AYLA'S POV
My lungs burned with every breath as I walked across ruins and ash-choked grass. The valley seemed suspended—silent, expectant. Every eye watched. Every wolf trembled at the weight of my mother's final words: "Lead her into dawn—or bury her in night."
My boots felt heavy, coated in ash and ancient power. The First Luna's presence still lingered beneath my ribs — a slow thrum, like roots winding through bone. Each heartbeat echoed with history and purpose.
I am the storm they feared. The words didn't taste like victory—just the bitterness of becoming everything I was raised afraid to become.
Kael's hand found mine. Warmth in the cold aftershock. He didn't speak. Didn't need to. We walked through the valley's center, where emissaries had bowed—or knelt—only seconds ago. Their faces glowed with awe and dread in equal measure.
Behind us, the Council had been cleared. Four priests remained—ashen and silent. No verdict was issued, yet. That was tomorrow's fight.
