Chapter 113

Chapter 113: Chapter 113

Valeria’s private quarters smelled of alcohol and stale perfume.

She sat on the floor, her back against the bed, a half-empty bottle of wine dangling from her fingers. Her dark hair was unbrushed. Her eyes were red and swollen. She had stopped wearing her formal lecturer’s robes weeks ago, replacing them with whatever was clean—or whatever was closest.

The door opened. Elias stepped inside.

He had been coming here less often lately. Valeria had pushed him away, too consumed by her grief to care about anything else. But tonight, he had decided to try again.

"Valeria." His voice was gentle. "You’ve been drinking."

"Astute observation." She raised the bottle in a mock toast. "Would you like some?"

"No." He crossed the room and knelt beside her. "I want you to stop. This isn’t healthy."

"Healthy?" She laughed a hollow, bitter sound. "Nothing about my life has been healthy for a very long time."

"Then let me help you."

"Help me?" She looked at him, her eyes unfocused. "You can’t help me. No one can help me. The man I loved is dead. The woman who took him from me is still alive. And I’m sitting here, drowning myself in cheap wine, because I have nothing else left."

Elias reached out and touched her cheek. "You have me."

Valeria stared at him for a long moment. Then she set the bottle down and rose unsteadily to her feet. "You want to help me? Fine. Make me forget."

"Valeria—"

"Make me forget, Elias." She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. "Make me forget his face. His voice. The way he looked at her instead of me. Just for tonight. Please."

Elias wanted to refuse her. He knew this wasn’t healthy for either of them. But Valeria was already sinking to her knees, her fingers working at his belt, and the words died in his throat.

She pleasured him with a desperation that bordered on violence, her hands and mouth moving with the frantic energy of someone trying to outrun their own thoughts. Elias closed his eyes and let her.

The Astrlyn pack’s great hall was silent at this late hour. Lord Varek sat alone in his private chamber, a glass of wine in his hand, his expression dark and brooding.

A knock at the door.

"Enter."

One of his guards stepped inside and immediately dropped to one knee. "My lord. I bring news of the search."

Varek’s eyes narrowed. "Have you found her?"

The guard hesitated. "No, my lord. We have searched the forest surrounding the academy. We have tracked her movements as far as we could. But there is no trace of her. It is as if she vanished into thin air."

The wine glass shattered against the wall.

"What are my guards doing?" Varek’s voice was low and dangerous. "Why is it so difficult to find one small girl? Are they afraid of her? Is that it?"

"No, my lord!" The guard pressed his forehead to the floor. "We are not afraid. We will find her. We will bring her to you immediately."

"You had better." Varek rose from his chair and loomed over the trembling guard. "Before someone else lays their hands on her. Before the King’s men find her. Before she slips through our fingers entirely. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord. I understand."

"Then get out of my sight. And do not return until you have something useful to report."

The guard scrambled to his feet and fled the chamber. Varek stood alone in the darkness, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists.

Find her, he thought. Find her before she becomes an even greater threat than she already is.

The council chamber of Shadowmoon Academy was packed for the first time since the showcase. The long oak table, which had once hosted diplomatic dinners and ceremonial gatherings, was now surrounded by the most powerful figures in both academies. The torches burned low, casting flickering shadows across the grim faces of those assembled.

Proctor Kane sat at the head of the table, his iron-gray hair immaculate despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. He had aged a decade in the past month. The weight of what had happened within his walls—the death of the crown prince, the exposure of the Moonblood heir, the killing of a dozen guards—pressed down on him like a physical burden.

To his right sat Lady Isolde, her silver hair gleaming in the candlelight, her pale eyes sharp and assessing as always. To his left sat Lord Eldritch, his stern face unreadable, his fingers steepled before him. The rest of the table was filled with senior instructors from both academies—Master Aldric, Captain Voss, Madam Este, Senior Lecturer Marrow, and a dozen others.

And at the far end of the table, standing apart from the rest, was the ancient seer.

She had not been invited. She had simply appeared, as she always did, her gnarled staff clutched in her withered hands, her milky eyes fixed on some distant point that only she could see. No one had asked her to leave. No one dared.

"The realm is on the brink of war," Kane began, his voice heavy. "The seer’s prophecy has spread to every corner of the Seven Packs. ’Destruction is on its way. This is only the beginning.’ The people are afraid. The packs are mobilizing. And we—the two most prestigious academies in the realm—are sitting here, trying to pick up the pieces of a tragedy that has shaken us all."

"What would you have us do, Proctor?" Lady Isolde asked. "We cannot undo what has been done. The crown prince is dead. The Moonblood heir has vanished. The political damage is already catastrophic."

"I am not proposing we undo anything. I am proposing we prepare for what comes next." Kane leaned forward. "The seer spoke of destruction. Of a threat that this realm has not seen in centuries. If she is right—and she has never been wrong—then we are facing something far more dangerous than political instability. We are facing an enemy that will require every resource we have to defeat."

"You’re talking about war," Captain Voss said, his scarred face grim. "Real war. Not training exercises or border skirmishes."

"I am."

The word hung in the air like a death sentence.

Lord Eldritch spoke for the first time. "If war is coming, then our students are not ready. They are skilled, yes. They are disciplined. But they have never faced a true battlefield. They have never fought an enemy that wants them dead—not in sparring matches, not in controlled environments, but in the chaos of actual combat. The Mistwood mission proved that. We lost students. We nearly lost more."

"The Mistwood was a disaster," Marrow agreed. "The rogues were better prepared than we anticipated. Our formations crumbled under pressure. If not for individual acts of heroism—" He paused, glancing at Kane. "If not for Soren Thornridge and Prince Thorne, the casualties would have been far worse."

