Chapter 178

The full moon rose over the palace like a great silver eye, watching, waiting, judging.

Three days had passed since Varek’s capture. Three days of preparation, of prayer, of quiet anticipation. The realm had been summoned every pack, every noble, every commoner who could make the journey. They filled the palace city and spilled out into the surrounding fields, their voices a low hum of anticipation. They had come to witness justice. They had come to see the traitor die.

Nyra stood at the window of her chamber, staring at the moon. She had not slept. She had not eaten. She had spent the past three days preparing—not for the execution, but for what would come after. For her journey to find Soren.

But first, there was this. The end of one chapter. The beginning of another.

A knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Corvin entered, dressed in formal black. His face was pale, his expression grim. “It’s time.”

Nyra nodded. She took one last look at the moon, then turned and followed him out.

The execution square was a vast open space at the center of the palace city, surrounded by towering stone walls. Thousands of people had gathered nobles in their finest silks, commoners in their simple wool, soldiers in their gleaming armor. They stood in silent rows, their faces a mixture of anticipation and dread.

At the center of the square stood a raised platform. On the platform, a wooden block. And beside the block, a masked executioner with a gleaming axe.

The royal family sat in a special pavilion overlooking the square. King Aldric sat on his throne, his face carved from stone. Queen Seraphina sat beside him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her expression one of cold satisfaction. Freya was absent—still recovering, still too weak to attend.

Nyra and her friends were given places of honor near the royal pavilion. They stood together Corvin, Ragnar, Roderic, Marek, Maureen, and Jasper. Jasper had recovered enough to attend, though he still walked with a limp, his face pale from the wound Finn had given him.

The crowd stirred as the prisoners were brought out.

Elias came first, his dark hair disheveled, his face pale. Behind him came Xavier and Nikolai, their expressions defiant despite the chains around their wrists. And behind them, the guards—the ones who had betrayed their oaths, who had helped Varek escape, who had enabled the deaths of so many.

They were led to the platform one by one. Their crimes were read aloud—treason, murder, conspiracy, betrayal. The crowd hissed and booed. Some threw stones. The guards held them back.

Elias was first.

He stood on the platform, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found Nyra. For a moment, something flickered in his gaze, regret, perhaps, or resignation. Then he looked away.

“Do you have any last words?” the executioner asked.

Elias was silent for a long moment. Then he spoke.

“I was loyal to my father. I believed in his cause. I was wrong.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

The axe fell.

Nyra closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see. She had seen enough death. She had seen enough blood.

Xavier was next. He stood on the platform with his head held high, his eyes blazing with defiance.

“I regret nothing,” he said. “I served my lord faithfully. I would do it again.”

The axe fell.

Nikolai followed. He was silent—no last words, no final declarations. He just knelt before the block and closed his eyes.

The axe fell.

Then came the guards—the ones who had betrayed their oaths. There were six of them, their faces pale with terror. They begged for mercy. They pleaded for their lives. They promised to serve the Crown faithfully if only they were spared.

The King was unmoved.

“You betrayed your oaths. You betrayed your kingdom. You betrayed the people you were sworn to protect. There is no mercy for traitors.”

The axe fell. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six.

The platform ran red with blood.

And then it was Finn’s turn.

Ragnar made a sound—a soft, strangled sob. He stepped forward, his scarred face streaked with tears.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please let me speak to him. One last time.”

The King looked at him, at the grief in his eyes, at the pain written across every line of his face. He nodded.

“Go.”

Ragnar walked to the platform. Finn was already there, his hands bound, his sandy hair falling across his face. He looked up when Ragnar approached—and for the first time in weeks, his mask cracked.

“Ragnar.”

“Don’t.” Ragnar’s voice was thick with tears. “Don’t say my name. Don’t—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I just wanted to see you. One last time.”

Finn stared at him. The tears were streaming down his face now—real tears, not the fake ones he had used so many times before.

“I’m sorry,” Finn whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.”

“I loved you. I know you don’t believe me, but I did. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Ragnar closed his eyes. The tears kept falling.

