Chapter 150
Chapter 150
Freya’s POV
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+8 Pearls
The banquet hall gleamed with polished silver and crystal, the kind of splendor meant to dazzle donors and soften their purses. But beneath the glitter, I could feel the restless shift of wolves, the crackle of politics and posturing. Tonight’s charity was for the orphans of the Isles–a noble cause, and one few dared to ignore. Even the pups themselves had been brought to the hall, dressed in fresh clothes, eyes wide at the splendor.
Among them, I saw a boy I recognized–the same child who had tumbled into the sea days ago. His cheeks still held a touch of pallor, but his spirit was brighter. When he caught me watching, I gave him a smile and a small wave. Relief coursed through me when his lips curved upward in return.
At least some wounds could heal quickly.
When the donations began, the wealthiest stepped forward one by one, their pledges echoing like drums of war. This was as much about reputation as generosity; to give was to prove strength.
Jocelyn was one of the first to rise. She moved with the practiced poise of the Metropolitan Pack, her voice ringing clear as Jshe pledged thirty million credits on behalf of our family. Her smile was sharp when she descended from the stage, but her
words found their mark at me like claws.
“Freya,” she said, low enough to sound casual, loud enough for others to hear, “Great–Grandfather praises you endlessly. He says the Fifth Branch is the pride of Stormveil, a house of martyrs. And yet, with all that inheritance resting solely in your hands now… you couldn’t find it in you to give p>
The smirk she wore was the kind only a rival cousin could muster, equal parts scorn and bait.
I met her eyes evenly. “The thirty million you just gave–was that not under the banner of the Thorne name? Or are you saying the Fifth Branch no longer counts among Stormveil? ”
Her breath hitched. A small stutter in the rhythm of her mockery. She couldn’t answer–wouldn’t. To deny the Fifth Branch here, before these packs, would bring Ken Thorne’s wrath down upon her. Even James, our great–uncle, would never forgive such an insult to the fallen. My branch might be reduced to one, but I carried the bloodline of wolves who had given everything on the frontlines. That could not be erased.
“Of course not,” she managed finally, her smile stretched thin as old parchment.
I let the silence press against her until she turned away.
But then, the hall shuddered with a ripple of surprise. The great screen behind the dais flickered, the gentle film of orphans laughing and learning replaced by flames.
Flames.
The crowd gasped. My heart lurched as I recognized the footage: five years ago, the borderlands near Ashbourne. A blaze so fierce it swallowed the forests, devouring everything for miles.
And with it–my brother.
I went rigid. My wolf pressed against my ribs, restless, grieving all over again. I had pored over those reports, clawed through every name, every list of the fallen. Eric had not been among them. No hospital bore his name, no survivor remembered him. Yet still… he had vanished there, at the edge of the burning line.
To this day, I could not decide which truth cut deeper–that he had died unmarked in the fire, or that he had lived and
chosen not to return.
Why hadn’t he come back? What could keep him from me for so long?
As I struggled to keep my breathing steady, I noticed movement–Aurora, standing near Caelum. Her face had gone utterly white, her body trembling as though pierced by a ghost. Beads of sweat broke upon her brow though the hall was temperate, her eyes fixed on the screen with naked dread.
Strange. The fire had shaken many of us, but to quake like this p>
“Aurora,” Caelum’s voice rang out suddenly, too loud, too sharp, “what’s wrong? Are you unwell p>
11:32 AM P P.
Chapter 150
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+8 Pearls
Heads turned. The Bluemoon Beta’s daughter found herself exposed in an instant, every gaze upon her pale form
I studied her. She looked not merely unwell, but terrified. But terrified of what–of memories? Or of secrets?
Aurora forced a shaky breath. “I—it’s nothing. Just tired p>
Her words did little to cover the fear still writ across her face.
My cousin Jocelyn seized her chance to play the snake. “Aurora,” she said brightly, “wasn’t this the very blaze you fought in? The border inferno p>
Aurora froze, her spine stiff as if caught in a trap.
Jocelyn’s smile widened as she turned to the hall, her voice carrying with a performative lilt. “Yes, I remember now. Five years ago, during her training with the Bluemoon Airborne Wing, she saw the flames, and rather than fleeing like most would, she ran toward them. She saved lives, called in reinforcements, fought alongside the human brigades. A true act of courage p>
As she spoke, she flicked me a glance–a gleam of spite and triumph. Jocelyn never missed a chance to put me down by raising someone else up.
The wolves around us murmured, admiration rising in a chorus.
“Such bravery p>
“Few males would dare, let alone a young she–wolf p>
“Worthy of a toast p>
Crystal glasses lifted. The hall clinked with praise.
Aurora’s face remained pale, lips tight in a brittle smile that did not reach her eyes. She looked cornered, yet she endured the flood of adulation.
But I… I saw the cracks.
The fire was not just memory to her–it was something else. Something that had shaken her bones even now, years later.
And for the first time, I wondered if Aurora’s tale of heroism was not the whole story.
Because the flames that had stolen my brother still licked at her shadow.
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