Chapter 23
When Thorne came to, his hands were warm–too warm.
Sticky with blood.
He looked down. In his palms rested a heart–still pulsing faintly, the Moonmark still intact.
It was hers
Selene’s.
He had carved it from Marina’s chest, driven by grief, rage, madness. Just as he had once torn it from Selene, he now sought to return it To give it back to the one who had truly deserved to live.
A healer nearby gasped. “Alpha, the Luna Sigil is intact. Shall I prepare the grafting altar?”
Thorne’s eyes snapped toward her. “No!”
“This heart… belongs to Selene.”
But she was nowhere to be found
He rose to his feet, cradling the heart like a sacred relic. His eyes roved the silent chamber, frantic, searching. As if he might find her if he just kept walking
tas snow i
fell around him,
That night, the Moon Guard found Thorne collapsed outside the Spirit Grove, cradling the heart to his chest as melting red into the earth.
The next days unraveled fast.
The Elder Cedric lay bedridden from a stroke, his command broken.
Moira, shattered by truth and guilt, succumbed to deep madness. She wandered the manor halls, clutching Selene’s portrait, whispering apologies to walls that could not answer.
The once–great Whitmoor pack crumbled, its dark secret now exposed: an unlawful soul–mark severance, a coerced heart offering, sacred betrayal.
The Council of Elders descended. Investigations spread like wildfire. Temples closed. The House of Whitmore fell
Selene’s sacrifice–once erased–now blazed across every corner of the realm.
Nia–Selene reborn–did not hear the news until three days later.
She had closed her spirit mirror, silenced whispers, and fled from all scrying pools.
It wasn’t fear. It was finality.
She had left that life behind.
But word found her through Lord Elowen, her new father. Over tea, he sighed and told her: “The Whitmore line has broken. Moira… she’s lost to the sickness. The High Alpha won’t walk again.”
Nia said nothing. Her eyes only fell upon the moonlight pooling across her lap.
That afternoon, she traveled to the Sanctum of Broken Souls.
That’s where the boy had been sent–Theo Her son.
Chapter 23
Since Thorne’s collapse, no guardian had come forward to claim him. The Elders deemed him emotionally unstable and placed him in the care of the Moon Temple’s orphan ward.
From the headmistress’s window, Nia looked down into the garden.
Theo sat alone, sketching in the dirt with a stick, his shoulders hunched. He did not play with the other pups. He didn’t speak
“He’s withdrawn,” the priestess murmured. “But our Luna–keepers are gentle with him. We’ve seen children born of lunar ruptures recover before.”
Nia nodded. “I’ve left a vow–gift. Let the Temple draw from our House’s stores each winter. He’ll never go hungry.”
The priestess bowed deeply. “Do you wish to see him?”
Nia’s gaze lingered
Then looked up–briefly–as a few cubs approached. He hesitated… then nodded.
They sat beside him.
Nia exhaled. “No. That life has passed. But if he’s ever in need, summon me. Quietly.”
She turned to leave.
“May I tell him who you are?” the priestess asked softly.
Nia shook her head. “Let him become someone new. Just like I did.”
That night, snow fell on.
In the Moon Tower’s tallest spire, Nia lit a lantern of silver flame. It shimmered, flickered, then settled into stillness.
“For what was given…” she whispered to the wind, “and what was taken?
“May we now walk forward. As strangers. As stars apart.”
The Moon, watching high above, offered no reply.
Only light.