“I loved you too,” he said. “That’s the worst part. I loved you, and you destroyed everything.”

“I know.”

“I wish I could hate you. I wish I could look at you and feel nothing. But I can’t.” Ragnar opened his eyes and looked at Finn—really looked at him. “I forgive you.”

Finn’s breath caught. “What?”

“I forgive you. Not because you deserve it. Not because what you did was okay. But because I can’t carry this hatred anymore. It’s eating me alive.” Ragnar paused. “I forgive you, Finn. And I hope—wherever you’re going—you find peace.”

Finn stared at him. The tears were falling faster now, his body shaking with sobs.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Ragnar turned and walked away, tears running down his face, he was barely holding himself.

The King raised his hand.

“Finn Harlan. You have been found guilty of treason, murder, kidnapping, and conspiracy against the Crown. The punishment for these crimes is death.”

The crowd stirred. Nyra stepped forward.

“Your Majesty,” she said. “May I speak?”

The King looked at her. “You may.”

Nyra took a deep breath. She thought about Finn—about the boy who had been her friend, her roommate, her confidant. She thought about the lies, the betrayal, the pain. She thought about the broken boy behind the mask the boy whose mother had been murdered, whose father had abandoned him, whose life had been shaped by cruelty and neglect.

“Finn Harlan did terrible things,” Nyra said. “He betrayed us. He hurt us. He nearly killed Jasper. He helped Varek in his quest to destroy the realm.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

“But he is not the monster we think he is. He was made into one by his father, by his circumstances, by the cruelty of the world. He was given a choice, and he chose wrong. But that doesn’t mean he deserves to die.”

The crowd erupted in whispers. Some were angry. Some were confused. Some were moved.

“He should spend the rest of his life in prison,” Nyra continued. “He should have time to think about what he’s done. Time to regret. Time to—perhaps—find some small measure of redemption. Death is too easy. Death is too merciful.”

Jasper stepped forward. His face was pale, his voice strained—but he spoke.

“I was the one he stabbed,” Jasper said. “I was the one who nearly died by his hand. If anyone has the right to demand his death, it’s me.” He paused. “But I don’t. I don’t want him dead. I want him to live with what he’s done. I want him to suffer the way I suffered—not in death, but in life.”

Maureen stepped forward, her eyes glistening. “Finn was my friend. I trusted him. I believed in him. And he betrayed me—betrayed all of us. But I don’t want him to die. I want him to have a chance to become the person he could have been—the person he should have been.”

Marek nodded. “He deserves punishment. But not death.”

The King was silent for a long moment. He looked at Finn at the broken boy standing on the platform, his face streaked with tears, his body trembling.

“Finn Harlan,” the King said. “You have been sentenced to death. But in light of the testimony of those you have wronged—and in recognition of the circumstances of your life, I am commuting your sentence.”

The crowd gasped.

“You will spend twenty years in hard labor. You will serve the realm you tried to destroy. You will have time to think about what you’ve done—and perhaps, in time, to find some small measure of peace.”

Finn stared at him. The tears were still falling, but there was something else in his eyes now. Something that might have been relief. Something that might have been hope.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

The guards led him away.

Ragnar watched him go. The tears were still falling. But there was something else in his eyes too—something that might have been closure.

Selene was next.

She was brought out in chains, her hair tangled, her face pale and drawn. She looked like a ghost a shadow of the proud, beautiful woman she had once been.

“Selene of the Silverwood pack,” the King said. “You have been found guilty of treason, conspiracy, and collaboration with enemies of the Crown.”

Selene didn’t speak. She just stood there, her eyes fixed on the ground.

“The punishment for these crimes is death. But in recognition of your family’s long service to the realm—and in light of your cooperation with the investigation, I am commuting your sentence.”

Selene looked up.

“You will be banished from the Seven Packs. You will never set foot on our lands again. Your family will be stripped of their titles and their lands. You will live the rest of your life in exile—alone, forgotten, and disgraced.”

Selene’s face crumpled. The tears came hot and silent but she didn’t make a sound.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she whispered.

