THE LUNA HE THREW AWAY

The Sovereign’s Judgment

The moon hung above us, but the celebration was already breaking down. The fire was hot, voices rose and fell, but there was still an uneasy feeling in the air. Tension crawled up my spine and stayed there. Whenever someone laughed, it faded too quickly. The Hollow was waiting, and everyone knew it, even if they pretended otherwise.

I stood at the edge, watching the crowd. Jax was somewhere in the middle, grinning and making jokes. “Luna’s first decree: better food in the kitchen,” he teased. Cass laughed, but her eyes flicked to the trees every few seconds. Fen leaned against a root, carving spirals into wood. He was unreadable as ever. Kael moved through the circle, silent and careful, as he always did when he sensed trouble.

Aldric sat alone, just outside the firelight, his face shadowed, his posture slumped. No one approached him. Even Silas, his Beta, kept his distance, eyes locked on the crowd as if waiting for orders that would never come.

And then, like the world had been waiting for its cue, the woods changed.

It started with a single branch snapping somewhere beyond the circle. Then another. Then silence, too sharp, too deep. The Exiles faded into the darkness, quick as ghosts, their silver eyes glinting. Rowan’s wolves clustered together, hands on blades, their posture shifting from celebration to defence.

I felt the power wake up in my chest, hot and bright, like liquid silver running through me. It was old magic, wild and watchful. It hinted at forgotten rules and wild chances. But it always came with a price. Each breath took something from me. Memories faded. My bones ached. I only saw my limits when I hit them. This magic could only change so much before it demanded something back or left me hurting. With every breath, it pressed closer, itching under my skin. It offered strength to break or heal, but never both. The Hollow pressed in, the ancient force humming louder. It waited for my choice, reminding me that the wrong move could turn power into poison.

Cass moved to my side. “Something’s wrong,” she murmured. “This isn’t over.”

I nodded. “Aldric wouldn’t kneel unless he had another play.”

Kael joined us, his jaw tight. “He’s not beaten. He’s waiting.”

Fen’s gaze was fixed on the trees. “He’s hoping you’ll make a mistake.”

The fire flickered as the wind changed, carrying the smell of smoke and something sharper. Maybe it was blood, maybe fear. The crowd fell silent. Everyone watched and waited. I felt every eye on me: the Sovereign, the correction, the one meant to break the world open and make it better.

I couldn’t breathe.

Then Aldric stood, slow and deliberate, and stepped into the circle.

He looked smaller than before, older, but his eyes burned with something I couldn’t name. He carried a silver blade, the kind that had ended more than one Sovereign in old stories. Only an Alpha was supposed to be able to use it.

He walked to the center, his steps steady, his bearing a gravity that pulled every gaze.

“Lira Vale,” he said, voice subdued, echoing. “You think you’ve won. You think the world will change because you said so. But power isn’t words. Power is what you do when everyone else wants you gone.”

He raised the blade. The crowd sucked in a collective breath. Rowan’s wolves tensed. Dara’s guards shifted, ready. Cass moved to intercept him, but Fen caught her arm, shaking his head.

Aldric pointed the blade at me. “If you are Sovereign, prove it. Not with moonlight, not with ritual. Prove it against the knife.”

He charged.

I didn’t use the power right away. I let him come, the old world rushing toward me, every scar, every story, every mistake he’d made and every cage he’d built. At the last second, I stepped aside. It wasn’t a dodge. It was a choice.

I grabbed his wrist, the blade cold and heavy in his hand. I looked into his eyes, and for the first time, I saw the man beneath the Alpha: tired, angry, desperate.

The power rose up, slow and steady. It wasn’t a flood or a current. It was a mirror.

As our hands touched, the magic boiling under my skin jumped into the space between us. It wasn’t words or memory, but a surge of silver fire behind my eyes, a psychic bridge that made my thoughts spill into his mind. I showed him everything he’d built. Every Silver Cell. Every burned record. Every Omega who disappeared. Every pack he destroyed. Every person he told was too small to matter. Images pressed between us, sharp as glass, so vivid he had to live them as I had. I showed him Jax, locked in a cage, laughing anyway. I showed him my father, refusing in a room meant to make him kneel. I showed him myself, five years old, being told I was nothing.

Aldric’s breath shook, and his whole body jerked under my grip. His eyes went wide, pupils flaring. He opened his mouth to deny it, but the visions came too quickly. His shoulders hunched as he realised the truth. His jaw worked as he tried not to look at me. For a moment, I saw regret flicker across his face. Anger and helplessness soon replaced it. His knuckles turned white. I felt his wrist tremble, caught between fighting back and giving in. Bitterness and grief fought inside him. Old pride clashed with the horror of what he’d done. He suddenly looked small, weighed down by every cruelty he’d committed. I saw his tears gather. For a moment, I knew he saw himself as I did, and it broke him.

Aldric dropped the blade. He didn’t die. He didn’t beg. He just stopped. The fight went out of him like a tide receding, leaving only the emptiness of a man who had run out of reasons.

He sat down in the mud, his hands shaking. The Hollow watched, silent.

I picked up the blade, held it for a moment, then set it down beside him.

“You’re going to live with it,” I said. “That’s worse.”

For a moment, the crowd was silent, stunned, unsure. Then Rowan stepped forward, his wolves following, and the circle broke apart. Cass moved to my side, her hand on my shoulder. Kael watched Aldric, his expression unreadable, his loyalty shifting in ways I couldn’t see.

I looked at Fen. He nodded, slow and careful.

Jax found me, his complexion pale, his hands shaking. “You did it, Lil,” he whispered. “But is it really over?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know.

Because in the darkness beyond the firelight, I felt something watching. Something old, something hungry, something that wasn’t done yet.

And I knew: the reckoning had only just begun.