The forest was not silent.
It whispered. It watched.
Every rustle of leaves carried a breath of warning, every root felt alive beneath Aria's boots as she and Damian moved through the night. The moon hung low and bruised, veiled by clouds, its silver light cutting thin slashes across the moss and mist.
Somewhere ahead lay the Witch Fortress—ancient ruins buried in shadow and magic, where Kieran's army had made their nest. And somewhere within it pulsed the Moonstone, the relic that could bend the bond between wolf and goddess.
Aria tightened her grip on her dagger, feeling its hilt hum faintly in her palm. Rowan's words echoed in her memory: Don't think of the blade as steel. Think of it as intent.
Intent.
Tonight, hers was vengeance.
Damian walked beside her, silent but radiating that same charged power he carried into every battle—a storm wrapped in flesh. He had refused to let her come alone, though she had argued, begged even, to go without him. But of course, he had won.
He always did.
"Two scouts at the ridge," he murmured, his eyes glinting in the dark. "Both witches. We move when the wind shifts."
Aria nodded. Her pulse steadied, her breath syncing to his. Their minds brushed—lightly, instinctively—through the bond neither of them dared name out loud.
When the wind rose, they moved.
Swift. Silent. Shadows made of purpose.
The first witch never saw the blade that slit her throat; the second turned just in time to glimpse eyes of silver before Damian's claws struck her down. When it was over, Aria stood above them, chest heaving, the scent of blood and burnt magic thick in the air.
She wiped her dagger clean and whispered, "They were just the beginning."
---
Hours later, they reached the edge of the ruins.
The fortress rose from the earth like a memory of a god's anger—columns shattered, walls wrapped in vines, faint runes pulsing with sickly light. Dark wards laced the air, invisible but tangible, prickling against Aria's skin.
"This place was holy once," Damian said under his breath.
"Not anymore," she replied, her gaze fixed on the largest spire at the center. From its crown, faint light spilled—the color of moonfire.
The Moonstone.
Before she could take a step forward, Damian caught her wrist. "We go in together. You don't rush ahead, no matter what happens. Promise me."
She looked up at him. His eyes, cold and wild in battle, were soft now, pleading. For a heartbeat, she almost told him she couldn't promise what he asked. That the moment she saw Kieran, no god or Alpha could stop her.
Instead, she said quietly, "I'll try."
It wasn't enough, and they both knew it.
Still, his hand lingered at her wrist a moment longer before falling away.
They slipped through the ruins, moving with deadly grace. Shadows twisted along the walls, forming faces that whispered her name—taunts, prayers, echoes of something older than hate. Aria ignored them.
At the heart of the fortress, they found it: a vast hall bathed in ghostly silver, runes carved into the stone like veins. The Moonstone floated at its center, suspended in midair, light pulsing like a living heart.
And beneath it stood Kieran.
He looked different now—his once-golden hair streaked with white, veins of darkness crawling up his neck. Power clung to him like smoke. When his gaze found Aria, he smiled—a slow, terrible curve of triumph.
"Moonborn," he said, his voice low and melodic. "How fitting that you would come to claim what's yours."
Aria's jaw tightened. "It's not yours to touch."
He tilted his head. "Everything the goddess left behind is mine. Including you."
Damian stepped forward, a snarl curling from his throat. "You'll die before you lay a hand on her."
Kieran's laughter echoed through the hall. "Still playing the loyal beast, I see. Tell me, Alpha—how long before your precious bond drives you mad?"
The air trembled.
Damian lunged, claws flashing, but Kieran lifted a hand and the world exploded in light. Magic struck like lightning, hurling Damian across the hall. He crashed into the stone wall with a sickening crack.
"Damian!" Aria screamed.
But Kieran was already moving, closing the distance between them with supernatural speed. His hand caught her throat, cold and burning all at once.
"You were born to lead us," he hissed, eyes fever-bright. "But you've chosen chains. You could end this war with a whisper, if you'd only remember what you are."
Her vision blurred. Darkness crept in at the edges. The Moonstone's light pulsed faster—answering her heartbeat, her fury, her pain.
And something snapped.
Power burst from her like a scream. Kieran was thrown backward, crashing against the altar. The ground cracked beneath her feet, runes flaring white-hot. She fell to her knees, gasping, her hands glowing with raw moonlight.
Damian staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his temple. He stared at her, wide-eyed—not with fear, but awe.
"Aria," he breathed, "you're—"
"I know." Her voice trembled, the light around her body pulsing like fire. "I can feel it."
The Moonstone shimmered in response, its glow bending toward her as though the air itself bowed in recognition.
Kieran rose slowly, fury twisting his features. "You think the goddess favors you?" he spat. "You're her mistake!"
He raised both hands, and the air filled with fire.
Aria met his gaze and, for the first time, didn't flinch. "Then I'll make her proud of her mistakes."
The blast came—a wall of flame and shadow. She raised her hands, and the light answered. Silver collided with crimson, tearing the air apart in a storm of raw, blinding energy. The hall shuddered. Pillars cracked. The Moonstone screamed.
When the light died, Kieran was gone.
Only his voice lingered, faint and echoing:
The bond will break before the moon wanes.
The Moonstone fell from the air, its glow fading, and rolled to Aria's feet. She stared at it for a long moment before kneeling to lift it, her hands trembling.
It was warm. Alive.
When she turned, Damian was already there. He cupped her face, brushing away the blood from her lips. His voice was hoarse. "You saved us again."
She looked up at him, eyes still shining faintly with silver light. "No," she whispered. "We've only postponed the end."
His forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the heavy silence. "Then we'll face it together."
Outside, the storm broke. Thunder rolled through the valley like a promise.
And far to the north, in the ruins of the witch's sanctuary, Kieran opened his eyes again—alive, smiling, and holding a shard of the Moonstone that had splintered when she touched it.
---