152

That hit like a blow. Even Baron looked stunned.

“Loco—” Avynna began.

But he cut her off. “I’ve given everything to this pack. To her. And now you’re asking me to choose between my pride and my peace.”

He looked at them, eyes dull but blazing underneath. “I choose peace.”

And with that, he turned and walked out.

The door closed with a finality that sucked the breath from the room. Bavanda didn’t move. Neither did anyone else.

Until Baron finally sank into his seat with a quiet, grim sigh. “We might have just lost him.”

The darkness that enveloped as night fell was not even a little bit as heavy as silence that settled in the room afterwards. 

***

The morning sun filtered weakly through the curtains, casting a golden glow across Bavanda’s bed—but she was already gone.

Her footsteps echoed as she sprinted down the corridor barefoot, her breath shaky, hair still messy from sleep. She didn’t bother to knock when she reached Loco’s door—she just pushed it open.

Silence.

Her eyes scanned the space—emptied. Clothes gone. No scent lingering. The bed was made, too perfectly, like he hadn’t slept in it at all.

Her breath caught when she saw the small black ring box on the windowsill. 

She staggered forward, slowly lifting it with trembling hands. She opened it.

There it was. The ring. Still gleaming with a promise she had never accepted.

Bavanda’s knees buckled. She sank to the floor, the box pressed to her chest, her body wracked with sobs that stole the air from her lungs.

“I did this…” she whispered. “I pushed him away.”

Her heart felt like a thousand tiny daggers being pierced through. Her hands trembled as she held the ring. “This is all my fault. It's my fault… I'm sorry, Loco. I'm sorry, you deserved none of this.”

Avynna walked in at that moment. On seeing the scene, she said nothing. She simply sat beside her daughter on the bed, one hand resting on her back. But even the Moon-blessed Alpha had no comfort to give this time.

She looked at the ring box, then at Bavanda’s broken expression, and her lips tightened.

“He waited, Bavanda. Longer than most ever would.”

Bavanda didn’t look up. “I know.” Her voice cracked. “And I tore him apart anyway.”

Silence fell.

Avynna wanted to say something. To say it would be okay. That love always found its way back.

But she didn’t, because right now—it wasn’t okay, and some wounds didn’t just heal with time.

She exhaled softly, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s temple. “Then you’ll have to be the one to fight for him now.”

Bavanda sobbed even more. “I don't know how to. I don't know… I've lost him. I've lost him and all that he gave me. This is all my fault.”

"Bavanda…" 

“He looked through all of it, he ignored the mess I am. He was there for me when I was swallowed by the darkness. I'm nothing without him, and yet…” she trailed off, her heart shattering. "And yet, I hurt him so much." 

Avynna sighed. “Bavanda, love is like this. You can't blame yourself for everything that happened." 

The pain doubled in her chest, as she held on tighter to her mother. “Guess, he was right. I turned love into a war. He… He deserves better.”

Avynna shut her eyes, a tear of her own felling through her eyes. She wiped it off immediately, but it didn't stop them from felling. 

She totally understood how Bavanda felt, and she hated that he daughter had to be in the shoes she had once been in. Avynna remembered how she had cried when her ex-husband began treating her like she didn't matter. She remembered all the times she cried when Baron and her had arguments. She remembered how alone she had felt when she watched the man she loved be with someone else.

Yet, she couldn't blame Loco either. Bavanda had pushed him away herself. The blame fell on no one, yet both parties were suffering the pain.

If only she could take it away…

Avynna held her daughter closer, blinking back the tears that wouldn't go away. “It's okay, Bavanda. It's okay, darling. We'll figure this out, I promise." 

“What if… What if we dont? What if I lose him?" Bavanda asked, her body shaken with the violent sobs that had racked her entire being.

Avynna swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn't have an answer to that.

Hours later, moonlight flooded through the open window, silvering everything in its path.

Bavanda sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. In her hands, she clutched a small velvet box—his ring. The one he’d offered her the day she said nothing.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it, staring at the simple yet beautiful band nestled inside. The memory of his hopeful eyes hit her like a blade.

A sob escaped her. It was silent, yet raw. And it felt like her gut was being wrenched out.

She pressed the box to her lips and whispered,
“Come back. Please, come back, Loco…”

But there was no answer. Just the soft rustle of wind and the far-off howl of a lonely wolf.

Meanwhile, Loco walked alone, hood pulled over his head, a tattered pack slung across one shoulder. His footsteps were heavy in the dirt, the distant sounds of predators howling in the dark.

The trees grew stranger here—twisted, starved of light. The air was colder.

He paused at a cliff’s edge, the wind tugging at his jacket.

He stared out at the horizon. But there was no peace in the silence. Just noise inside his head.

His jaw clenched. His eyes were glassy. His heart felt hollow.

No words could quite explain how hurt he was, but he knew it was over now. He had tried love, and he had failed. He hoped though—desperately—that this wasn't true. He didn't want to lose her.

He still loved her, she was still the only woman he could think of a life with. She was still the only thing that held any meaning in his life.

Still… he didn’t turn back.

He knew when he wasn't welcome in a place. Afterall, his entire life had been like that—walking on eggshells because he never truly found a place to call home. And now he did—or thought he did—he had lost that too.

Maybe, he wasn't meant for the light after all.

From the outer borders of their territory, something unnatural stirred. The trees whispered to each other in a language older than time.

Shadows slithered like smoke between the cracks in the earth, weaving into the roots, infecting the ground.

The darkness moved with purpose. It was watching, and waiting.

Somewhere in the the dark world…

The chamber was carved into the earth itself—cold, echoing, and lit only by flickering violet flames lining the jagged stone walls. Black mist crept along the floor like a living thing, pulsing with quiet hunger. The air was thick with the stench of old blood, burnt magic, and rotting promises.

At the far end of the hall sat the Dark Leader, cloaked in shadows atop his throne of obsidian and bone. His face remained hidden beneath his hood, but the air around him crackled with power—unstable, ancient, cruel.

Footsteps echoed, steady but hesitant.

A figure emerged from the mist, draped in a cloak marked with sigils from the Forbidden Tongue. He knelt with reverence, offering a thick black scroll wrapped in a cord of braided sinew.

“My lord,” the minion rasped, head bowed low. “The rift has begun.”

The Dark Leader didn’t move. But the air shifted—as if it leaned in to listen.

“Bavanda and her mate,” the minion continued, “are divided. Their bond strains. Their trust is broken. The male has already left the safety of their lands. She is... unraveling.”

The scroll uncoiled by itself, ancient ink bleeding across the air as runes hovered between them, glowing like cursed stars.

“It is time,” the minion said softly, almost giddy with triumph. “A new vessel has been found. One born of pain. One who will not hesitate to rip through them both. Their fractured hearts are the crack through which we’ll strike.”

The Dark Leader finally stirred.

His fingers—long, skeletal, crowned with onyx claws—drummed once on the armrest. A low, guttural laugh began deep in his chest, rising until it echoed through the vast chamber, shaking the walls.

“Then let the wolves bleed themselves dry.”

He rose from the throne, cloak billowing like smoke behind him. “Unleash the vessel. Stir the old shadows. Bring me their bones.”

The flames turned blood-red.

And somewhere in the cursed lands, something woke from its slumber—smiling.

In the heart of the realm cloaked in blood and void, the cloaked Dark Leader stood before a cauldron of writhing fire.

The Dark Leader's fingers tightened around the armrest of his throne.

A smile stretched through his face—cruel and triumphant. “Strike now.”

The fire roared higher. The world began to turn darker.

The war… had begun.