Chapter 179

The road to the Astrlyn pack was long, but Nyra didn’t mind.

She rode at the head of a small company—Corvin, Ragnar, Roderic, Marek, Maureen, and Jasper. They had all insisted on coming with her, though she had told them they didn’t have to. They had insisted anyway. They were her pack now, in every way that mattered.

The countryside was healing. The crops were growing again small shoots of green pushing through the dark earth. The livestock were fattening. The people were returning to their villages, rebuilding their homes, planting their fields. The madness had faded. The full moon had returned. The realm was healing.

But the Astrlyn pack was still wounded.

The pack had been leaderless for months. The King had forbidden anyone from mounting the throne after Varek’s treachery no one had been trusted to rule. The elders had done their best, but they were old and tired and uncertain. The people had suffered. They had been afraid.

But now, Nyra was coming home.

She was the rightful heir. The true leader of the Astrlyn pack. And the King had given her the right to claim her throne.

The gates of the Astrlyn keep opened as she approached.

The people were waiting hundreds of them, thousands of them. They lined the roads, filled the courtyards, crowded the windows. They had heard the news. They had come to see their princess. Their queen. Their savior.

Nyra dismounted and walked toward the keep.

The crowd parted for her. Some of them bowed. Some of them wept. Some of them reached out to touch her, as if to reassure themselves that she was real.

“The princess,” they whispered. “The princess has returned.”

Nyra’s eyes filled with tears. These were her people—the people she had grown up with, the people she had protected, the people she had fought for. She had missed them. She had missed them more than she had realized.

She climbed the steps of the keep and turned to face the crowd.

“My people,” she said, her voice carrying across the courtyard. “I have returned.”

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Later that evening, Nyra sat in the great hall with the elders of the pack.

They had gathered around the long table Elder Marric, Elder Lyssa, Elder Fenris, and several others. They looked at her with a mixture of awe and reverence. She was no longer the hidden princess—the weak, shameful girl who couldn’t shift. She was the Daughter of the Moon. The Moonblood heir. The savior of the realm.

“We have waited so long for your return,” Elder Marric said, his voice thick with emotion. “We prayed. We hoped. And now you are here.”

“I’m here,” Nyra said. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

She took her seat at the head of the table—the seat that had belonged to her father, and her brother before her, and her ancestors before that. It felt right. It felt like coming home.

“There is much to do,” she said. “The pack has suffered. The people have suffered. We need to rebuild. We need to heal. We need to—”

“Princess.” Elder Lyssa’s voice was hesitant. “There is something you should know. About your handmaiden.”

Nyra’s blood ran cold. “Hellen?”

Elder Lyssa nodded. “She is dead. Varek killed her.”

Nyra closed her eyes. The memories came flooding back—Hellen’s face, her voice, her hands. The handmaiden who had raised her. The one who had held her when she cried. The one who had helped her bury her brother. The one who had betrayed her.

“How?”

“After the showcase. After you disappeared. Varek sent men to find you. They questioned Hellen. She told them everything—about the disguise, about the deception, about the plan. And then—” Elder Lyssa paused. “And then he killed her. To ensure her silence.”

Nyra’s eyes burned. “She betrayed me.”

“She did. But she was also afraid. Varek threatened to kill her family—her children, her grandchildren. She made a choice. It was the wrong choice, but she made it out of fear.”

Nyra was silent for a long moment. Then she spoke.

“She saved my life once. When I was a child, I fell into the river. She jumped in and pulled me out. She nearly drowned herself, but she saved me.” She paused. “And then she betrayed me. I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“You don’t have to feel anything,” Elder Marric said gently. “She is gone now. The dead cannot be judged.”

“No. But the living can.” Nyra looked at him. “Where is her family?”

“They live in the village. Her son, her daughter-in-law, her grandchildren. They struggle. They are shunned because of what she did.”

“Then bring them here. Give them food. Give them shelter. Give them—” She paused. “Give them my forgiveness.”

The elders exchanged glances. Then Elder Marric nodded.

“It will be done.”

The next morning, Nyra walked through the Astrlyn keep.

It was strange to be back—strange to walk these familiar halls, to see these familiar rooms. She had grown up here. She had played here as a child. She had learned to walk here, to talk here, to dream here.

It was both a home and a prison. A place of love and a place of pain. She had been happy here before her father died, before her brother was killed, before her uncle’s betrayal. But she had also been hidden here tucked away like a shameful secret, forbidden from the world, protected from the dangers that lurked outside.

I’m not that girl anymore, she thought. I’m not hiding anymore.

She found herself in the garden—the garden where she and Thorne had played as children. The roses were still blooming, their petals bright and fragrant. The fountain was still singing, its waters shimmering in the morning light.

She sat on the stone bench and closed her eyes.

Thorne, she thought. I miss you.

She thought about her brother—about his smile, his laugh, his strength. She thought about the way he had protected her, believed in her, loved her. She thought about the promise she had made to him the promise she had kept. She had taken back the throne. She had avenged his death. She had become the queen he knew she could be.

But she would give it all up in a heartbeat to have him back.

At the academy, life was slowly returning to normal.

The students had returned some of them, anyway. Many had been traumatized by the events of the past months. Many had lost friends, family, loved ones. But they were healing. They were moving on.

The merger between Shadowmoon and Silvermoon continued. Students from both academies trained together, ate together, slept together. The rivalries had faded. The tensions had eased. They were no longer enemies—they were allies. They were friends.

Proctor Kane stood at his window, watching the students train in the courtyard below.

