The summons came as a shard of ice in Luna's lungs.
One moment she was asleep, tangled in furs, Orion's arm heavy across her waist, the soft murmur of distant snores humming through the den.
The next, she was standing atop the highest ledge, barefoot on cold stone, breath misting in air that hummed with power.
Not a dream.
A *pull.*
The Moon hung enormous and low, silver-white and sharp-edged, closer than it had any right to be. Stars crowded around it like attendants, their light dim by comparison.
The night was too still.
No wind.
No rustle.
Even the ever-present creak of the trees had fallen silent.
Luna's wolf lifted its head inside her, every instinct sharp.
*Now,* the Goddess' voice whispered, threaded with both patience and something like... anticipation. *You have gathered packs. Faced rogues. Chosen your bond. You have stood as My hand among wolves. But you have not yet proved, to yourself or to the elements, that you can stand among them as their equal. Come.*
The Moonlight thickened.
The world blurred.
When it cleared, Luna was no longer on the den's ledge.
She stood in the Moon Temple.
At least, that was what her mind called it.
But this was not the half-buried ruin she had once found in a forest.
This was... the idea of it.
A place out of time, hung between sky and earth.
Pale pillars soared up into nothing, too high to see their end. The floor beneath her feet was a mosaic of swirling inlays: blue, red, green, white, black. Water, fire, earth, air, shadow. Above, the Moon shone, impossibly large, its light falling in a single, clear column onto the center of the chamber.
It lit a circle.
Within the circle, four arches stood equidistant, forming a square around the central glyph.
Each arch shimmered with a different color.
Blue, rippling like a river.
Red, flickering like flame.
Green, alive with curling vines and the smell of fresh soil.
White, moving with invisible currents of air that made Luna's skin prickle.
At the center, where the Moonlight struck, lay a simple stone disc, etched with the crescent that had once burned itself into her skin.
Luna's breath caught.
Her heart hammered.
No one else stood with her.
No Orion.
No pack.
No ancestors, visible at least.
Just her.
And the weight of the Moon's gaze.
"Trial," she whispered.
*Yes,* the Goddess replied. *You have danced with these forces for seasons. Called them. Bargained with them. Forced them, sometimes. Tonight, you do not command. You ask. You show them who you are, without walls, and they will decide if they will follow you not just as wielder... but as equal.*
Fear fluttered in her chest.
"What happens if they say no?" she asked, voice rough.
*Then you will still be who you are,* the Moon said. *Wolf. Nexus. Chosen. But not Queen of Elements. Not the bridge I would have you be. You will live. But smaller. The world will crack wider. The burden will fall harder on others less suited to carry it.*
In other words: this was not about her glory.
It was about everyone else.
Luna straightened.
The fear did not vanish.
She let it sit.
Fear kept you respectful.
"Tell me what to do," she said.
*Walk,* the Goddess answered. *One arch for each element that has touched you. One conversation. One offering. Then the center. If you are still standing, the disc is yours.*
Questions crowded Luna's tongue.
She swallowed them.
Some paths you could only know by taking.
She stepped toward the first arch.
Water.
Blue light rippled around the stone frame, throwing dancing reflections onto her skin.
As she crossed the threshold, the Temple vanished.
She stood on the riverbank.
Not any river she recognized.
Every river.
It rushed past, wide and deep, its surface silver under the enormous Moon.
The air was cool and damp.
Mist clung to her hair.
The banks on either side stretched into misty infinity.
She knew, instinctively, that if she stepped in and let go, she could be carried anywhere—or nowhere.
The river hummed.
*Child,* a voice said.
Not the Moon.
Thicker.
Heavier.
It seemed to come from everywhere at once, from the current, from the droplets hanging in the air, from the slow trickle of moisture down mossy stones.
"Water," Luna said, inclining her head. "You have been... kind to me. And cruel."
The river laughed, a bubbling, rolling sound.
*I am indifferent,* it said. *I erode stone and drown pups. I quench thirst and carve valleys. You have used Me for both mercy and violence. Do you come to bind Me? To own Me? To pull Me like a leash?*
Luna stepped closer.
The spray kissed her face.
"I come to ask you to walk with me," she said simply. "Not behind. Not forced. Beside."
