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He kissed her like his life depended on it, like she was a thin thread on which his stability depended on.

She kissed him back, like all the doubts and hesitation that had nurtured itself in her mind had been tossed away with the stone she picked earlier.

Finally, they pulled away.

“I love you, Bavanda,” he said, voice a little steadier now, but still full of emotion. “Even when you drive me mad. Even when you run from me. Even when you say things that make my heart plummet into my stomach. I still love you.”

She let out a breathy laugh, wiping her face with her sleeve. “You’re supposed to say something poetic now. Like, ‘I’d cross a thousand moons for you,’ or ‘I’d fight off a rogue army with nothing but my bare chest.’”

Loco raised an eyebrow. “First of all, my chest is very capable. Secondly, I’m not a poet, Bavanda. I’m a man in love with a complicated, stubborn, overthinking she-wolf who still manages to own my entire heart.”

She laughed then, really laughed. The sound was light, like it hadn't existed in her chest for days.

Loco grinned, nudging her gently with his shoulder. “There it is. I missed that laugh.”

Bavanda sniffled again, but this time, there were no tears—just that funny, vulnerable softness that came after an emotional storm. “You're annoying, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he smirked. “Usually right before someone kisses me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, your ego is unbearable.”

“You’re still holding my hand though.”

She glanced down at their intertwined fingers, then shrugged. “It’s warm.”

He leaned in a little closer. “You’re warm.”

Bavanda pretended to gag. “Stop, please.”

Loco chuckled. “Alright, alright. But for the record, I still want to marry you someday. Even if I have to fight the Moon Goddess herself for your heart.”

Bavanda shook her head, smiling at the stars now. “I think she’s already given it to you.”

He looked at her then, the lightness in his face meeting the sincerity in his eyes. “Then I’ll protect it with everything I’ve got.”

She met his eyes, and smiled. This one felt genuinely real. Maybe—just maybe—she didn’t have to be so afraid anymore.

***

The sun filtered through the mist the next morning, casting long shadows across the central clearing of the pack grounds. The scent of dew still clung to the air, mingling with the hushed murmurs of gathered wolves. Every member of the pack was present—warriors, scouts, mothers, children—standing in a broad circle around the sacred stone firepit. The flames were unlit, the silence heavy with expectation.

Bavanda stood near the center, Loco behind her like a silent pillar. His presence was solid, reassuring, but he had said nothing. This was her moment.

The Elders stepped forward. High Elder Maelis, silver-haired and stone-faced, raised her hand. The murmuring ceased.

“We summoned you, Bavanda, not as Alpha’s daughter, nor as a vessel of the Moon’s will,” she said, her voice rasping with age but strong. “But as one of us. As the wolf we doubted… and wronged.”

A ripple passed through the crowd. Eyes dropped. Hands clenched. A few children peered up at their parents, sensing the gravity.

Maelis continued, “We judged you before the winds could settle. We let fear guide our tongues, and suspicion stain our hearts. We forgot that strength can come in many forms, and that sometimes, even the Moon tests her chosen with fire.”

She turned, motioning to a younger man, Patrick, Marissa's father. Marissa was the first victim of the clone's cruelty, and her father was the one who had been most vocal in his accusations. Patrick stepped forward, then dropped to one knee.

“I spoke harshly against you,” he said, his voice trembling. “I called you cursed, unfit… and I see now, it was my fear that was unfit. You bled for us. You protected us, and I… I turned my back.”

Marissa's mother followed, tears streaking her face. “My child is gone,” she whispered. “But it wasn’t you. And I am so sorry… I should’ve seen your pain, not made it worse.”

Bavanda stood frozen, her chest tight. The part of her that had screamed in silence for weeks—the girl who endured whispers, the warrior who had to face her own pack’s mistrust—now felt the burn of recognition. It was… bittersweet.

She took a breath and stepped forward.

“I didn’t ask to be born of light and shadow,” she began. “I didn’t ask to fight darkness before I understood my own strength. But I did. And I will continue to do so, because I love this pack.”

A hush settled again. Bavanda’s voice held no anger, only honesty.

“I accept your apology, but trust is not returned in a single breath. If you want to walk beside me now, show me. Not with words… but with action. Protect those beside you. Believe in those you once doubted. Fight for more than fear.”

There was silence, and then a single clap. A child, no more than six, stepped forward and offered her a small flower. “You’re really strong,” he whispered, then turned and ran back to his mother.

The circle broke. One by one, heads bowed to her. Not out of obligation, but reverence.

The firepit remained unlit, but something warm ignited in Bavanda’s chest. Loco touched her shoulder gently, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to breathe deeply.

She was not alone anymore.

She turned to Loco. “There's one more thing that needs to be done." She said.

His brows furrowed. “What's that?"

Bavanda hesitated, then mumbled. “Selene's father."

Loco nodded once in understanding. “I'll come with you," he immediately said.

She shook her head. “No. Let me do this one alone."

He stared at her reluctantly, then agreed without a choice. "I'll be waiting here for you.”

"Thank you,” she pecked him lightly on his lips then walked away.

The house stood at the edge of the forest, sun-bleached and silent—too silent for a home that once held a daughter. Bavanda walked up the crooked path with her heart in her throat. She didn’t know what she expected, sorrow, maybe. Grief from a man who had lost the girl he raised. Even if Selene had clearly stated that she and her father didn't have the sweetest of relationships, Bavanda had come to pay her respects, to offer closure. It was the least she could do.

She knocked once, no response. The second timez she hesitated then knocked.

The door flung open.

Thalos stood in the doorway, unshaven, unkempt, but his eyes were alive with fire. It didn't look like grief or pain.

It was more like anger.

“You have a lot of nerve,” he growled.

Bavanda blinked in shock. “I came to…”

“Save your breath,” he spat. “She was all I had, and you… you ruined her.”

Bavanda took a step back. “You… think I wanted her death? She had it coming all along.”

“She was fine before you,” he snapped. “Before she looked in the mirror and saw everything you had that she didn’t.”

Bavanda’s brows furrowed. “She gave herself to the darkness, Thalos. She tried to become someone else. To take Loco… to destroy the pack.”

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice cracked, rising. “You think I didn’t see what she became? The fangs, the fire in her eyes, the hate in her voice?”

Bavanda swallowed. “Then why blame me?”

He laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Because she wasn’t like that. Not before. She used to sing in the garden, run barefoot through the grass. She had dreams… and then she saw you. Golden, chosen. You stole the world from her without even knowing it.”

Bavanda’s chest tightened, not from guilt, but confusion. “I don't understand. You acting like this now is rather two-faced, don't you think? I'm sure I'm not the only one who heard the things she said. That you… didn’t care for her. That you used to hit her. That you sold her to strangers when she became inconvenient.”

Thalos’ face went stone-cold. “She lied. She didn't know anything. I was only doing what was right, what was good for her.”

“She was dying,” Bavanda said, voice tightening. “She had no reason to lie.”

Thalos stepped forward, towering over her. “Don’t come here pretending to understand her. You were the sun she could never reach. And me? Maybe I wasn’t a perfect father, but I gave her a roof. I fed her, and I would’ve done more…”

“If she hadn't failed to become me?” Bavanda asked quietly.

His jaw worked, but no answer came. Just silence and barely masked loathing.

“I came here to acknowledge your loss,” she said. “But I see now… you didn’t lose her. You threw her away long before the darkness claimed her.”

Thalos turned away sharply, gripping the edge of the door. “You’re not welcome here.”

The air was thick with unsaid things. Her throat burned. Thalos shot her one dark glance, then slammed the door in her face.

Bavanda nodded once. “Neither was she.”