Nova’s pov
The journey home felt like crossing into another world.
My father greeted me at the border. He looked older—like the grief had carved years into his face in days. We didn’t speak much, just held each other in the silence that only shared pain understands. The pack lands were quiet when we arrived. Even the trees seemed to bow in mourning.
The funeral was at dawn.
Wolves gathered in reverent stillness, their heads bowed, their hearts broken. My mother’s body lay wrapped in silver-threaded linen, her face serene. I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and whispered a promise I couldn’t speak aloud.
That I would become the daughter she always saw in me.
When the flames took her, I didn’t cry. I felt her rise—like smoke, like light—becoming part of the stars.
That night as