The river swelled.
*Why you?* it asked. *There have been others. Priests who built their lives around My flow. Witches who sang to My rain. What makes you think you can speak for Me?*
She could have answered with destiny.
With bloodline.
With the Moon's favor.
She did not.
"Because I have drowned," she said quietly. "Because I have been parched. Because I have made choices that turned you into a weapon, and choices that turned you into a bridge. Because I am not immune to what you do. I am as subject to your currents as anyone else. That makes me cautious."
She knelt.
Dipped her fingers into the water.
It was cold.
Biting.
Then warm.
Comforting.
Lapping around her skin like an old friend.
"When I flooded the field to drive rogues back," she said, staring at the swirl around her hand, "I could have killed more. It would have been easy. Efficient. I chose not to. Not because I feared blood. Because I did not want their souls to curse your name. I will always try to aim you where you do the least unnecessary harm."
The water pulsed.
*Aim,* it repeated, tone thoughtful. *Not control.*
"Yes," she said.
Silence.
Then the river surged.
A wave broke against the bank, splashing up over her, soaking her from chest to hair.
She sputtered, blinking.
Laughed despite the chill.
*You have ridden Me before,* Water said. *In storm. In blood. You did not pretend We were yours. You held on. You begged when you had to. You let go when you had to. This is enough.*
The current shifted.
For a瞬, a tendril of water lifted from the river, hanging in the air before her like a ribbon of liquid silver.
It twisted.
Curled.
Then sank into her chest.
She gasped.
Not in pain.
In *depth.*
Coolth spread through her lungs.
Her blood.
Not numbing.
Clarifying.
She could feel, distantly, every stream that fed every river that fed every ocean.
Not in detail.
As a set of steady heartbeats under the world.
*I will walk with you,* Water said. *Until you forget that I am not yours. Then I will remind you.*
"I would expect nothing less," she whispered.
Mist swallowed the banks.
The roar of the river faded.
When it cleared, she was back in the Temple.
Her clothes were dry.
But inside, she still felt the river's pulse threaded through her own.
The blue of the Water arch dimmed, then steadied, as if acknowledging her passage.
She turned to the next.
Fire.
The air around the red-lit arch was warmer.
Not oppressive.
Inviting.
As she stepped through, the Temple dissolved into heat and dark.
She stood in the heart of a volcano.
Not as suffocating as reality.
This was a remembered volcano.
A distilled essence.
Lava flowed in slow, glowing rivers around an island of black rock on which she stood.
The air shimmered with updrafts.
Sparks drifted like lazy fireflies.
The heat pressed against her skin, but did not burn.
She felt it in her bones.
In the old scars on her arms from the day she had first called flame and nearly seared herself raw.
*Little moon-child,* a voice purred.
It crackled, snapped, licked at the edges of her mind.
"Fire," she said.
Lava bubbled.
A tongue of flame rose from one of the pools, coiling in the air before her like a serpent.
It regarded her with no eyes and all eyes.
*You have loved Me more than you admit,* it said. *Even when you feared Me. You called Me first. Before storms. Before stone. You called Me when you wanted to change everything.*
She could not deny it.
When she had been small and powerless, she had dreamed not of rivers or winds.
She had dreamed of everything burning.
Of Selene's sneer melting.
Of the elders' cold eyes turning to ash.
Power, in her youngest fantasies, had always been flame.
"I have wanted to burn this world," she said aloud, voice low.
Flame laughed.
*Of course you have,* it said. *Everyone who has been hurt by it does. You wanted to purify. To wipe clean. To start over. You still do, sometimes.*
Her throat tightened.
"Sometimes," she admitted.
The flame leaned closer.
Heat licked her cheeks.
*So,* Fire said. *You come here, wearing Moonlight and river-scent, asking Me to fall in line. Why should I? I like My freedom. I like My destruction. I like honest rage. You would bottle Me. Leash Me.*
Luna shook her head.
"No," she said. "If I leashed you, you would burn through the chain. I do not ask you to be less. I ask you to be more... precise."
She thought of Varric's twisted magic—the way fire had crawled under his skin, uncontrolled, eating as much of him as it burned others.
