THE LUNA HE THREW AWAY

The Second Witness

The next morning, the air stayed heavy with the promise of rain. Cass made coffee over the fire, the smell sharp and grounding. Kael barely touched his cup.

“We go to Ironveil next,” he said, voice emotionless. “Dara isn’t Aldric, but she’s not our friend. She’s survived this long by never picking a side.”

Fen spat into the fire. “She’ll want something.”

“She’ll want proof,” Cass said. “Proof that it’s worth risking what’s left of her pack. Proof that you’re not just another Sovereign with a death wish.”

I laughed, short and mean. “Guess I’ll have to be convincing.”

We walked all day, the land growing more civilized, more dangerous. Ironveil territory was richer than Ashveil, the houses bigger, the roads better kept, but there was no warmth to it. Every window was shuttered, every gate locked. Fear hung over everything.

We reached the Ironveil estate at sunset. The walls were high, topped with broken glass. Kael led the way, his shoulders squared, his eyes harder than I’d ever seen. He rapped on the gate, and after a moment, it creaked open a c***k.

A wolf in Ironveil blue peered out. “State your business.”

“Kael Thornridge,” Kael stated. “And Lira Vale. We’re here to see Dara.”

The guard looked us over, his nose wrinkling at the mud, the blood, the silver in my eyes. But he let us in.

Inside, the estate was all stone and steel, the kind of place built to keep secrets and enemies alike. Dara Ironveil met us in a room that felt more like a council chamber than a home. She was older than Kael, younger than Cass, with a face carved by years of managing men like Aldric.

“Thornridge,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. “And Sovereign. I wondered when you’d come begging.”

“We’re not begging,” I said. “We’re offering a chance to stand on the right side of history.”

She snorted. “History is written by the last one standing. Why should I believe you’ll be the one left?”

Kael stepped forward. “Because Aldric is dying. Because the Council is eating itself. Because if you don’t pick a side now, there won’t be sides to pick.”

Dara considered this, her eyes moving from Kael to me to Fen, who just stared back, unblinking. “You want Ironveil to witness your claim. You want my name on your Rite.”

I nodded. "And in exchange, you get protection. You get a place in the new order. Or you get to survive, at least. I can’t promise more." I meant it, too. The new order would mean no more Council lording over every pack, no more blood taxes or secret courts, just the chance for each territory to govern itself, settle old scores, and finally breathe without someone else's rules pressing down on their throats. That was what I was offering, if anyone believed I could pull it off.

She laughed, bitter. “Honest, at least. But here’s what I want, Sovereign. I want you to promise, publicly, at the Rite, that Ironveil’s autonomy will be respected. No Council edicts. No Sovereign decrees. My pack, my rules. You want my witness, you give me that.”

I looked at Kael, at Cass, at Fen. None of them spoke. This was my call.

“Done,” I said. “If I win, Ironveil governs itself. If I lose, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

Dara nodded, once. “I’ll be there. But if you break your word, Sovereign, I’ll be the first to put a knife in your back.”

“Get in line,” I muttered. But I held out my hand, and she shook it, her grip dry and strong.

When we left, the sun had gone. The night was thick, the air heavy with the promise of storms. Kael walked beside me, silent. Cass kept glancing at the sky, as if waiting for trouble. Fen walked ahead, a shadow among shadows.

We had two witnesses. One more to go.

Back at camp, no one slept. The fire was just an ember, the night pressing in. I sat with the letter in my lap, reading the words again and again. Jax's handwriting was familiar now, every line heavy with the risk he'd taken to get this message to me. Not a mistake. The correction.

I wondered what it would cost to finish what I’d started. I wondered who I’d be if I survived.

When sleep came, it was restless, full of dreams of blood and fire and the feeling of running, always running, never quite reaching the end.

Tomorrow we’d ask for the third witness, and after that, there would be no more running.

Tomorrow, everything would be on the line.