Chapter 133

Chapter 133: Chapter 133

The journey north was grueling.

They traveled in small groups, as Nyra had ordered, keeping to the shadows of the forest and avoiding the main roads. The terrain was rough dense underbrush, rocky hills, streams that had to be forded—but the group pressed on with grim determination. Varek’s patrols were still searching the area, and every rustle of leaves, every snap of a branch, sent a jolt of fear through the survivors.

Nyra walked at the front with Corvin limping beside her, his arm draped over her shoulder for support. His wound was healing the Moonblood transfusion had worked better than anyone could have hoped—but he was still weak, still pale, still fighting the lingering effects of Morgath’s dark magic.

"You should let someone else help me," Corvin said quietly. "You’re exhausted."

"I’m fine."

"You’re not fine. You gave me your blood. You haven’t slept properly in days. Let Marek or Ragnar—"

"Corvin." Nyra’s voice was firm but gentle. "I’m not letting anyone else carry you. Just accept it."

"Stubborn as always."

"Learned from the best."

Behind them, Ragnar walked with Finn at his side. The scarred Alpha was still favoring his injured ribs, but he refused to slow down. Finn kept up a steady stream of chatter nervous, but determined to keep morale up.

"You know, when I imagined us all traveling together, I pictured something a bit more... scenic. Maybe some horses. A carriage. Possibly a picnic basket."

"Life is full of disappointments," Marek said dryly.

"I’m not disappointed. I’m just saying. A picnic basket would have been nice."

"We don’t have food, Finn. A picnic basket without food is just a basket."

"Still nice."

Jasper walked slightly apart from the others, his sharp eyes scanning the forest, his notebook tucked under his arm. Maureen stayed close to him, her presence a quiet comfort. Roderic moved through the underbrush like a ghost, scouting ahead and reporting back with efficient regularity.

Darian led the way, his scarred face set in grim determination. He had lost friends at the mill. Soldiers who had fought under his command. Civilians who had trusted him to protect them. The weight of their deaths was visible in the set of his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw.

"We’ll reach the first safe house by nightfall," he said. "If we keep this pace."

"And if we don’t?" Ragnar asked.

"Then we camp in the open. It’s not ideal, but it’s survivable."

They walked on. The sun climbed higher, then began its slow descent toward the horizon. The forest was quiet—too quiet. Nyra’s hand kept drifting to her dagger, her silver eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger.

You’re tense, Luna observed.

We’re being hunted. I’m allowed to be tense.

True. But you’ll wear yourself out if you keep this up. Let the others take watch. You need rest.

I’ll rest when we’re safe.

Will we ever be safe?

Nyra didn’t have an answer to that.

As the sun began to set, Darian called a halt. They had reached a small clearing near a stream not the safe house, but close enough that they could risk a few hours of rest. The group collapsed onto the grass, their bodies aching, their spirits low.

Corvin sat with his back against a tree, his eyes closed. Nyra settled beside him, her shoulder brushing his.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Like I was hit by a shadow bolt and then dragged through a river."

"So... better?"

"Marginally." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "What about you? How are you really doing?"

Nyra was silent for a moment. "I’m surviving. Same as everyone else."

"That’s not what I asked."

"I know." She pulled her knees up to her chest. "I’m scared, Corvin. Scared that we won’t make it. Scared that Varek will win. Scared that everything we’ve fought for will be for nothing."

"That’s not weakness. That’s being human."

"Wolves don’t feel fear."

"Wolves feel everything. They just hide it better." He reached over and took her hand. "You’re allowed to be scared, Nyra. We’re all scared. But we’re also still here. Still fighting. And that has to count for something."

She squeezed his hand. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For always knowing what to say."

"It’s a gift." He almost smiled. "One of many."

Finn appeared with an armful of firewood. "Am I interrupting a moment? I feel like I’m interrupting a moment."

"You’re always interrupting a moment," Jasper said from across the clearing.

"That’s my specialty."

Marek returned from the stream with water, and they built a small fire careful to keep it low and hidden. The survivors gathered around, sharing what little food they had, speaking in hushed voices. For a while, the fear receded. For a while, they were just people, sitting around a fire, trying to survive.

Then Roderic appeared from the trees, his expression urgent.

"Riders," he said quietly. "Varek’s men. They’re searching the road to the east. They don’t know we’re here, but they’re close."

The group tensed. Darian was on his feet immediately. "Put out the fire. We move now."