"I have seen what happens when you are bound in hatred," she said. "When wolves take you into themselves with curses and spite. You eat them. You leave nothing but ash. I have also seen what happens when you are channeled with purpose. You clear deadwood. You warm cold dens. You cauterize wounds."
She met the dancing flame's invisible gaze.
"I have both those fires in me," she said. "The one that wants to watch it all fall. The one that wants to burn only what must burn. I will not lie to you about that. I will not pretend I am always calm. I ask you to walk with the part of me that chooses. Not the part that only reacts."
Fire swayed.
Its heat surged, then pulled back.
*You would stand between Me and your temper?* it asked, almost amused. *You think you can hold that line forever?*
"No," she said. "I will fail. I will burn things I should not. I already have. But I will also kneel in the ash and weep and learn. I do not fear you anymore. I fear what I might do with you. That is why I am here. I want witness. Partner. Not fuel."
Silence.
The molten rivers hissed.
Then the flame lunged.
Luna flinched—
—but it did not engulf her.
It touched her sternum.
Sank into her.
Heat blossomed in her chest.
She cried out.
This was not the cool depth of Water.
This was molten metal poured into her bones.
It hurt.
Then it... changed.
Became warmth.
Not just on her skin.
In her courage.
In her anger.
The parts of her that burned went from wild brushfire to steady forge.
*You speak like stone,* Fire said, voice softer now. *Blunt. Certain. That is why I like you. You do not pretend you are above Me. You admit you are made of Me. You do not get to hide from that. But you also do not have to let it rule you. I will walk with you, Luna. Not as tamed flame. As chosen combustion. Light what needs lit. Burn what must go. If you try to smother Me in fear, I will break your ribs to get out.*
Her lips curved, breathless.
"Deal," she whispered.
Fire flared once more, wild and joyful.
Then the volcano fell away.
Back in the Temple, the red in the Fire arch pulsed strong.
Luna was sweating.
Her heart raced.
But inside, Water's cool steadiness and Fire's hot clarity wove together.
Steam.
Potential.
Two down.
Two to go.
She turned to Earth.
The green-lit arch smelled of moss and wet stone and something older than all of this.
As she stepped through, the Temple vanished into forest.
Not the familiar woods around Moonshadow.
Older.
The trees here were massive, their trunks wider than dens, their roots twisting like the backs of sleeping dragons.
The ground was soft with centuries of leaf-fall.
Mushrooms glowed faintly in the undergrowth.
The air hummed with insect wings and the slow, patient pulse of growth.
She stood in a small clearing, the only patch of open sky visible through the canopy above.
Moonlight speared down in a single beam, dust motes drifting lazily within it.
*You took Your time,* a deep, slow voice rumbled.
It seemed to come from the trunks.
From the soil.
From the stone beneath that.
"Earth," Luna said.
*Stone,* the voice corrected. *Soil. Root. Bone. Call Me what you like. I am the thing you have always wanted to break and rebuild.*
She winced.
"I cracked a lot of you," she admitted.
A low, amused rumble.
*You did,* Earth agreed. *When you were born. When you cried. When you refused to stay in the shape your pack tried to force you into. You shook walls. You split old foundations. Some cursed you for it. I did not.*
She blinked.
"You did not?" she asked.
Leaves rustled.
*I have been bearing the weight of their lies and their stuck stories for generations,* Earth said. *Every time a wolf buried a truth instead of speaking it, it sank into Me. Every time an injustice went unchallenged, it silted into My cracks. You cracked Me open. It hurt. But it let light in.*
Tears pricked her eyes.
"I did not know," she whispered.
*Of course you did not,* Earth said. *You were busy surviving. You do not have to understand Me to move Me. You already did. But if you would stand as what they say you are, you must also understand the cost of moving Me. Every crack you make has consequences. Every wall you raise has weight.*
She thought of Moonshadow's walls.
Of how many secrets they had held.
Of how differently the stone had hummed once she had forced those secrets into the light.
"I will not crack you lightly," she said. "Not again. But I... may need to. Sometimes. To let something new grow."
A root pushed up through the soil in front of her.
It spiraled, coiled, then unfurled a small, delicate sprout.
A leaf turned toward the Moon.
