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Loco’s hand slipped over hers. “She will.”

Her lips parted, shock dawning on her as she realized she had said that out loud. Then, she eased up under Loco's touch, letting the wave of sadness envelope her all over again.

“She’s gone somewhere deep. I can feel it. The light is still in her, but it’s quiet. Like it’s waiting.” Bavanda mumbled.

“Then we wait too,” he said. “And when she opens her eyes, we’ll be here. Just like she always was for us.”

She squeezed his hand, closing her eyes for a long moment.

She opened her eyes again, and in them was a glimmer of the Bavanda from before—the one who could command a battlefield with a whisper, the one born of moonlight and fire. Yet, she wasn't strong enough to not want someone to hold her. To not want Loco to hold her.

“Stay with me?” she asked.

He nodded without hesitation. “I will. I'll never leave your side again, Bavanda. I promise.”

Baron, meanwhile, sat on the steps just outside, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He hadn’t cried during the battle. Hadn’t cried when his mate collapsed either.

But now, in the silence, where his daughter lay vigil and his people mourned, the weight finally cracked him.

Steve approached and sat beside him. He didn't speak at first, but his presence created some sort of grounding presence, reminding Baron that indeed, he was not alone entirely.

“You ever think… we were cursed?” Baron said, his voice hollow.

Steve shrugged. “Or chosen.”

“Same difference.”

“Sometimes,” Steve agreed.

They sat in silence for a while.

Then Baron whispered, “She came back. My little girl… she came back, and I almost didn’t recognize her. I hesitated.”

“She understands.”

“I should’ve known.”

Steve looked at him, serious now. “You were grieving, betrayed, broken, but you’re here now. She needs you now. Avynna does too.”

Baron stood slowly, exhaling shakily. “I’ll be here.”

Later that night, Bavanda rested her head on her mother’s blanket-covered legs. Loco had drifted to sleep in the chair beside them.

The stars were faint outside the window. As she closed her eyes, Bavanda whispered softly into the quiet.

“We’ll be ready, Mama. No matter what comes, we’ll be ready.”

***

The morning sun poured golden light across the training yard, painting long shadows across the worn-out stone and grass. Bavanda stood alone at the center, barefoot, her arms crossed as the wind tousled her hair. Her gaze lifted to the sky, where faint clouds drifted lazily. It was the first morning in days that didn’t feel like a battlefield.

Behind her, heavy footsteps approached. She turned abruptly, her danger instincts rising immediately. However, it was only her father.

“Hey! Relax, it's just me!" Baron laughed despite himself.

Bavanda's shoulders eased up as she exhaled. “Good morning, Father."

He didn't respond, he just handed her a steaming wooden cup of bitter coffee and took his place beside her. They stood shoulder to shoulder in silence, both watching the sky as if waiting for it to answer something.

“You used to hate coffee,” he muttered.

She gave a small chuckle, the sound soft and rare. “I sort of still do. But I guess I need the bitterness now. It is distracting.”

He looked over at her. “You’ve grown,” he said, pride and sorrow tangled in his voice.

“You look smaller,” she teased, though the smile on her lips didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Baron exhaled a low breath. “Feels like I am. These past weeks…” He paused, his jaw tight. “I almost lost you. Then your mother… and all I could do was stand there, watching everything fall.”

“You didn’t,” she said, turning to face him. “You stood tall when everyone else was breaking. That strength, it’s what kept us together.”

He lowered his eyes, shaking his head. “No, little flame. You held the line. You rose.”

Tears blurred her vision, but she let them fall freely. “I was so angry with you, you know. With everyone. But all I ever wanted was for us to be like this again.”

He reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She buried her face in his chest, she let herself be a daughter again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “For every time I failed you. For not believing your every word.”

“I’m sorry too, for leaving.”

They held each other in the stillness of the yard, surrounded by morning dew and the echoes of old ghosts.

Night time, however, was merrier. It came with lanterns.bDozens of them—maybe more—each one lit by hand, cradled gently, and sent adrift into the moonlit sky. A gentle wind carried them higher and higher, until the stars welcomed them like old friends.