“Then go. And never return.”

The guards led her away. She didn’t look back.

And then it was Varek’s turn.

The crowd fell silent as the guards brought him out. He was dressed in rags, his hair unkempt, his face gaunt. But his eyes were still sharp still burning with that cold, calculating intelligence that had caused so much pain.

He was led to the platform. He stood before the block. He looked at the crowd at the thousands of faces staring up at him with hatred and disgust.

He looked at Nyra.

“Niece,” he said, his voice carrying across the silent square. “I suppose you’ve come to watch me die.”

Nyra met his eyes. “I’ve come to see justice done.”

“Justice.” Varek laughed, a cold, hollow sound. “There is no justice in this world. Only power. Only strength. And I had both. I was going to be king.”

“You were never going to be king. You were going to be a tyrant. A monster. A destroyer.”

“I was going to be remembered. I was going to be feared.” Varek’s voice rose. “I was going to be SOMETHING!”

“You were going to be nothing,” Nyra said quietly. “And now you will be forgotten.”

Varek’s face twisted with rage. He lunged toward her, but the guards held him back. He screamed—wordless, primal, full of hatred and despair.

“You think you’ve won?” he shouted. “You think this is the end? I have allies! I have resources! I will come back! I will destroy everything you love! I will—”

“Enough.”

The King’s voice cut through the air like a blade. Varek fell silent.

“You have terrorized this realm for the last time,” the King said. “You have killed innocents. You have destroyed families. You have tried to tear apart everything we hold dear. And now—now you will pay for your crimes.”

The executioner stepped forward.

Varek was forced to his knees. His head was placed on the block. The crowd held its breath.

“For the crimes of treason, murder, kidnapping, and conspiracy against the Crown,” the King said, his voice echoing across the square, “I sentence you, Varek Astrlyn, to death. May the Moon Goddess have mercy on your soul.”

The axe rose.

It fell.

Varek’s head rolled across the platform. The crowd erupted—cheering, screaming, crying. Some threw flowers. Some threw stones. Some just stood there, frozen, unable to process what they had just witnessed.

Nyra watched the blood pool on the platform. She watched the guards carry away the body. She watched the crowd celebrate.

And she felt nothing.

No joy. No relief. No satisfaction. Just… emptiness.

It’s over, she thought. It’s finally over.

But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t true.

There was still one thing left to do.

She turned and walked away.

Later that night, Nyra stood alone on the balcony of her chamber, staring up at the moon.

The full moon. The same moon that had shone down on her during her time in the Moon Court. The same moon that had witnessed her death and her rebirth. The same moon that had watched over Soren as he made his sacrifice.

I’m coming, she thought. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But I’m coming.

The door opened behind her. She didn’t turn around.

“Nyra.”

It was Corvin. He crossed the balcony and stood beside her, his whiskey-dark eyes fixed on the moon.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She paused. “I thought I would feel something. Relief. Closure. Something. But I just feel… empty.”

“That’s normal. After everything you’ve been through—everything we’ve all been through, it’s normal to feel numb.”

“I know.” She looked at him. “Thank you, Corvin. For everything. For being there for me. For never giving up.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I told you before—I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” She smiled a small, sad smile. “What are you going to do now? After everything?”

Corvin was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve spent so long fighting, so long trying to survive that I don’t know what comes next.” He paused. “Maybe I’ll go back to the academy. Finish my training. Become the alchemist my father always wanted me to be.”

“That sounds nice.”

“What about you?”

Nyra looked at the moon. “I’m going to find Soren. I don’t know how. I don’t know if it’s even possible. But I have to try.”

“Then I’ll help you.”

Nyra looked at him. “Corvin—”

“Don’t.” He held up his hand. “Don’t tell me I don’t have to. I know I don’t have to. But I want to. Soren was my friend. My rival. My brother. And you—” He paused. “You’re my mate. I can’t just let you go on this journey alone.”

Nyra’s eyes glistened. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

They stood together in silence, watching the moon. And for the first time in days, Nyra felt something other than emptiness.

She felt hope.