*That is how it works,* Earth said. *Fire clears. Water feeds. Air carries. I hold. And then something grows. You cannot have growth without some breaking. I do not mind crack. I mind neglect. I mind being treated as something you can pile your refuse on and forget.*
Luna sank to her knees.
Pressed her palms to the ground.
It was cool and damp and humming.
"I have treated you like a tool," she said softly. "A thing to raise walls from. A thing to swallow curses. I have not... listened."
The soil shifted under her hands.
*You begin now,* Earth said. *That is enough. You come to Me not asking for an easy path, but for a steady one. To hold not just the weight of your own feet, but of all those who will walk the path you carve.*
She thought of pups.
Of rogues.
Of elders.
Of wolves yet unborn, who would grow in dens built on the foundations she helped set.
Her chest tightened with the enormity of it.
"Yes," she said. "I will set stones that can bear that. Or I will crack them if they cannot. I ask... will you tell me when I am about to lay weight on a rotten beam?"
A slow, satisfied rumble.
*I already do,* Earth said. *Every time your stomach knots at a lie. Every time your feet itch in a place that looks safe but feels wrong. You have been listening without knowing. Now you know.*
Vines, thick and soft, crept up from the ground and wrapped gently around her wrists.
She tensed, then relaxed as they pulsed not with constriction, but with... welcome.
They sank into her skin.
Warmth spread up her arms.
A different kind than Fire.
Rooted.
Solid.
Her sense of balance sharpened.
She could feel, distantly, fault lines beneath the Temple, beneath Moonshadow, beneath Mistveil's peaks.
She knew, somehow, which stones in the den walls were most load-bearing, which would crumble first under stress.
*You will walk with Me,* Earth said. *And I with you. Do not try to hover above. Plant your feet. Let them get dirty. Queens who forget the feel of the ground fall hardest.*
Her lips twisted.
"I do not wear crowns," she said.
*Good,* the land replied. *Heavy, those. They make wolves forget they have necks that can bend.*
The forest faded.
The Temple returned.
The green of the Earth arch glowed steady and deep, like moss in shade.
Three elements had touched her.
Water's depth.
Fire's courage.
Earth's steadiness.
Only one arch remained.
Air.
Its light was not as obvious as the others.
More... implied.
The space around it shimmered, but there was no color, no scent.
Just a sense of movement where there should have been stillness.
When she stepped through, there was—at first—nothing.
Then everything.
Wind.
It roared around her, invisible hands shoving, tugging, lifting.
She staggered, thrown off-balance.
There was no ground.
No sky.
No up or down.
Just currents.
She flailed.
Her stomach lurched.
"You could have given me a ledge at least," she shouted into the gale.
Laughter whipped past her ear.
*You think you are owed footing?* a voice cried.
High and low.
Whisper and roar.
Every breeze she had ever felt, every storm she had ever called, every breath she had ever taken, rolled into one.
"Air," she gritted, fighting to right herself.
*Breath,* the voice replied. *Sky. Whisper. Shout. You have been youngest with Me. You pull Me hardest. You assume I will always be there. Why?*
She flailed, then forced herself to still.
It went against every instinct.
Hold still in a maelstrom?
But when she did, something changed.
The wind did not stop.
It *moved around her* differently.
Less like a bully.
More like a curious animal sniffing at a new scent.
"I do not assume you will always be there," she said carefully. "I know you will not. One day, I will breathe you out and not take you back in. That is the only promise this body holds."
The wind quieted.
Slightly.
*Good,* Air said. *You are not as arrogant as some who have called Me. They thought they could hold Me forever. They built towers and thought the lack of wind up there was peace. It was silence. Stagnation.*
The gale shifted.
Became a thousand tiny currents.
Brushing her skin.
Lifting her hair.
Slipping under her clothes in playful darts.
*You have called Me in storms,* Air went on. *You have screamed My name when you needed Your words carried farther than your throat could reach. You have cursed Me when I took Your breath with fear. You use Me without asking. Without thinking. Even now, you forget I am more than Your power. I am every breath in every lung.*
She thought of pups, wailing their first cries.
Of dying wolves, rattling out their last.
Of rogues, panting as they ran through snow.
Of Alphas, shouting orders atop stones.
Every inhalation.
Every exhalation.
Carried on this.
