Years passed.
Legends scattered like snow across the continent—each version blurred by distance, softened by time.
Some said the last heir of Shadowvale died on the scaffold, her voice lost to fire and treason.
Others claimed she rose from ashes, riding with wolves and crowned by the moon.
But no tale ever agreed on what became of Sera Grayfeather and Noah Silverflame.
Until travelers began whispering of the northern pines.
A place where no banners flew, yet no child went hungry.
Where a silver-haired woman with quiet eyes taught orphans how to read stars, and a scarred man built stone walls with his bare hands.
Where a red-furred wolf guarded a modest hall lit with daisies in the window.
No crown. No title. Just presence.
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Inside that hall, Sera sat cross-legged, sewing a ne
