Another agonizing hour crawled by. Fin forced himself not to reach out to Nova through the mindlink. It had only been an hour since she left his side — an hour too long. The distance gnawed at him.
Every moment she was out of sight felt like something in him was off balance. He wanted her where he could see her, preferably close enough to touch. Her hand in his, her scent in reach.
They were heading toward the council hall now, the air thick with formality and unspoken violence. Cael leaned in, speaking low enough that only Fin and Jax could hear.
"After a day of enduring that circus with Nova, Jax and I took over the military rounds for anything outside our own pack the next day."
"She met with Bloodmoon and Redmoon instead," Jax added. "Used the time better than we ever would've."
"Good," Fin said flatly. His jaw tightened. "I heard things. You both warned me… but still. The audacity."
"Oh, we know, brother," Cael said, dry humor threading through his voice. "We thought the same."
By the time they reached the summit tent, Fin's restraint was a visible thing. He and Jax were both holding their wolves back, muscles tense beneath their armor. The scent of dominance and anger bled through despite their effort.
Fin lifted the flap and stepped inside first. The war tent was crowded and close, thick with heat and candle smoke. A map-strewn table dominated the center; around it, Alphas, Betas, Gammas, commanders, and senior officers filled the narrow space shoulder to shoulder. Conversations cut off the moment Fin entered. The air shifted — the kind of silence that carried weight.
Then Nova arrived. Still in her white cloak, silver blonde hair down past her waist, crown on. Every head turned. Chairs scraped. Even the ones mid-argument rose automatically, as if some instinct older than command demanded it.
Fin's wolf growled in his mind.
Xeon: Mine.
Fin ignored it.
Nova crossed the threshold with calm poise, offering a few polite nods as she made her way towards Fin.. The lamplight caught in her hair, and for a moment the tent seemed brighter.
Fin watched her, his jaw tightening as every eye also followed.
The silence stretched until Ragnar Redmoon, older and broad-voiced, broke it with a laugh. "Well," he said, clapping a scarred hand on the map table, "looks like the gods themselves have joined the council. Let's get to it before someone else forgets how to breathe."
A few of the others chuckled, the sound uneasy, like soldiers laughing in a thunderstorm.
Fin caught Redmoon's eye and let a small grin curve his mouth. "Careful, Redmoon — keep talking like that and they'll think we actually like each other."
The tent exhaled. Even the more rigid Alphas allowed a breath of laughter. Redmoon shook his head, a smirk tugging at his scarred cheek.
"You say that like friendship's a weakness," Redmoon shot back.
"Only when it's yours," Fin returned smoothly, earning another ripple of amusement.
He waited just long enough for the room to relax before he went on. "I appreciate the welcome, but let's not make the gods jealous. They might start demanding their own seat at the table."
That drew a few genuine laughs — low, weary, but real. The tension began to dissolve like frost under sunlight.
Fin's voice stayed steady. "Redmoon, since you had the good sense to start us talking, walk us through what your scouts found on the northern border."
Redmoon inclined his head. "Gladly. My men tracked movement near the ravine two nights ago. They're not deserters—they're organized. Whoever's leading them knows the terrain."
Fin nodded once. "Then let's find out who they're following and make sure they regret it."
Through the matebond, Fin felt the warm pulse of Nova's pride and appreciation wash over him. It threaded through his chest like sunlight through cold armor, steadying him. He fought the urge to grin. Beneath her calm exterior, he also felt she was relieved he was here.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt like the man his father had raised him to be — the leader he was meant to become. Her presence sharpened him, steadied him, made him better.
The meeting continued—maps unrolled, voices trading reports—but the sharp edge of rivalry had gone. Nova and Fin sat shoulder to shoulder, a united front. Every so often, Fin could feel the slight pulse of her presence through the bond—steady, sure, the anchor that kept his wolf quiet.
The war council was no longer a gathering of uneasy allies. It felt like a pack, and it moved to Fin's rhythm. The tent was thick with heat and noise. Maps covered the center table, weighted by daggers and stones to keep the corners from curling. The smell of parchment, sweat, and smoke filled the air.
Redmoon's deep voice carried first. "We can't release the soldiers from the traitor packs until succession is settled. It's the only leverage we've got."
Fin nodded once. "Agreed. If we send them home now, we risk them marching straight back to Starfang or Bardoff and handing over everything they've seen here."
Fenrir Moonfang folded his arms, gaze flinty. "And if we keep them, we're feeding and housing wolves that might turn on us. There's risk in either choice."
Renwick Lunaris cut in, tone smooth but edged. "Better a risk we can guard than an army at our backs. Starfang, Bardoff, Eclipseborne, Blackthorne, Hallowbrook—every one of them has courted Ashbane's favor. Until we secure their succession, their men stay penned here."
A rumble of agreement circled the table. Redmoon grunted his approval. "Then it's settled. Keep them close, keep them contained. We'll decide their fate when the dust settles."
Fin inclined his head. "On record."
With that, the discussion shifted. The talk moved to Nova's plan—the strategy that had taken root during the summits prior to the attack. It was now ready to be put in motion. The Alphas leaned over the map while Beta scribes took notes at the back of the tent.
Redmoon tapped a section of the map with one blunt finger. "The ridges here are sound, but if Ashbane pushes through faster than expected, the mountain front won't hold."