The fire was extinguished. The group gathered their belongings and melted into the shadows of the forest. They moved quickly, silently, their hearts pounding. The riders passed by without seeing them.

But the close call was a stark reminder: they were still being hunted. And the road ahead was only going to get more dangerous.

At the royal palace, preparations for the lunar festival were underway.

The great hall buzzed with activity—servants hanging decorations, cooks planning menus, guards drilling for the influx of visitors. The palace city would be packed with families from every pack, students returning from the academies, dignitaries and nobles gathering to celebrate the Moon Goddess’s blessing.

Soren watched the preparations from his window, his golden eyes distant.

The festival was in two weeks. Two weeks until he would step into the public eye as the crown prince alive, returned from the dead, a living miracle. Two weeks until the realm would look at him and see not just the Sword Sovereign, but the heir to the Seven Packs.

And he still didn’t feel ready.

You’ll be fine, Kael said. You’ve faced worse than a crowd of nobles.

It’s not the crowd I’m worried about. It’s the questions. The expectations. The memories I can’t access.

The memories will return in time.

What if they don’t? What if I spend the rest of my life with this hole in my chest, never knowing what I lost?

Kael was silent for a moment. Then we learn to live with it. We adapt. We survive.

That’s what you always say.

Because it’s always true.

A knock at the door. Freya entered without waiting for permission, her dark hair braided in an elaborate style that was already coming undone.

"Soren! Mother says you need to try on your festival clothes. The tailors are waiting."

"Tell them I’ll be there shortly."

"They said now. They’re very insistent." She flopped onto his bed. "Also, I heard the academy is going on break next week. Everyone’s going to be traveling to the palace city for the festival. It’s going to be enormous."

"So I’ve heard."

"Are you nervous? About everyone seeing you? About the announcement?"

"A little."

"Don’t be. You’re the crown prince. You’re the Sword Sovereign. You’re the scariest person I know." She grinned. "You’ll be magnificent."

Soren almost smiled. "You sound like Mother."

"Mother is usually right." Freya sat up. "She also said to remind you that the festival is a time for celebration, not brooding. So stop brooding."

"I’m not brooding."

"You’re always brooding. It’s one of your defining traits." She stood and grabbed his arm. "Now come on. The tailors are waiting, and I want to see you in the ceremonial cloak. I bet you look ridiculous."

"Your faith in me is overwhelming."

"I try."

He let her drag him out of the room, the emptiness in his chest still aching, but somehow a little lighter with his sister at his side.

The message arrived at every academy, every pack house, every corner of the realm within days.

By decree of His Majesty, King Aldric Thornridge, Sovereign of the Seven Packs and Protector of the Realm:

The annual Lunar Festival, celebrating the blessings of the Moon Goddess, will be held in two weeks’ time at the Palace City. All packs are invited to attend. All academies will commence their annual break one week prior to the festival, allowing students to travel with their families.

This year’s festival will be a celebration unlike any other. His Majesty is pleased to announce a momentous blessing: the Crown Prince Soren Thornridge, who was gravely wounded at the Shadowmoon showcase, has made a miraculous recovery. The prince will be formally presented to the realm at the festival, where we will give thanks to the Moon Goddess for his return and offer sacrifices to ward off evil from our land.

Let all who can attend make haste. The Palace City awaits.

The announcement spread like wildfire.

In the forests of the north, the survivors of the mill heard the news from a traveling merchant who passed through a village they were skirting. Ragnar listened with a stunned expression, then turned to the others.

"Soren is alive," he said, his voice shaking. "The prince is alive."

Nyra’s heart stopped. "What?"

"He’s alive. They’re announcing it at the festival. The crown prince survived the assassination."

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Finn let out a whoop of joy, and Marek actually smiled, and Jasper set down his notebook for the first time in days.

"He’s alive," Nyra whispered. "He’s really alive."

I told you, Luna said, her voice thick with emotion. I told you the bond never broke.

The group stood in the shadow of the forest, the news washing over them like a wave. Soren was alive. The crown prince had survived.

But Nyra’s joy was tempered by a cold, creeping dread. The festival was in two weeks. The realm would gather at the Palace City. Varek would be there. Morgath would be there. Selene and Valeria were still with them, their loyalties uncertain.

And Soren—Soren would be there too.

I’ll find a way, she thought. Whatever it takes.

The road to the festival lay ahead. And everything—everything—was about to change.