"I forget," she said softly, "because you are... constant. Too close. I do not notice you unless you are violent."
The wind stilled abruptly.
In the sudden almost-quiet, she could hear her own heartbeat.
Her own breath.
In.
Out.
*Honest,* Air said, tone now more breeze than storm. *You are the first to admit that in a long time. Most mortals pretend they are always aware of Me. They only thank Me when they are choking.*
A soft gust brushed her cheek.
*If you would stand with Me,* Air said, *you must learn to hear My quieter songs. Not just the howling ones. Not just the gales You call in anger. The sigh of a wolf who has finally forgiven herself. The breath of a pack howling together. The whisper in the leaves that tells you when danger creeps.*
She listened.
Really listened.
Not just with ears.
With skin.
With the places inside her that had always been a little too attuned to currents—emotional and literal.
She heard:
The faint tremor in the wind that presaged a storm.
The subtle change in sound when someone lied—breath catching, pattern shifting.
The way pups' breathing synced when they fell asleep in a pile.
The way Orion's breath stuttered, just slightly, when she walked into a room.
All carried on Air.
All signs.
All stories.
Tears stung her eyes again.
"I will... try," she whispered. "To listen. To not only call you when I need drama. To respect the quiet. Will you... stay? When I am falling? Not to stop me. Just to let me know how far it is?"
Air laughed.
A delighted, wild sound.
*You are already falling,* it said. *All of you. All the time. You think the ground holds you? It does not. I do. I am the thing between your feet and the world. I am always there. When you leap, I will not always catch you. But I will always be what you leap *into.* That is enough.*
Wind curled around her.
Gentler.
Then, with a swift, shocking intimacy, it *entered* her.
Not through skin.
Through breath.
She inhaled.
Her lungs filled not just with air but with awareness.
She could feel, suddenly, the currents high above the Temple, the way clouds were forming and dispersing, the tiny eddies created by bats flicking through the night.
Every time she breathed, she felt a little more... connected.
*Do not forget Me when you are not summoning storms,* Air said. *Talk to Me when you are just walking. When you are just... breathing. That is when you will learn the most.*
The gale faded.
She was back in the Temple.
The Air arch shimmered, then steadied, its invisible outline now somehow more... solid to her eye.
She stood there, chest heaving, heart pounding, every part of her humming with the echoes of Water, Fire, Earth, and Air.
They were in her now.
More than before.
Not as weapons.
As... companions.
Judges.
Witnesses.
She turned toward the center.
The stone disc waited in the column of Moonlight.
The crescent etched into it glowed faintly, answering the mark on her own brow.
The Goddess' presence thickened.
*This is the last step,* She said. *You have walked their ways. They have touched you. Now you must decide if you will stand where their currents cross. It will not be comfortable. It will not be safe. It will be necessary.*
Luna's feet carried her forward.
She felt each step.
How the ground gave just enough.
How the air parted.
How the warmth from Fire and the cool from Water balanced in her blood.
She stepped into the Moonlight.
It was not like any other time she had stood in it.
It pierced.
Through skin.
Through bone.
Down to marrow.
Her body went rigid.
The light flared, blinding.
For a瞬, she thought she might dissolve.
She could feel every element in her straining.
Water, restless, wanting to flow.
Fire, eager, wanting to leap.
Earth, stubborn, wanting to root.
Air, fickle, wanting to scatter.
They pulled at her, in different directions.
Threatening to tear her apart.
*This is what it means,* the Goddess' voice came, distant even as it was inside her. *To stand at the crossing. To feel every current and not be swept entirely by any. Can you?*
"I do not know," she gasped, every muscle trembling.
Pain lanced through her shoulders where invisible hands tugged.
Her veins felt too small.
Her bones felt too brittle.
Images flashed:
Varric's twisted fire.
Selene's manipulative charm.
Orion's broken face on the day he realized what he had done.
Pups playing in Moonshadow's courtyard with Mistveil visitors.
Rogues at the border, suspicious, hungry.
Packs howling under the same Moon.
She could let go.
Step back.
Lose none of herself.
Lose this chance.
The world would go on.
Cracking.
Burning.
Flooding.
Choking.
She would still be a force.
Just not... this.
Her wolf snarled inside her.
*We did not come this far to flinch,* it growled.
