When they first built the hold together,Savina stayed up night after night to aid Myron;the sleepless moons left her with a lingering ailment and a fragile body.

The pendant at her throat was a ward he had begged from the Moon Shrine—he had knelt three times upon cold stone,asking the Goddess for pardon,just to pray for her safety.He’d said it would keep her from harm.

But now,the one Myron wished to shelter was Helene,and Savina no longer wanted the charm.

Generously,she unclasped the safety talisman from her own neck and placed it in Helene’s palm.

Myron’s face tightened.He knew Savina despised Helene,and that pendant had rested over Savina’s heart for seven years;she had never once removed it.He had expected her to refuse.He had not expected her to yield so easily.

That loss of control unsettled him.He frowned,voice turning sharp.“You always said that pendant was the most precious thing you had.Why give it away so easily this time?”

Savina lifted her head and met his gaze,calm as still water.She returned his question with one of her own.“Wasn’t it you who told me to give it to her?Am I making you unhappy by obeying?”

Her cool teasing stole the words from Myron’s mouth.He had no reply.

After handing the pendant over,Savina turned and left.

All day,she kept herself relentlessly busy,never pausing.

Myron convinced himself her generosity was a show;he believed she would come seeking him within half a day.But when evening fell,she had not approached him once.Instead,she had servants summon him to the meal hall.

Savina had prepared three dishes and a broth—simple,measured,the kind of quiet household grace a stranger might practice.She was already seated when Helene arrived.

“Eat,”Savina said,coldly.

Upon the table were the kinds of foods Dike favored—fire-pepper stews and seared meats.

Savina was leaving at moon’s end;now was the perfect time to practice.

Myron,blind to that intent,only supposed she had cooked to please him.The thought eased his unsettled heart.

Helene sat.Myron kept filling her bowl,even tearing meat for her with his own hands.

Savina’s arm tensed—once,he had often done that for her,but now,he no longer did.

After a few bites,the spice made Myron’s brow furrow.“You know my stomach is delicate.I don’t like fiery dishes.Why make so many tonight?”

Savina glanced at him.Dike liked spice;these plates were meant for practice,not for Myron.

Myron was eating them only because Savina refused to waste food.The explanation rose to her lips,but Helene spoke first.

“Myron,don’t blame her,”Helene murmured.“After all,you two aren’t childhood wolves.How would she know every like and dislike?Don’t worry;I’ll make other dishes for you.”With that,she tugged him toward the hearth.

She chopped;Myron hovered,fearful she might nick a finger,so he took the knife.She guided from behind while he stirred the iron pan,afraid hot oil might kiss her skin.

Savina watched,a little dazed.Once,she had imagined being at the hearth like that with Myron—cooking together—but he had always said he had no time.

Now she understood:it wasn’t that he had no time;it was that the wolf had changed.

Savina rose to leave,unwilling to remain,but when she turned,the dishes were already carried out.Myron’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Stop.Our guest just finished cooking.What do you mean by rising and pulling a face?Sit.”

Savina clenched her fists,ready to refuse.Helene leaned close and breathed a threat into her ear,soft and venomous.

“If you don’t behave,I’ll have people hurt your cub.”

Savina’s eyes went shockingly red in an instant.For her child,she sat back down.

Across from Myron and Helene,she watched them—his attentive hands,the way he fed her again and again—and felt a sharp ache spear her chest.

Myron kept spooning food into Helene’s bowl;Helene said,deliberately loud,“Savina,you’re not eating.Do you dislike my cooking?Myron told me you aren’t picky.Could it be that…you simply don’t like me?”

Myron’s gaze hardened.“Savina,Helene made these with her own hands.Don’t be ungrateful.”

Savina looked over the table and laughed,brittle and low.She was allergic to most of these foods.Apparently,even Myron had forgotten.

When she still didn’t move,he slammed his bone spoon against the table.

She lifted her eyes to his.“I can eat,”she said quietly.“But in exchange,let me see my son.”

At first,he meant to refuse;Helene had told him the healer’s cave forbade outsiders.

But when he met Savina’s eyes,he could not push the denial past his tongue.At last he said,“Fine.I agree.”

Savina picked at the dishes and forced them down.Not long after,a rash bloomed across her skin—angry and red.

Had Myron cared for her even a little,he would have noticed the change in her breath,the heat in her cheeks.But his attention never left Helene.

So stark,the difference between being loved and not.

That night,Savina’s reaction worsened.She went to find an anti-rash draught.When she reached the stairway,Helene stood there already,arms full of small vials.

As Savina approached,Helene sneered.“You.I don’t like you.Myron is mine,yet you bore his cub.”

“You,or that cub?You both deserve to die.”With that,Helene pulled the corks and poured every vial into the waste basin,flushing them away with a pitcher of water.

Savina’s hand twitched,ready to teach her a lesson—but the image of her son,bound to a healer’s pallet,held her in place.She turned to leave.

Helene wasn’t finished.She stepped in front of Savina and flung a stack of illusion-slates at her—images of Alonzo being abused.

In the visions,the boy’s limbs were bound;treatments showed healers driving needles and bone awls again and again into tender flesh.

