A year had passed.
The forest that once echoed with the cries of war now hummed with laughter and peace. Where blood had been spilled, flowers bloomed—enchanted by the witches and nourished by the werewolves' renewed bond with nature.
Callista stood at the edge of a crystal-clear lake, her hand resting on the curve of her growing belly. Her silver eyes reflected the calm waters, and a peaceful smile danced on her lips.
Behind her, Lucien approached, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "He's going to have your eyes," he whispered.
"She might have your temper," Callista teased.
They laughed.
All around them, packs and covens lived in unity. Young werewolves trained with witch mentors, and witches protected the territories with enchanted barriers, no longer out of fear—but as guardians of their shared home.
Elira had become the official ambassador between the two races. The elders had stepped down, finally recognizing the need for change. And the Blue Moon Pack had grown—stronger, kinder, wiser.
As the sun dipped behind the mountains, casting a golden hue across the land, Callista knew this was just the beginning.
Not just for her and Lucien.
But for a world reborn.
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