Chapter 176

The silence that followed was deafening.

Finn stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the spot where Ragnar had disappeared. The tears were still falling, but he didn’t wipe them away. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

Nyra watched him the boy who had been her friend, her roommate, her confidant. She remembered the late nights they had spent talking, the jokes they had shared, the way he had always made her laugh when she wanted to cry. She remembered the way he had stood by her when no one else would, the way he had defended her against Draven, the way he had held her when she broke down.

It had all been a lie.

“Why?” she asked again. “Why did you do it? Was it really just about power?”

Finn didn’t answer immediately. When he spoke, his voice was hollow.

“At first, yes. It was about power. About taking back what I thought was mine. But then…” He paused. “Then I met Ragnar. And for the first time in my life, I felt something other than hate. Something other than anger. Something other than the need for revenge.”

“Then why did you keep going? Why didn’t you stop?”

“Because I couldn’t. The plan was already in motion. My father had already given the orders. Morgath had already brewed the poison. Elias was already prepared to act.” Finn’s jaw tightened. “If I had backed out, they would have killed me. They would have killed Ragnar. They would have killed everyone I cared about.”

“So you chose to protect yourself.”

“I chose to survive. It’s what I’ve always done. It’s what I’ve always had to do.”

Nyra stepped closer. “You could have come to us. You could have told us the truth. We would have protected you.”

“Would you?” Finn’s eyes met hers—cold and bitter. “Would you have protected the son of the man who killed your brother? Would you have protected the half-brother of the man who tried to kill you? Would you have protected the traitor who had been lying to you from the very beginning?”

Nyra was silent.

“That’s what I thought.” Finn laughed—a hollow, broken sound. “You would have killed me on the spot. Or you would have locked me away and thrown away the key. Either way, I would have lost everything.”

“You’ve already lost everything.”

“I know.” Finn’s voice cracked. “I know.”

He looked at the group—at Corvin, at Roderic, at Valeria, at Maureen and Marek. He looked at the people who had once been his friends, his allies, his pack.

“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” he said. “I don’t expect your mercy. I don’t expect anything from any of you. But I want you to know—I want you all to know—that I’m sorry. Not for what I did. But for what I became.”

“You’re sorry for what you became?” Maureen’s voice was sharp. “You nearly killed Jasper. You helped murder innocent people. You destroyed lives. And you’re sorry for what you became?”

“I’m sorry that I hurt the people who cared about me. I’m sorry that I lied to the people who trusted me. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the person you all thought I was.” Finn’s voice broke. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the person Ragnar loved.”

The group fell silent.

Nyra looked at the broken boy standing in the doorway, the tears streaming down his face, the guilt and regret and self-loathing written across every line of his expression. She thought about Soren, about the sacrifice he had made, about the life he had given for her. She thought about her brother about the bright, golden future that had been stolen from him. She thought about all the people who had suffered because of Varek and his schemes.

And she thought about Finn—the boy who had been molded into a monster by the very people who should have protected him.

“Finn Harlan,” she said quietly. “You are guilty of treason, murder, kidnapping, and conspiracy against the Crown. The punishment for these crimes is death.”

Finn nodded. “I know.”

“But I’m not going to kill you.”

Finn blinked. “What?”

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to exact revenge.” Nyra’s voice was calm. “I’m going to take you back to the palace and let the King decide your fate. It’s not my place to judge you. It’s not my place to punish you. That belongs to the Crown.”

Finn stared at her. “You’re a fool.”

“Perhaps. But I’m a fool who believes in justice. Not revenge. Justice.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No. It’s not.” Nyra stepped closer. “Justice is about what’s right. Revenge is about what feels good. I’ve spent too long chasing revenge. I’ve spent too long letting my anger control me. I’m done with that now.”

She turned to Corvin and Roderic. “Bind him. We’re taking him back.”

They moved forward, their faces grim. Finn didn’t resist. He didn’t fight. He just stood there, his eyes fixed on the spot where Ragnar had disappeared.

“I loved him,” he whispered. “I loved him, and I lost him.”

No one answered.

There was nothing to say.

The realm was still healing.

The full moon had returned, a great silver eye in the night sky, watching over the land with its cold, beautiful light. The crops had begun to grow again. The madness had faded. The people had emerged from their homes, blinking in the sudden brightness, wondering if the nightmare was truly over.

But there was still one threat left.

Varek Astrlyn.