Moonfang shook his head. "It'll hold. The passes are narrow. Redmoon knows those paths better than any living soul."
The conversation around them carried on maps shifting, orders discussed. But Fin's felt something subtle. Something he may have overlooked before, but not anymore. She'd seen something the rest of them hadn't yet.
Voices rose and overlapped—tactical, skeptical, searching. Nova sat beside Fin, calm at his shoulder. She watched the map the way a hawk watches a valley; the crease between her brows flickered, just for a moment as others argued points of supply, timing, and magical anchoring. Most were too wrapped in the debate to notice. Redmoon was not. He watched her the way a man watches a coin flicked in his palm—curious for the turn.
Darkhowler also noticed and leaned forward, his tone edged with challenge.
"All right, Luna, out with it. Half in here might still be oblivious, but this is our fifth meeting—don't insult me. You obviously know something or have a better plan. Don't let us go down a rabbit hole if there's a direct route. Let us be the judge."
The tent stilled. Nova blinked, momentarily taken off guard.
"Too many variables have shifted since this plan was originally crafted. We've developed blind spots that can't be ignored. But I think I might have a solution.
"What blindspots are you referring to?" Darkhowler asked.
"First—magical anchoring. His dark mages have begun using the magic reserves, river bends, and ruined watchposts as anchors. Our current counter-mage coverage has gaps along those routes.
Second—supply dispersion. His caches are deeper and more widely scattered than we estimated. Strike the wrong node and his logistics reroute; we chase ghosts."
She looked up, meeting Darkhowlers gaze. "Yes, we can patch these. Decoy caches. Staggered movement windows. Arcane teams sweeping the rivers before the strike, But..."
She hesitated then, her eyes flicking back to the map. Something flickered behind them, a thought sharpening. "Have you ever heard of Lacrimaris?"
His brows drew together. "Can't say I have."
Redmoon grunted. "Anyone?"
Silence answered.
Nova nodded. "It grows out beyond the outer field, right along the dark edge of the forest that rings this camp. Harmless for a mage to touch. Dangerous to know." A few low chuckles stirred the tension.
"In Morbia, the Kingdom of Astrahel won an impossible war using this. It is highly combustible when exposed to liquid magic. Let's say someone dips an arrow head in it, and it hits a pool the size of a goblet's worth. This entire camp would be leveled in less than a second.
She nodded towards the Caelborne Lowlands on the map. "Miniature pools of liquid magic. All connected to one another under the earth with pockets appearing at the surface."
Alpha Darkhowler's voice cut across without leaving Nova's face. "Romulus—our scouts were just there. Can you confirm those sites are still active?"
Commander Fowler inclined his head once, eyes steady. "Aye, Alpha. They hum yet. We kept distance, but the reservoirs are live."
Nova's eyes shifted back to Redmoon. Fin watched as like dominos, the tent understood.
A few heads lifted. Bloodmoon's eyes narrowed in understanding. "You're saying—"
Nova cut him off. "Yes."
She didn't need to explain.
The tent shifted. Eyes met across the table; even the air seemed to thrum. Nova said nothing more.
Darkfang's voice cut through the hum, flat and practical. "Okay—but who can fire an arrow with that kind of precision without getting too close? If the whole area would be leveled in seconds, there in lies the issue."
"We have dragons." Redmoon said. "But we'd need at least two kilometers above surface level if it is as potent as what you say. Those pools are small. No sniper can make that shot."
Bloodmoon grinned, crossing his arms. He remembered all too well Nova beating his best.
"Oh yes there is."
Silence fell like a curtain. For a beat no one moved. Then Fin sighed and his answer came, quiet and certain:
"There is one person and you're looking at her."
Nova's lips twitched—half a smile, half a dare—as every head in the tent swivelled toward her.
Rex didn't wait for the tent to finish digesting the idea — he leaned forward, grin quick and dangerous. "The Queen and I should fly out tonight." He said, eyes bright under the lamplight.
"We'll take a small backup team. She fires one shot—if it works, we've cut them off at the knees. If it doesn't, we revert to the original plan. Either way, we'll know before dawn."
A hum of approval moved around the tent. Redmoon gave a short nod; even Jax muttered something about it being a sound risk.
Fin didn't speak. His jaw flexed, the muscle in his cheek tightening as he looked between Nova and Rex Redmoon, bold and too sure of himself for Fin's liking.
Rex reminded Fin of a younger, carefree version of himself. The thought of Nova taking flight over night made his wolf pace under his skin.
Then Rex turned toward him. "Alpha, you should have an officer or commander go with her on Onyx," he said. "It won't be her alone with another pack's army. Your men have won a battle in that land, no?"
The shift in Fin was subtle but immediate. The tension in his shoulders eased, the pressure behind his ribs loosening. Relief threaded quietly through the bond—Nova felt it before he did.
"Yes it would." Fin said simply, voice low but steady. "We'll leave before moonrise. The fewer eyes that see the better."
Redmoon exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. "Then it's settled. Redmoon will provide the support wing, but command stays with Shadowclaw." His gaze flicked toward Rex. "Try not to get yourselves killed before breakfast."
Rex grinned. "No promises."
That earned a few low chuckles. More tension that had hovered over the tent for hours cracked.