War does not begin with swords.
It begins with whispers.
By sunrise, the realm had already split itself in two.
Messengers arrived in waves—some kneeling in loyalty, others standing rigid with barely veiled accusation. The courtyard below the fortress filled with banners from neighboring packs. Not all were raised in solidarity.
Some were raised in challenge.
I stood on the balcony overlooking them, wind tugging at my hair, one hand resting over my stomach. The triplets were restless today—not violent, not uncontrolled—just aware.
They knew the world had shifted.
Behind me, Ronan adjusted the clasp of his war cloak, the heavy black fabric lined with silver thread marking him as both king and war-bound sovereign. Since invoking the Rite of Ash and Fang, something in him had sharpened. He was still mine—but he carried the weight of inevitability now.
"They're afraid," I said quietly.
"They should be," Ronan replied.
I turned to him. "Not of us."
His jaw tightened.
Below, Alpha Darius of the Stone Ridge Pack stepped forward. Broad-shouldered, gray-bearded, cautious but not foolish.
"We come for clarity," Darius called upward. "Not conflict."
Ronan rested his hands on the balcony railing. "Then speak."
Darius lifted his chin. "Your mate's power leveled half of Purge territory last night. Entire strongholds collapsed. We have reports of shadows answering her call like trained beasts."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered packs.
I swallowed.
I hadn't meant to cause that much destruction. I had only wanted Elin safe.
"They attacked first," Ronan said flatly.
Darius nodded. "We know. But power like that shifts balance. Some fear what happens if control slips."
The words stung because they weren't entirely wrong.
The first triplet stirred—cool, calculating.
They measure threat, he whispered inside my mind.
It was clearer this time.
Stronger.
I inhaled slowly. "Then let them measure this," I said, stepping forward.
Energy flickered faintly around me—not explosive, not overwhelming—just present. Controlled.
"I do not seek dominion over you," I called down. "I seek the end of the Purge. Nothing more."
A younger Alpha scoffed. "Power always seeks more."
Before Ronan could respond, a tremor shook the courtyard.
The sky darkened unnaturally.
Clouds spiraled inward like a vortex forming above the fortress.
The third triplet—my quiet, ancient one—pressed heavily against my senses.
He comes.
Ronan moved instantly, pulling me behind him as the air split open.
A figure stepped through the tear in reality.
Tall. Cloaked in void-black armor that seemed to drink the light around it. His eyes glowed a hollow, endless crimson.
The courtyard fell to its knees instinctively.
Even the elders gasped.
"Impossible," Maerith whispered. "He died a century ago."
The figure removed his helm slowly.
And I recognized him from the old murals in the forbidden wing.
Malrik the Severed.
The first Lycan general who turned against the crown.
The founder of the Purge.
"You built your kingdom on fragile bones, Ronan," Malrik's voice echoed, layered and distorted. "Did you truly think prophecy would save you?"
Ronan's power flared. "You should have stayed dead."
Malrik smiled faintly. "Death is a door. Your children opened it."
Cold dread slid down my spine.
"The shadow surge last night," he continued, eyes shifting to me. "That was not destruction. That was invitation."
The first triplet reacted sharply.
Liar.
The word cut clean through my mind.
Malrik tilted his head slightly—as if he heard it.
Interesting.
"You carry more than heirs," he said softly. "You carry keys."
Ronan stepped fully in front of me. "Say another word about them—"
"You misunderstand," Malrik interrupted. "I do not want them dead."
Silence.
The courtyard trembled again.
"I want them free," he finished.
The second triplet flared hot with rage.
He lies, she hissed.
The third remained steady.
He believes what he says.
That terrified me more.
Malrik extended one gauntleted hand.
"The prophecy was altered," he said. "Sealed. Twisted by the first king to preserve his bloodline. The triplicate crown was never meant to strengthen the throne."
My heart pounded.
"It was meant to end it."
Gasps erupted across the courtyard.
Ronan's voice dropped to lethal calm. "Careful."
Malrik's gaze locked on mine.
"Ask yourself," he said softly. "Why were you hunted? Why was your first bond sabotaged? Why was she betrayed?"
My breath caught painfully.
He wasn't speaking to Ronan anymore.
He was speaking to me.
"They feared what your line would break," he continued. "Not what it would build."
The first triplet surged violently.
Shadows lashed outward instinctively—but I held them back this time.
"No," I whispered internally. "We don't react blindly."
Malrik smiled faintly at that.
"You see?" he murmured. "She learns."
Ronan's claws extended, slicing through the stone beneath his feet. "You will not manipulate her."
Malrik replaced his helm.
"You are already divided," he said. "The packs fear her. The elders question her. And you, King—you invoked war rites you cannot undo."
The sky cracked with thunder.
"I will return," Malrik promised. "And when I do, you will choose."
The tear in the air sealed shut.
The clouds cleared.
Silence lingered like a wound.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Finally, Darius rose slowly. "If what he said is true…"
"It isn't," Ronan snapped.
But I wasn't so sure.
Inside me, the first triplet was pacing.
The second was burning.
The third was watching.
"He wasn't lying," I said quietly.
Ronan turned to me sharply.
"He believes the crown must fall," I clarified. "Not for power. For… balance."
The words felt dangerous.
Ronan stepped closer, lowering his voice. "And what do you believe?"
I looked at the gathered packs—fractured, uncertain, afraid.
Then down at my stomach.
"I believe," I said slowly, "that the prophecy is bigger than a throne."
The war had changed.
It was no longer Purge versus Crown.
It was truth versus control.
And my children?
They were standing at the center of it.