1
Five years later
They call it the New Moon Sanctuary now.
The land once soaked in blood and cruelty now blooms with lavender, rosemary, and wolfsbane not for harm, but for healing.
Young wolves run barefoot through the fields.
Older ones teach them how to shift with grace instead of shame.
And I…
I walk among them not as a queen.
Not as a Luna.
But as a woman who lived and chose her peace.
2
"Are you coming to the naming ceremony?" Lyra asked, adjusting a bundle of wildflowers in her arms.
"Wouldn't miss it," I smiled, brushing dirt from my palms. I'd been planting new birch trees at the edge of the sanctuary life where once there had been walls.
She smirked. "Hard to believe you're the same girl I had to sneak food to in Garrick's cellar."
I looked at her with full eyes. "I'm not."
"No," she agreed, "You're the wolf who brought it all down."
3
The fire was already lit when I arrived at the ceremony clearing.
The pack had gathered some from as far as Silver Ridge and Thorn claw.
We no longer had borders.
Only invitations.
Vessia, strong and fiercely maternal now, held her newborn daughter in her arms.
They had chosen to name her Aurielle after me.
I cried when I heard it.
Not from pride.
But from the ache of knowing I had become someone worth remembering.
When they passed the baby to me to hold, her eyes fluttered open silver, like mine.
"I hope your world is gentler than the one I came from," I whispered.
And for once, I believed it could be.
4
Cailen found me later that evening, sitting by the riverbank.
He settled beside me, his arm brushing mine.
"You did it," he said softly.
"No," I replied. "We did."
He smiled and handed me a small wooden box.
Inside was a ring.
Simple. Silver. No marks. No crests.
Just a tiny engraving inside: Yours, if you want.
"I'm not asking for a title," he said. "Or a ceremony. Just… a life."
My heart cracked open in the quietest, softest way.
"I said yes a long time ago," I whispered.
He slid it on my finger.
No power exchanged.
No magic sealed.
Just love.
And it was enough.
5
That night, I walked alone through the trees and found the old stone from the battlefield.
The last standing relic of Garrick's rule.
Over time, moss had crept over it, slowly devouring its jagged face.
I knelt before it—not in mourning.
But to say goodbye.
"You thought you'd silence me," I whispered to the memory of him.
"But I am louder now than I ever was."
"And when the moon rises, it does not rise for you."
"It rises for me."
I pressed my hand to the earth.
Not to bury pain.
But to plant peace.
6
Before I left, I looked up at the moon soft, glowing, full.
Once a symbol of my captivity.
Now, a mirror for everything I'd become.
Wolves howled in the distance, joyful and free.
I stood tall beneath that sky, wind tugging at my hair, and whispered:
"I am not your Luna anymore."
"I am your storm."
"I am your freedom."
"I am Aurora."
"And I have risen."