Blood glistened—Savina’s vision filmed scarlet.

Something inside her snapped.She seized Helene’s throat with both hands and hissed,“Bitch!Lay a finger on my cub and I’ll tear out your throat!”

Before she could squeeze,Myron lunged,shoving Savina away,then struck her hard across the face.“Savina,you’re hurting Helene again!”

The blow stunned her;her head rang.In all these years,he had never hit her—until now.

He didn’t spare a glance for the torn skin along her arms;all his concern fastened on Helene.He swept the woman into his embrace and murmured,“Helene,I’m sorry you suffered this.I’ll take you away.”

Passing by Savina,he shoved her aside.She crashed into a side table;her shoulder struck wood,and her arm refused to lift.

Myron did not offer a single word.He turned and left.

When she tried to move the injured arm,pain speared to the bone.

The servants,unable to bear it,stepped forward.“My lady,you’re badly hurt.Shall we summon the healer?”

She managed a bitter smile.“No need.I don’t require one.”

She forced herself upright and crawled back to her chamber.The first thing she did was press her palm to the bondstone.

“Dike,”she said,voice tight,“I know you have wolves in this land.Help me shorten the purification—I want the severing in seven days.”

Dike gave a short,quiet order to his scouts,and before the sun had crossed the ridge,everything was arranged.

Seven days later,Savina was finally free.

Her soul-bond with Myron Lestrange was broken by the decree of the Moon Council.

That night,pain devoured her—sharp,raw,and unending.

She didn’t seek the healers’herbs,nor did she drink the draught of numbness.

She wanted to remember this agony,carve it into her bones—the price of loving the wrong wolf.

She drifted in and out of restless dreams until the next dawn,when an enraged voice tore through the den.

Myron had come to confront her.

“Savina!”he roared.“You’re the one who denounced Helene before the Healers’Circle,aren’t you?She’s been suspended because of it.Are you pleased with yourself now?”

Her head pounded,her body hot with fever.Dazed,she forced out,“It wasn’t me.”

He let out a cold laugh.“Still lying?Pathetic.I’m sick of you.”

Before she could defend herself,Helene entered—delicate and pitiful as ever.

“Myron,let it go,”she said softly.“She just thinks I stole you.It’s my fault.”

Her false meekness only deepened his pity for her—and his disgust toward Savina.

“If you’ve done wrong,you’ll pay for it,”he said coldly.“No exceptions.”

Savina stared at him,unblinking.

Seven years together—and not once had he truly believed her.

Helene leaned into his arms,her eyes gleaming with victory.

“Myron,”she murmured sweetly,“there is one way I might regain my healer’s rank.The Circle is testing a new herb mixture—dragonbane and moonroot—but they need a wolf to endure its venom.If Savina’s willing,she’d be perfect.”

Savina’s face went pale.

Before she could speak,Myron answered for her.

“Fine.Send her.”

Savina snapped,voice cracking.“Myron,are you mad?Dragonbane is poison!You’d risk my life for her?”

Helene raised a brow,smiling faintly.“Such harsh words.Poison can also heal.You’d be helping the pack.What a noble deed.”

Savina seized a cushion from the seat and hurled it at them.“If it’s so noble,then you drink it!”

Helene burst into tears,trembling like a wronged maiden.

Myron’s eyes turned to stone.He called the guards.

“Take her to the alchemy caves.She will not leave until the trials are complete.”

Then,coldly:“This is what you owe Helene.”

As he turned away,something in Savina cracked.

How cruel could one wolf be?

Within the alchemy caves,she fought.She refused to drink their brews.

Each escape ended the same—dragged back,shackled in silver,wrists and ankles bound like a beast.

When she resisted,they shocked her with storm-rods until her body convulsed.

The healers there were no healers—they were monsters.

On the first day,they injected moonbane into her veins and watched her writhe,taking notes as if she were no more than a creature to dissect.

On the second,they flooded her body with new concoctions to test her endurance.

By the third day,her mind was unraveling.Then she saw Myron enter.

She called his name,desperate,reaching for him.

He looked down at her,expression cold.

“If she can’t survive this,”he said,“then it’s her fate.”

Those words extinguished the last flicker of her soul.

She stopped begging.

By the fifth day—the day she was meant to be freed—Savina appeared whole,but inside,her body was ruined.

As she was leaving,she overheard two alchemists whispering.

“Lord Lestrange’s cub won’t last much longer.Should we call the healers?”

“Of course not,”the other replied.“If we do,all this will be exposed.It’s one life.If he dies,he dies.”

Savina froze.

Her claws dug into her palms until they bled.

Alonzo…

She searched through every tunnel until she found him—small,still,his arms mottled with bruises from countless injections.

Biting back tears,she gathered him in her arms and ran.

Through the forest paths she fled,her breath breaking,clutching her cub to her chest.But when she reached the stone bridge leading to the healers’valley,a barricade blocked her path.

“Please,”she begged the guards,“let us through!My son is dying!”

One of them lowered his head.“Forgive me,my lady.This road is sealed.Lord Lestrange has claimed it for Miss Helene’s Moon-Day celebration.No one may pass.”