It did not say, We are not afraid.
It said, We are afraid, and we move anyway.
Luna dragged in a breath.
Air burned sweet in her lungs.
She pushed her feet down.
Deep.
*Earth, hold,* she whispered inside. *Do not let me be torn.*
The ground rose under her, not literally.
Energetically.
She felt roots, not physical, but of intention, sink from her into the foundation.
Her legs steadied.
The pull lessened.
She turned toward Water.
*Mistress of flow,* she thought. *I cannot stop you. I do not want to. But help me bend instead of break. Let me be like your banks—shifting, giving, but still there when the flood passes.*
Coolth wrapped her heart.
The frantic race of her thoughts slowed.
Not dulled.
Clarified.
She could feel movement without being yanked by all of it.
She faced Fire.
*You are in my rage,* she told it. *In my passion. In my desire to fix everything now. Walk with my purpose, not my impatience. Remind me that small, steady flames cook meals and warm dens. Not every problem needs a blaze.*
Heat settled in her core.
It hurt less.
It burned *with* her, not at her.
She turned to Air.
*Breath,* she said silently. *If I forget to pause, to listen, to let words carry instead of fists, shove Me. If I forget to scream when I should, fill My lungs and push the sound out. Keep Me from suffocating in expectation.*
Wind curled around her ribcage, expanding it.
She could breathe deeper.
The pulls did not vanish.
They balanced.
She was still in the middle.
But instead of four separate forces tearing at her, they became... angles.
Vectors.
Crossing through her center, yes, but not... ripping it.
She realized, with a jolt, that this was not about *containing* them.
It was about *aligning* them.
She was not a vessel.
She was a point.
Through which they moved.
If she tensed, they snagged.
If she relaxed with intention, they flowed.
Her muscles eased.
Her teeth unclenched.
The pain ebbed to a fierce, bright ache.
Like the soreness after hard training.
The Moonlight intensified.
Her mark burned.
She cried out, half in pain, half in something like—
Yes.
The crescent on the stone flared.
So did the one on her brow.
For a瞬, they were the only things in the world.
Two sickles.
One above, one below.
Then they overlapped.
Light exploded.
White.
Silver.
Blue.
Red.
Green.
Invisible.
Every color she could not name.
She did not see herself.
She *felt* herself.
Spread.
Her awareness flared outward.
She was the river, swelling.
She was the flame, dancing.
She was the stone, bearing weight.
She was the wind, carrying a pup's first cry to a den's roof.
She was also, still, a woman standing in a circle, heart hammering, scars aching, afraid and determined.
She did not disappear into the elements.
She *joined* them.
Wove into them.
For a瞬, she understood.
Really understood.
What it meant to be the Moon's hand.
Not absolute control.
Not puppetry.
Participation.
Responsibility.
Choice.
The light dimmed.
The pulling stopped.
She staggered.
Hands shot out.
Caught her.
Not physical.
Support from all directions.
From Water, murmuring, *Flow, child.*
From Fire, purring, *Stand tall, burn right.*
From Earth, rumbling, *Plant your feet.*
From Air, whispering, *Remember to breathe.*
She laughed.
Shaky.
Wet-faced.
"I am... still here," she croaked.
*You are,* the Goddess said, warmth and fierce satisfaction in Her tone. *And you did not let any one of them eat you. Good. I was not in the mood to choose another.*
The Moonlight softened.
The stone disc beneath her feet, which had been humming so hard it felt like it might crack, stilled.
Then it lifted.
Rising from the floor until it hovered at her chest.
It glowed with a soft, steady light.
Not blinding.
Not showy.
A promise.
A seal.
*Take it,* the Goddess said. *Not as a weapon. As a reminder. Of this moment. Of this balance. Of this choice.*
Luna reached out.
Her fingers closed around the disc.
It was warm.
Cool.
Rough.
Smooth.
Every contradiction.
Every harmony.
The crescent on its surface matched the one on her brow exactly, down to the tiny, almost-invisible fissure where she had once cracked the birthing stone.
Her mark flared.
The two crescents pulsed.
Then sank.
Not into her hand.
Into her chest.
The disc melted into light and slid through her skin, lodging behind her sternum like a second heart.
