this time.
Bran steps closer, his presence pressing down on me.
“You are not being executed for overstepping,” he says.
My breath hitched. “For what, then?”
“For what you are.”
The words land heavy. “And for what you could become.”
A chill runs through me before I can stop it.
“How unfortunate.”
Seraphine’s voice slips in smoothly as she steps forward, coming to stand beside him, perfectly composed, and perfectly untouched.
“You had one chance,” she says lightly, her gaze dropping to me, “and you ruined it.”
Bran raises his hand again and then executioner steps behind me.
I hear the sound of metal dragging, slow and deliberate, and this time my body reacts before I can stop it, my shoulders tensing, my breath quickening.
This is real.
God, I am going to die.
The thought hits hard, cutting through the numbness.
I didn’t want to die. Not like this, not here.
My fingers tremble against the chains as I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest rising too fast.
“I am sorry,” I whisper, the words slipping out without thought.
The air shifts as the sword lifts and God, I could feel it.
Everything slows, the crowd, the wind, and even my heartbeat seems to drag.
“Save me…” I breathe, barely audible.
“STOP.”
The voice cuts through everything.
It was deep, commanding, and impossible to ignore.
Silence crashes over the clearing, sudden and heavy.
Even the executioner freezes and my eyes snap open as I turn my head.
Someone stands at the edge of the crowd, tall and still, his presence alone enough to shift the air.
I cannot see his face clearly, but I feel him, something heavy and unsettling pressing against my senses.
The guards hesitate.
“Who dares…” one of them starts, but his voice falters.
More figures step forward behind the stranger, armed, silent, and dangerous, and the crowd begins to stir uneasily.
“T… that’s…”
“No… it can’t be…”
The name spreads slowly, like something people are afraid to say.
“Alpha Ronan…”
My breath catches.
“The Alpha from the North…”
“The cursed one…”
Ronan.
He steps forward, and the space seems to bend around him, his presence heavy, dark, suffocating in a way that makes it harder to breathe.
My heart begins to race again, but this time it is not only fear, something else stirs beneath it, something unfamiliar that tightens in my chest.
Bran’s voice cuts through the tension.
“You are far from your territory.”
Ronan does not answer immediately. He didn’t even say a word.
His gaze shifted, and landed on me.
Everything inside me stills and I don’t understand what is happening, but I could feel it..
And for the first time since they dragged me out here, I am no longer certain how this ends.
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