At the mention of Soren’s name, a heavy silence fell over the table. The wound was still too fresh. The grief was still too raw.

"The Mistwood taught us a valuable lesson," Kane said quietly. "Our students are strong, but they are not united. Shadowmoon and Silvermoon have been rivals for centuries. That rivalry breeds excellence in peacetime. But in war, it breeds division. Division gets people killed."

Lady Isolde’s eyes narrowed. "What are you proposing, Vesper?"

Kane took a deep breath. "I am proposing a merger. A temporary one. For the duration of the crisis, Shadowmoon Academy and Silvermoon Academy will combine their resources, their instructors, and their students into a single training program. Joint classes. Joint drills. Joint combat units. We will train them together, as a single army, so that when the time comes, they fight as one."

The chamber erupted.

"That’s impossible," Madam Este said, her voice sharp. "The logistical challenges alone—"

"The traditions of both academies—"

"The parents will never agree—"

"The political implications—"

"Enough." Lady Isolde’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. The chamber fell silent. She turned to Kane. "You’re asking us to set aside centuries of tradition. To merge our institutions, even temporarily. Do you understand what that would mean? The rivalry between Shadowmoon and Silvermoon is not just about pride. It is woven into the fabric of both academies. Our teaching methods are different. Our philosophies are different. Our very identities are built on being separate."

"I understand," Kane said. "But I also understand that if the seer is right, none of that will matter if the realm falls. What good is tradition if there is no one left to uphold it?"

Lady Isolde was silent for a long moment. Then she turned to the seer. "You have not spoken. What do you see?"

The ancient woman’s milky eyes seemed to clear for just a moment. When she spoke, her voice was like dry leaves scraping across stone.

"I see fire. I see blood. I see darkness spreading across the realm like a plague." She paused. "And I see a silver light. Faint, but growing. The Daughter of the Moon. She is the key. She has always been the key. Without her, the realm will fall. With her—" She shook her head. "Even I cannot see that far."

"The Moonblood heir," Lord Eldritch said. "She vanished after the showcase. No one knows where she is."

"She will return," the seer said. "When the time is right. When she is ready. You must be ready too."

The chamber fell silent. The weight of the seer’s words pressed down on them like a physical force.

Kane spoke again. "If we merge the academies, we can train our students to fight together. To trust each other. To operate as a single force rather than two competing factions. It will not be easy. There will be resistance—from students, from parents, from the packs themselves. But I believe it is necessary."

"Silvermoon will not be absorbed by Shadowmoon," Lady Isolde said flatly. "If we do this, it will be a partnership of equals. Joint leadership. Joint decision-making. My instructors will have as much authority as yours."

"Agreed."

"And the curriculum will reflect both academies’ strengths. Combat training from Shadowmoon. Strategy and diplomacy from Silvermoon. Potions and alchemy from both."

"Agreed."

"And when the crisis is over—if we survive—the academies will separate again. This is a temporary measure. Not a permanent merger."

"Agreed."

Lady Isolde looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Then Silvermoon accepts."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. Some faces showed relief. Others showed concern. But no one objected.

"Then it’s settled," Kane said. "We will begin the integration process immediately. Joint training sessions will resume within the week. Combined combat units will be formed within the month. And when the Daughter of the Moon returns—if she returns—we will be ready to stand beside her."

The seer smiled—a thin, knowing expression. "She will return," she said. "Sooner than you think."

She turned and shuffled out of the chamber, her staff clicking against the stone floor. The door closed behind her, and the council was left in silence.

"Let’s get to work," Kane said.

The royal palace was silent and dark. The King had retired to his chambers hours ago. The servants had extinguished the torches in the corridors. The guards stood at their posts, their eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Queen Seraphina rose from her bed.

She moved quietly, careful not to wake her husband. Her cloak was already laid out—a dark, hooded garment that would hide her face in the shadows. Her small lantern was already lit, its flame burning low. She had been preparing for this journey for weeks, gathering the courage to make it.

She slipped out of the royal chambers and moved through the dark corridors of the palace. Her feet knew the way. They had known it for twenty years.

She descended a spiral staircase that most people didn’t know existed. She passed through a series of locked doors, each one requiring a different key. She navigated a maze of underground passages that had been built centuries ago, when the palace was first constructed.

Finally, she reached the last door.

It was hidden behind a tapestry, its surface covered in ancient runes that glowed faintly in the darkness. Seraphina raised her hand and pressed her finger against a small, sharp protrusion. A drop of blood welled up and fell onto the runes.

The door swung open.

She stepped inside, and the door closed silently behind her.

The chamber beyond was vast and ancient—a cavern of stone and shadow that had existed long before the palace was built above it. At its center stood a massive stone table, its surface inscribed with runes that pulsed with gold and silver light. Above the table, a barrier of shimmering energy formed a dome, protecting whatever lay within.

Four beasts guarded the table. They were massive creatures—part wolf, part something older—with eyes that glowed like embers and fur the color of midnight. They turned their great heads toward Seraphina as she entered.

She approached them without fear. She had come here many times before.

"It’s me," she said softly. "It’s only me."

The beasts recognized her. They lowered their heads and stepped aside, clearing a path to the table.

Seraphina walked forward until she reached the barrier. She could go no further—the energy would repel her if she tried to touch it. But she could see through it. She could see the figure lying on the stone table, bathed in gold and silver light.

Tears streamed down her face.

"My sweet boy," she whispered, her voice breaking. "When will you wake up?"