He had aged in the past months, his hair was grayer, his face more lined, his shoulders more bowed. But there was a peace in his eyes now a quiet satisfaction. The worst was over. The nightmare had ended. And the academy was still standing.

“We survived,” he murmured to himself. “We actually survived.”

He thought about Soren—the Sword Sovereign, the crown prince, the student he had trained and loved like a son. Soren was gone now sacrificed to save his sister, to save the realm. But his legacy lived on. In the students he had trained. In the lives he had touched. In the love he had given.

Rest well, my boy, Kane thought. You’ve earned it.

At the palace, the royal family was planning a memorial.

It had been three weeks since the sacrifice. Three weeks of grief and healing and trying to move forward. The King and Queen had barely spoken they were lost in their own grief, their own pain. But they knew they couldn’t hide forever. They had to face the truth. They had to move forward.

And they had to tell Freya.

She had been recovering—slowly, painfully, but surely. The poison had been removed, her body was healing. She was stronger every day. But she still didn’t know about Soren.

“Are you ready?” the Queen asked.

The King nodded. “She deserves to know.”

They found Freya in her chambers, sitting by the window, looking out at the garden. She looked better than she had in weeks—her color had returned, her eyes were bright, her smile was tentative but real.

“Mother. Father.” She turned to face them. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk to you,” the King said. “About your brother.”

Freya’s face paled. “What about Soren?”

The Queen crossed the room and sat beside her daughter. She took Freya’s hand, her eyes filling with tears.

“Freya, there’s something we need to tell you. Something that happened while you were… while you were sick.”

“What happened to Soren?”

The King and Queen exchanged a glance. Then the King spoke.

“Soren is gone, Freya. He died saving you.”

Freya stared at him. “What?”

“The poison that was killing you—the fake antidote. There was only one way to cure you. Soren made a deal with the Moon Goddess. He traded his life for yours.”

Freya’s face crumpled. “No. No, no, no—”

“He loved you, Freya. He loved you more than anything. He gave his life so you could live.”

The tears were streaming down Freya’s face. “I want to see him. I want to see my brother.”

The Queen pulled her into her arms. “We can’t, sweetheart. He’s gone.”

“Then bring him back! Bring him back!”

The King and Queen held their daughter as she sobbed, their own tears falling. The memorial would wait. For now, there was only grief.

In the Moon Court, Soren slept.

He lay on a bed of silver silk, in a chamber that had no walls, no ceiling, only endless moonlight. His face was peaceful in sleep the tension gone from his jaw, the furrow between his brows smoothed away. He looked younger than he had in years.

He dreamed of Thorne—of the brother Nyra had loved, the prince who had been murdered, the golden heir whose legacy Nyra had fought to protect.

“He is at peace,” Thorne said. “My sister is strong. She will find her way back to you.”

Soren watched Nyra’s brother—his dark hair, his easy smile, the familiar shape of his face. It was like looking at Nyra in another form. “She’s strong. She’s stronger than anyone I know. She will find a way. She always does.”

Thorne nodded. “She will.”

“And you? Are you at peace?”

“I am. I’ve watched her. I’ve seen her become the woman she was always meant to be. I’m proud of her.” He paused. “I miss her. But I’m proud.”

“She misses you too. She thinks about you every day.”

“I know. But she has you now. And you have her. That’s what matters.”

Soren felt his heart swell. “I will protect her. I will love her. I will never leave her again.”

“I know you won’t. That’s why I trust you with her.” Thorne smiled. “Take care of her, Soren. Take care of my sister.”

“I will. I promise.”

Thorne nodded and faded away. And Soren slept on, dreaming of a future he might one day have.

The Moon Goddess watched from the shadows.

Beside her stood Evelyn, Nyra’s earthly mother. They had been watching Soren for weeks watching him sleep, watching him dream, watching him heal.

“He loves her so much,” Evelyn said quietly. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” the goddess agreed. “I have seen many kinds of love in my long existence. But the love of a mate—true love—is the most powerful force in any world. It can move mountains. It can bring back the dead.”

Evelyn looked at her. “Will you bring him back?”

The goddess was silent for a long moment. Then she spoke.

“I have not decided.”

“Nyra will come for him. You know she will.”

“I know. She is stubborn—just like her father.” The goddess paused. “But even if she comes, she may not succeed. The barriers between worlds are not easily crossed.”

“She crossed them once. She can cross them again.”

“She crossed them with my help. With my power. Without me, she is just a woman.”

“She is not just a woman,” Evelyn said firmly. “She is your daughter. And she has the Moonblood power—the power to do what no other can do. If anyone can bring him back, it’s her.”

The goddess was silent. Then she nodded slowly.

“We will see,” she said. “We will see.”

Three days later, Nyra stood at the gates of the Astrlyn keep.

She was ready. Her bags were packed. Her horse was saddled. Her friends were at her side.

“I don’t know how long this will take,” she said to the elders. “I don’t know if I’ll succeed. But I have to try.”

“We understand,” Elder Marric said. “Go with our blessing.”

“We will keep the pack safe,” Elder Lyssa added. “We will await your return.”

Nyra nodded. She mounted her horse and looked at her friends—at Corvin, at Ragnar, at Roderic, at Marek, at Maureen, at Jasper.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

They nodded.

“Then let’s go.”

They rode out of the keep, through the gates, into the world beyond. The road stretched before them—long and uncertain and full of danger. But Nyra was not afraid.

I’m coming, Soren, she thought. I’m coming to bring you home.

And she rode toward the horizon, her friends at her side.