The King’s soldiers had been searching for him since the night of the exchange. They had scoured the Shadowwood, the northern forests, the border villages. They had interrogated prisoners, followed leads, chased rumors. But Varek had vanished—as elusive as smoke, as silent as a shadow.

Nyra stood at the window of her chamber, staring out at the moon. She had been back for three days. Three days of reunions and tears and difficult conversations. Three days of trying to find her place in a world that had changed while she was gone.

She thought about Soren.

She thought about him every waking moment. She saw him in the moonlight, in the shadows, in the quiet corners of her mind. She heard his voice in her dreams—I love you, little moon—and woke with tears on her face.

I will find you, she thought. Wherever you are, I will find you.

A knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Corvin entered, his dark hair disheveled, his expression tired. He had been working nonstop since Nyra’s return coordinating the search for Varek, helping the healers, supporting the other survivors. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“How are you?” he asked.

Nyra turned from the window. “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m…” She paused, searching for the right word. “I’m surviving.”

Corvin crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed. He gestured for her to join him. She did, sitting beside him, her silver hair falling around her shoulders.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Really talk to me.”

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

“I keep thinking about him. About Soren. About everything we could have had. I keep wondering if I could have saved him. If I had been stronger—faster—maybe I could have prevented the sacrifice.”

“You couldn’t have. The Moon Goddess made the rules. Soren made the choice.”

“I know. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.” She looked at him. “How do you do it, Corvin? How do you keep going when someone you love is gone?”

Corvin was quiet for a moment. “I think about the good times. The moments we shared. The way she smiled. The way she laughed. I hold onto those memories like a lifeline.” He paused. “And I keep fighting. Because that’s what she would have wanted.”

Nyra nodded slowly. “She would have wanted that.”

“I miss him too, you know.” Corvin’s voice was soft. “Soren and I—we weren’t always friends. We were rivals. Enemies, sometimes. But he was a good man. A better man than I ever gave him credit for.”

“He was.”

“He loved you more than anything. He died for you. That kind of love… it doesn’t happen every day.”

“I know.” Nyra’s eyes glistened. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Corvin took her hand.

“We’re going to find Varek. We’re going to bring him to justice. And then—then we’re going to find a way to bring Soren back.”

Nyra looked at him. “You really believe that’s possible?”

“I believe in you. I believe in the Moonblood power. And I believe that love—true love—can’t be destroyed. Not by death. Not by anything.”

Nyra squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Corvin.”

“For what?”

“For being you. For never giving up on me.”

“Never,” he said. “I’ll never give up on you. I promise.”

They set out the next morning.

Nyra, Corvin, Ragnar, Roderic, Marek, and Maureen. A small group, small enough to move quickly, quiet enough to avoid detection. The King had offered more soldiers, but Nyra had refused. This was personal. This was family.

They rode north, following the trail that Roderic had picked up a trail of bribed guards and stolen horses, of whispered rumors and frightened villagers. Varek was running, but he wasn’t hiding. He was moving toward the border, toward the mountains, toward a place where he could disappear forever.

“He’s heading for the Northern Pass,” Roderic said. “If he makes it through, he’ll be out of our reach. The mountains beyond are lawless territory. We’ll never find him.”

“Then we don’t let him reach the pass,” Nyra said.

They rode faster.

The trail led them through forests and across rivers, through villages and outposts. They stopped only to rest the horses and gather information. The villagers were afraid whispering of a dark figure who had passed through in the night, of soldiers who had threatened them for silence.

But they talked.

They always talked.

And slowly, piece by piece, they pieced together Varek’s path.

On the second day, they found the bodies.

Two soldiers, killed by a blade. Their bodies had been left in a ditch, half-hidden by leaves. They were Varek’s men—the ones who had helped him escape.

“He’s eliminating witnesses,” Corvin said grimly. “Anyone who might betray his location.”

“Then we’re getting close,” Nyra said.

They continued north.

The third day brought them to the foot of the mountains. The pass was visible in the distance—a narrow gap between two towering peaks, the only way through to the lawless lands beyond.

And there, silhouetted against the sky, was Varek.

He was alone now. His guards had all been killed or abandoned. He was a man on the run desperate, exhausted, and dangerous.

Nyra signaled the others to spread out. They surrounded him, closing in from all sides.

Varek saw them coming. He drew his sword a long, wicked blade that gleamed in the moonlight.

“Nyra,” he called. “I should have known you’d come.”

Nyra dismounted and walked toward him. Her silver hair flowed in the wind. Her moonlight eyes blazed.

“Hello, Uncle,” she said.