Her heart stopped.

The cub’s breaths were shallow,fading.

“Mother…”he whispered,voice soft as air.“Am I dying?Hold me again…”

Savina broke.“No,my baby,please—just a little longer.I’ll get you help.Please don’t leave me…”

She clutched him tightly,but his body grew cold in her arms.

He looked toward the sky,where fireworks of enchanted flame bloomed across the dark.

“Mother…the lights are so pretty.But I won’t see them again.”

His lips trembled.“I’m cold.Hold me tighter…”

Savina screamed,sobbing until her voice was nothing but hoarse air.

“My baby—please,please don’t sleep—don’t leave me,you’re all I have…”

But the small body in her arms went still.

At that very moment,as the night sky burst with the golden fire of Myron’s celebration for Helene,their cub drew his last breath.

Savina raised her tear-streaked face to the shining heavens,and her sorrow burned into hatred.

Her son was gone.

And she would never forgive Myron—or Helene.

Savina’s cub was dead.

And soon after clutching his lifeless body,she herself fell into darkness.

When she finally woke,the first thing she did was travel to the Pack Archive Hall to remove her son’s name from the blood-registry.

The scribe,an old wolf with kind eyes,spoke gently:

“And the sire of the cub?”

Savina’s gaze was cold,her voice sharp.

“He doesn’t have one.”

A wolf like Myron no longer deserved the title of father.

The scribe hesitated,then said nothing more.With a quiet stroke of his blade,he split the boy’s moon-token in half and handed both pieces back to her.

When the act was done,Savina went straight to the Spirit Pyre to cremate her child’s remains.

By dusk,she returned to her den carrying the small bone urn in her arms.

The moment she crossed the threshold,Myron’s furious roar lashed out like a whip.

“Savina!You were supposed to be resting from the trials!What are you doing running about?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

Their cub was gone,yet all he saw was her“running about.”

Too exhausted to argue,she clutched the urn tighter and walked past him.

Something in her hollow eyes made his chest twist in irritation more than pity.

“What are you doing carrying that cursed vessel?”he snarled.“Throw it out.Now.”

He reached for it,but in that instant,Savina’s aura flared—a crimson blaze of fury.

“If you dare touch this urn,”she hissed,her voice trembling with rage,“I swear by the Moon,Myron—I’ll fight you to the death!”

He froze.The feral look in her eyes unsettled even him.

After a long pause,he lowered his arm.

Forget it,he thought.She’s still angry about the alchemy trials.She’ll calm down in a few days.

Straightening,he said evenly,“You did well in the trials.Helene has been reinstated by the Healers’Circle—promoted to Chief Alchemist,in fact.All thanks to your…contribution.”

He continued,oblivious to the tightening of her grip around the urn.

“I’m hosting a feast for her tomorrow night at the manor.You’re still lady of this house—see that it’s prepared.”

From beginning to end,Savina said nothing.

Myron frowned slightly.“Alright,I understand.You’re upset.That’s fine—it’s even endearing once in a while.But keep that face too long,and it’ll turn ugly.”

Then,in a tone meant to appease her,he added,“After Helene’s promotion feast,we’ll go and fetch our cub together,alright?”

His words stabbed into her like knives.

Fetch him?

Alonzo could never be fetched again.

He had died the very night his father chose to protect another.

Savina bit down her grief,forcing a steady voice.

“Alright.I’ll make sure everything is ready.”

Hearing her calm agreement,Myron exhaled in relief.

She’s still the same as before,he thought.

Moments after he left,a raven-stone glowed faintly on her desk.The rune flared—the signal from Dike.A pouch of moon-coins worth two million had been transferred into her vault.

Savina lifted the stone and spoke calmly into the rune mirror.

“I wish to hold the grandest moon-funeral in the Northern Territories.At dawn tomorrow.

I want a hundred mourning carriages to circle the Lestrange manor a hundred times.”

Her voice dropped to a chilling whisper.

“Let the entire Silver Plains know—the Lestranges aren’t hosting a feast tomorrow.They’re holding a funeral.”

“And prepare the brightest skyfire runes you can.At midnight,I want the words A Life for a Life blazing across the heavens.”

When she ended the transmission,a cold smile curved her lips.

Her son was dead.

And Myron and Helene would never again know peace.

That afternoon,Savina returned home with the urn still in her arms.

She then summoned her informants and purchased—through false names—the entire alchemy cave where she had been imprisoned.

By twilight,she had recovered every crystal orb,every recording stone that contained the horrors she and her son had endured.

All the evidence—every ounce of it—now belonged to her.

She placed the death certificate carved on bone,the memory orbs,and all of Helene’s crimes into an iron chest.

Across its lid,she carved a single message:

Myron—from this life onward,we shall never meet again.

At midnight,a dark carriage waited outside the manor.

Savina picked up her son’s urn,took her pack of belongings,and walked out of the Lestrange estate for the final time.

The moon was high,pale,and cold.

The gates closed behind her with a heavy clang.

From that night on,Savina swore—she would never set foot in that cursed den again.