THE CROWN BENEATHE THE MOON
Morning came quietly.
No thunder. No triumphant horns. No ceremony.
Just the soft wash of pale gold sunlight rolling over a valley that had bled the night before.
Elara stood at the edge of the training grounds, bare feet pressed into cool earth still marked with claw grooves and darkened patches where blood had soaked deep. The wind moved gently now, almost tender, as if the world itself was trying to soothe what it had witnessed.
Behind her, the pack worked in silence.
They gathered their wounded. They burned what needed burning. They mended fences and carried water and spoke in low voices that held both relief and something heavier awe.
She could feel it.
Not fear.
Not distance.
Reverence.
It unsettled her more than the battle had.
Kael approached