The pack gathered in a wide clearing by the old tree where councils used to be held. A bonfire crackled at the center, its flames licking toward the heavens, casting long, dancing shadows.

They weren't mourning, not entirely. It was something in-between. A remembrance, yes—but also a celebration of survival, of courage, And of the light that had returned to their pack.

Bavanda stood near the edge, watching quietly as familiar faces moved through the space—warriors exchanging hugs, pups chasing each other barefoot, elderly wolves sharing warm drinks and tales of battles past.

Steve stood nearby with Rayna and Gina, murmuring with soft laughter as they helped an elder up onto a wooden stump to give a blessing. Bavanda’s heart warmed at the sight.

Then someone tugged on her fingers. She looked down.

A small boy—no older than five—stood staring up at her with wide, curious eyes. Dirt smeared his cheek, and he clutched a small, glowing moonstone in his tiny fist.

“Are you gonna be our new Luna now?” he asked.

Bavanda blinked, startled.

The question wasn’t weighted with politics or pressure, it was innocent, and pure, obviously. The kind only a child could ask, like asking if the stars would come back after a storm.

She knelt slowly, meeting him at eye level.

“Not yet,” she said honestly. “But I’ll be here. I’ll fight for you, and I’ll keep the light burning, no matter what.”

He seemed satisfied with that, offering her the moonstone before scampering off to join his friends. She held the stone in her hand, feeling its cool surface pulse gently in rhythm with her heartbeat.

Behind her, Baron approached again. “They’re already looking to you,” he said.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked toward the moon. “I’m not ready to lead, not yet,” she murmured. “But I’ll protect them, until the end.”

Baron nodded, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need to be ready,” he said. “You just need to be willing.”

They stood together as the final lanterns floated skyward, whispers of light in a dark sky, drifting toward something brighter. The flames danced. Laughter mixed with quiet tears. And slowly, like snow melting beneath sunlight, the weight pressing down on the pack began to lift.

Peace was fragile, but it was here. At least, for now.

The moon had risen high above the hills by the time Bavanda found herself wandering away from the firelight. The noise, though gentle and celebratory, felt too loud against the ache still blooming in her chest. Her bare feet found the cool grass instinctively, leading her past the edge of the packhouse and toward the ridge that overlooked the valley.

She wasn’t surprised when Loco was already there.

He sat on a flat stone, knees drawn up, arms resting on them, his dark hair pulled back messily as the breeze toyed with the edges of his shirt. The wind carried the scent of pine and old ash… and him.

He didn’t turn when she approached. He simply shifted slightly to the side, making space.

Bavanda sat without a word, hugging her knees. For a while, there was only silence between them—a kind of peace that didn’t need to be filled.

Then Loco spoke, voice low and raw. “I keep replaying it, all of it.”

She swallowed. "Which part?”

He hesitated, barely looking at her. "The part where you rejected me.”

Bavanda's breath seized. She hadn't expected that. She thought they were over that. How could she expect him to forget it so easily? She hurt him real bad.

With her voice tiny and almost uncertain, she mumbled, “I didn't reject you, Loco."

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, quite an irony for the situation. “If I remember correctly, and I know that I do, you definitely turned me down.”

She bit her lips, looking down at her feet. "I'm sorry.” She said, barely audible.

Loco turned to her, finally. “I know you are." His voice sounded almost breathless. “Look at me, Bavanda."

She did.

His eyes were filled with hurt, an underlying type that hid properly behind the cracks of fake happiness. But she saw through it. She also, however, saw the way he looked at her, like she was the sun on a sky that had done nothing but rain in weeks. Like she was still the one.

Her breath caught.

“I know you're sorry. I can feel that you are. I'm not mad at you anymore, Bavanda. I just want to know." Loco said, his eyes not shifting from her face under the moonlight.

She was getting breathless from the way he was staring at her. “Know what?"

“Why?"