Untitled Episode
833 Words
Seris forced herself to eat, though every bite felt like ash in her mouth. The nurses had scraped together what little food they could find, and even that was barely enough to steady her trembling hands.
She felt weak.
Because she was weak—young, untrained. Not a soldier. Not forged for war.
Her thoughts spiraled relentlessly around the letter she had yet to read. What would Stormclaw demand of them?
Slavery?
Reduction to omegas?
Total conquest—only to rebuild their land into something unrecognizable?
The questions tangled until she could no longer tell fear from exhaustion. She wanted to disappear. To hide. To let someone else stand at the forefront of this disaster.
But there was no one left.
No Aeden.
No Kael.
Not even her father.
A quiet sob slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
Nurse Beatrice turned at once, crossing the room and drawing Seris into a gentle embrace. “There, there, little one,” she murmured, rubbing slow circles into her back.
Seris hated it.
She was supposed to be strong. A beta did not crumble like a frightened child. Yet the more Beatrice soothed her, the more the tears came—hot, unstoppable. She wept for her pack. For her father. For Aeden. For Kael.
“We’re expecting you in the meeting, Beta.”
The voice was cool. Controlled.
Seris looked up, tears still streaking her face, and found Fabian standing in the doorway. His expression was carved from stone.
Shame struck her harder than any blow.
She straightened at once, wiping her tears, lifting her chin as though it had never trembled. Without another word, she rose and walked past him.
Fabian led her into the council room.
It was packed—every surviving pack member who could stand had gathered. The air was thick with fear and expectation. At the head of the room sat a chair waiting for her.
As she took her seat, her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Trixie.
She wasn’t there.
The absence nearly broke her. She needed a friend. Someone who didn’t see her as a title or a failure. But this was not the place for tears.
The letter was brought forward.
Fabian placed a small box before her. Inside lay a thin envelope, sealed with dark wax stamped with Stormclaw’s sigil.
Seris broke the seal and read.
The words stole the breath from her lungs.
Stormclaw announced Alpha Maelor Blackmoor’s impending arrival—an “inauguration,” they called it. Nighttorn would cease to exist. The land would be absorbed. The pack renamed Wolfclaw.
All surviving leaders—beta and council alike—would be stripped of rank and reduced to omegas.
A collective gasp rippled through the hall.
Stormclaw would recruit the strongest survivors as soldiers, guards, servants, healers—property of the imperial family. Any resistance would be met with s*******r. The land itself would be repurposed into one of Alpha Maelor’s silver plants, a forge for weapons and cruelty, staffed by captive witches.
The letter ended with polite finality.
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
Seris lowered the letter. Dozens of eyes stared back at her, pleading for answers she didn’t have.
They were injured. Outnumbered. And the letter gave no date—only inevitability.
She glanced at Fabian. He stood rigid, unreadable. A soldier awaiting command.
She rose.
“I want to thank every pack member who came today,” she began, her voice shaking but clear. “None of this is what we wanted. None of it is what we deserve. Our numbers are broken. Our strength diminished.”
She paused, drawing breath.
“But we are Nighttorn. And we will not bow our heads in fear. We owe no respect to intruders who destroy our home.”
Murmurs stirred.
“I ask that we help one another. Rebuild where we can. The surviving council and I will meet to decide how we defend ourselves.”
“Surrender is our only chance to survive,” Fabian said evenly. “We lack soldiers. Survival must come first.”
A councilman spoke next. “We could plan a diversion. Escape before they arrive. Find another land.”
Another voice cut in, sharp and cruel. “And what order would guide us? No Alpha. And a beta who couldn’t even protect Kael.”
The words struck like a blade.
Memory surged without mercy.
Kael stepping in front of her.
The circle closing.
No reinforcements coming.
His howl echoing as he fell.
She had run.
What kind of beta fled while her Alpha died?
No prayer would ever cleanse that guilt.
The room erupted—whispers, accusations, pity, anger. Coward. Traitor. Unfit. Some thought of fleeing. Others of pledging themselves elsewhere.
The weight of it crushed her.
Seris bowed her head into her hands and finally let the tears fall.
Unrestrained.
Because for the first time, she no longer knew whether she was leading them forward—
Or standing in the way.
- Writer