She gasped.
The world snapped back into clearer focus.
The Temple.
The arches.
The Moon above, smaller now, back to its usual size.
The Goddess' presence, no longer overwhelming, but constant.
*It is done,* She said quietly. *You have passed the Trial. Not by bending the elements to Your will. By bending Yourself enough to hold them without shattering.*
Luna dropped to her knees.
Not in worship.
In sheer, shaking release.
"I thought I was going to come apart," she admitted, voice hoarse.
*You did,* the Moon said. *A little. That is the point. Each time You do, You have a chance to put Yourself back together in a truer shape.*
"You could have told me that before," Luna muttered.
Laughter like starlight tinkled through her mind.
*You would have overthought it,* the Goddess said. *Besides, some things must be *felt* to be known. Not just understood.*
The arches around her dimmed, then went dark, their task complete.
The Temple's edges blurred.
"Wait," Luna said. "What... what am I now, exactly? To them? To You?"
The Goddess was silent for a moment.
Then:
*You are what you have always been,* She said. *Luna. Wolf. Runt who refused to stay small. Element's bridge. My hand. Their Queen, if they choose you. Not because I decree it. Because you have proved to yourself and to the forces that shape this world that you can stand in the crossing without making it only about you.*
The word Queen echoed.
It did not feel like a crown now.
It felt like a mantle.
Heavy.
Right.
Luna swallowed.
"And if I fail?" she asked. "If, one day, I let one of them pull too hard? If I burn more than I should? Drown what I meant to save? Crack something that will not mend?"
*Then you will live with it,* the Goddess said simply. *You will make amends if you can. You will ask forgiveness if you can. You will forgive yourself if you can. And you will try again. That is the only promise I can make you. I do not ask perfection, Luna. I ask willingness.*
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
She let them.
"Then I am willing," she whispered.
Light flared one last time.
When it faded, she was back on the den's ledge.
The normal Moon hung above, serene.
The night sounds had returned.
Crickets.
Leaves.
Distant murmurs.
Her feet were bare on familiar stone.
A cold wind brushed her face.
She did not shiver.
Inside, the second heart the disc had become beat steady.
Behind her ribs, Water, Fire, Earth, and Air hummed in uneasy, contented harmony.
The mark on her brow tingled.
Behind her, a door creaked.
"Luna?" Orion's voice, rough with sleep and alarm. "Where—"
He stepped out onto the ledge, hair mussed, tunic thrown on hastily, eyes wide.
He stopped dead when he saw her face.
Something in his expression shifted.
Awe.
Fear.
Love.
Recognition.
He took a slow breath.
"I felt..." he said, voice catching. "Through the bond. You. Everywhere. For a瞬 I thought—"
He broke off.
She turned to him fully.
He stared.
"You are..." he started, then shook his head, laughing once, choked. "Different. And exactly the same."
"Trial," she said, voice low. "I passed. I think."
He searched her eyes.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
She placed a hand on his chest, over his heart.
He flinched as a wash of cool, warm, heavy, light sensation rolled from her palm into him.
His breath hitched.
"Gods," he whispered.
"No," she said softly. "Just one. And I am not Her."
He swallowed.
"You feel like..." he groped for words. "Like standing in a storm I know will not kill me. Like the first deep breath after being underwater too long. Like... home. More than before. If that is possible."
She leaned her forehead against his.
"Elements acknowledged me," she murmured. "Not as their owner. As their point of crossing. I am not just wielding them now. I am... part of their web."
He closed his eyes.
"Goddess among wolves," he said softly.
"Wolf among elements," she corrected.
He smiled.
"Both," he said.
She let the word settle.
Not as a boast.
As a responsibility.
Below them, in the sleeping den, wolves shifted in their nests.
Some dreamed of water.
Some of fire.
Some of stone.
Some of wind.
A few stirred, sensing something new in the currents of power that ran through their home.
They did not wake.
Not yet.
Their Queen—reluctant, forged, chosen—stood on the roof, breathing under the Moon, elements humming in her bones.
The final trial was passed.
The divine title that had hung, half-spoken, over her head was no longer just rumor.
It was *earned.*
Not by being flawless.
By standing in the center of everything that could tear her apart and choosing, over and over, to be whole.