(Luke POV)
The air smelled of smoke and wet stone. Even days after the battle, the ridge still carried the stench of charred wood and scorched earth, the faint metallic tang of blood lingering like a bitter aftertaste. The pack moved through the ruins, hammering, sawing, lifting, rebuilding what had been lost, but the scars were deep. Craters from collapsed gates, splintered trees, burned earth—it would never be the same.
I swung the heavy timber across my shoulder, the weight biting into my muscles, but the exertion felt good. My wolf surged beneath my skin, coiled and restless, feeding on the anger, the frustration, the hatred. The work wasn't just rebuilding walls—it was rebuilding strength, reclaiming territory, reclaiming pride.
Soren appeared beside me, carrying a load of stone, moving silently, like he had done a hundred times before. He didn't speak at first, just matched my pace. I could feel him watching me, reading my thoughts the way wolves read the wind, and I hated that I let him.
Finally, I set the timber down with a thud. "You ever think about what she said?" I asked, nodding toward Nightblade's destroyed banner, half-burned, still fluttering in the wind.
Soren hesitated, then shrugged. "About Mari?"
"About us. About my bloodline being murderers," I said, teeth grinding. "Do you ever think she might be right?"
Soren shook his head slowly. "No. That's their poison. They want you questioning yourself so they can strike harder."
I laughed, bitter and short. "Poison? That's one word for it. I think she wants me to hate her. That's all she's done since the first day I saw her—make me furious."
"And?"
"And?" I spat the word. "I hate her. I hate them. I hate everything about this—Nightblade, the Ridge, the ashes we're standing on. But there's… something else. I can't fucking stand that part of me that wants to understand her. That wants to see what she sees when she looks at me."
Soren dropped the stone he was carrying, finally giving me his full attention. "That's dangerous, Luke. You let curiosity in, even a little, it'll infect everything else. Your anger will bleed into doubt, and doubt makes mistakes."
I slammed my hand on the timber. "I don't want to doubt. I want to burn. I want to destroy them all. I want Nightblade to feel what it's like to lose everything!"
Soren's wolf hummed in his chest. I felt it through him, quiet but steady. His calm grounded me, tethered me just enough to keep me from shifting on the spot and ripping everything around me apart. "Then do it," he said. "But control it. Channel it. Don't let them use your rage against you."
I looked at him, my chest heaving, the fire of my wolf coiling tighter. "I don't know if I can. Not with her. Not with Mari Ventor. She's… different."
Soren studied me, his expression unreadable. "Different is dangerous. But that's why you need me. You're not Alpha yet. You're not ready to let your wolf loose without guidance. You need your Beta. Your brother in battle."
I laughed bitterly. "Brother in battle? That's exactly what she's trying to become for me—except I'll never let her."
Soren smirked faintly. "And yet, here you are, talking about her instead of swinging that timber at the next pile of rubble."
I shoved another beam into place, sweat running down my face, muscles burning. "Because she's everywhere. In my head. In the Ridge. In the fire. Everywhere I go."
Soren shook his head. "Focus on what you can control. Rebuilding the keep. Your pack. Your strength. You'll face her soon enough. But you can't face her effectively if you're lost in obsession now."
"I'm not lost," I snapped. "I'm focused. I'm just… furious."
He didn't argue. He never did. He only nodded, letting me vent, letting me wrestle with the storm inside me. That's why I trusted him. Not just as my Beta, but as the one person who could keep my wolf grounded when my rage threatened to consume me entirely.
We worked in silence for a while, hammering, stacking, lifting. The pack moved around us, rebuilding walls, reinforcing gates, planting new wards. Some of the forest had been destroyed, trees splintered, hills scorched, craters dug into the earth. Nature itself had been a casualty of the war, and the rebuilding wasn't just physical—it was mental, emotional, spiritual. Every plank we laid, every stone we stacked, every spike we hammered in was a reclamation of our pride.
Finally, Soren set a stone beside me and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. "Luke," he said, voice quieter now, almost personal. "You know why you're angry, right?"
I stared at him. "Because Nightblade took everything from us."
"Yes. But it's more than that. You're angry because they showed you what your pack is capable of losing. What you're capable of losing. And they made it personal. Mari made it personal."
I growled low in my chest, feeling the wolf stir violently. "I don't care. It'll be her fault when we strike back."
"Good," Soren said. "But control that wolf inside you. Let it sharpen you, not blind you. You're seventeen, Luke. Soon, the Moon Goddess will call. You'll hear it. You'll feel it. And your wolf… your wolf will obey you, not your anger."
I swallowed hard. He was right. Of course he was. Soren always was. The problem was I didn't want to obey my wolf. Not fully. I wanted to let it rip. I wanted chaos. But that chaos had to wait. It had to wait until I could channel it with purpose, with precision. Until I could rebuild everything that Nightblade tried to burn.
I nodded finally, letting my muscles loosen slightly. "Fine. Control. Sharpen. Channel. Whatever you want to call it."
Soren smiled faintly. "Good. Now pick up that timber. We've got walls to rebuild, gates to reinforce, and a Ridge to reclaim."
I hefted the timber back onto my shoulder, my wolf humming beneath my skin, coiled and ready. I let the anger fuel me, but I kept it tight, focused, precise. The pack was my responsibility. My duty. And soon, my power would make Nightblade pay for every scar, every broken tree, every ruined home.
Soren walked beside me, silent but steady, a tether to reality, a reminder that I wasn't alone. Not yet. Not until I was ready to take everything—and everyone—into my own hands.
And Mari Ventor? She would see the full fury of Midnight one day. She would know exactly what it meant to cross us.
The Ridge was alive again, rising from ash and blood. And so was I.