Chapter 8 – The Truth He Buried
Thalia
The clearing was quiet again, but her world wasn’t.
Thalia stood alone beneath the twisted canopy of Black Hollow, her fingertips grazing the rough edge of the altar stone that had once held her mother’s blood. Around her, the air thrummed, not with noise, but with expectation. The Luna Flame had stirred once more beneath her skin, and it hadn’t stopped humming since.
She was changing. Not just into something stronger, but something seen.
She hated it.
She longed for the simplicity of salves and herbs, for Nova’s laughter beside the healing tent, for a future that had been small and safe. But the bond, the exile, the altar, none of it left space for that life anymore. And now that the Syndicate had named her heir, even the forest seemed to hold its breath when she moved.
She closed her eyes and tried to listen past the magic.
A single heartbeat thudded behind her.
“You’re not meditating,” Veyr said quietly.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m remembering.”
He didn’t ask what. Maybe he already knew.
She turned to face him. “The summit. Are you sure they’ll come?”
He tilted his head, silver eyes unreadable. “They’ll come. Crescent smells blood. Moonridge smells rebellion. And the Council smells fear.”
“And what do you smell?”
His mouth curled. “Opportunity.”
She walked away before he could elaborate. Every answer he gave only led to more questions and she wasn’t sure she liked who she was becoming by asking them.
---
Cassian
He’d never worn armor to a negotiation before.
But this wasn’t a negotiation. It was a powder keg.
Cassian stood in the training yard, flanked by Kael and a handpicked group of Moonridge’s most loyal warriors. His armor was simple black leather, trimmed in silver but the mark beneath his collarbone ached with fire.
The bond was restless again.
He knew what it meant. Thalia was near.
And not alone.
“She’s not the girl who left,” Kael said, his voice low, eyes fixed on the horizon. “She’s something else now.”
Cassian didn’t flinch. “I know.”
“Then why are you going to this summit?”
Cassian turned, met Kael’s gaze. “Because I’m not afraid of who she’s becoming. I’m afraid of who she’ll never be if we don’t let her choose.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “Elira will be there.”
“She can watch,” Cassian said flatly.
“You know she’ll try something.”
“Let her.” His voice was iron. “I’m done playing nice for people who’d rather see the world burn than change.”
---
Elder Mora
The Council Hall felt colder than usual.
Elder Mora stood before the hearth, her aged fingers clasped tightly in front of her, watching the flames dance. Verin was pacing, Kael’s father sat stony-faced in silence, and Elira lounged with too much ease in a chair that wasn’t hers.
“She should’ve died out there,” Verin said, breaking the silence for the third time.
“She didn’t,” Mora said simply.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s a fact.”
Verin turned sharply. “And facts are dangerous things in the hands of a girl who doesn’t understand them.”
Mora met his eyes. “She understands more than you ever gave her credit for. And that’s why we’re here. That’s why she has power.”
“She has magic. Not power.”
“She has both,” Mora replied. “And whether we like it or not, she’s forcing us to remember the truth.”
Verin sneered. “The truth?”
“That the Council’s order was never built to serve justice. Only control.”
Elira scoffed from the side. “She’s an exile. Not a queen.”
Mora turned slowly to her. “And yet your father agreed to the summit.”
Elira’s eyes narrowed. “Because he wants to see how much she bleeds.”
---
Thalia
The days passed too quickly.
By the time the summit arrived, Thalia was dressed in charcoal-gray leather stitched with protective runes she didn’t understand and armed with the short blade Very had taught her to wield.
But her true weapon wasn’t steel or spell.
It was memory.
Every second spent healing the wounded who’d been ignored by Elders. Every look of disgust cast her way after the bond. Every moment she’d been silenced, overlooked, underestimated.
Those memories stood behind her now like ghosts. Watching. Waiting.
“Are you ready?” Veyr asked.
“No,” she said.
He smiled. “Good. That means you still have something to lose.”
They walked side by side toward the stone dais carved into the hillside beyond the Hollow’s boundary, a neutral territory. The Syndicate had carved symbols into the ground, subtle but ancient. Protective. Defiant.
The Moonridge delegation arrived first.
Cassian led them. He didn’t wear the ceremonial cloak of Alpha. He wore black.
When he saw her, he stopped.
She looked different, taller somehow, though she hadn’t grown. Her presence had shifted. The girl who once flinched when addressed now met him with unflinching calm.
He opened his mouth.
She turned away.
The Crescent wolves arrived next. Elira wore silver that sparkled like moonlight, her dark hair twisted into a crown of braids. She looked like the Luna everyone expected and smiled like someone who knew she was about to start a war.
Thalia took her place at the center of the summit circle. No crown. No rank.
Only her.
The Crescent Alpha stepped forward. “Let us begin.”
---
The Summit
Words flew like knives.
Elira accused. Kael countered. Verin watched with a hawk’s calm, eyes always drifting to Thalia as if she were a chess piece he’d misplaced.
“She carries the Luna Flame,” Kaelion said, stepping forward. “You know what that means.”
“She carries magic,” Elira snapped. “Wild. Untamed. Dangerous.”
“So did your great-grandmother when she started your bloodline,” Veyr replied smoothly. “And yet no one exiled her.”
Cassian’s voice broke through the noise. “What do you want, Thalia?”
Every head turned.
Even Elira blinked.
Thalia looked at him, not the Alpha, not the bond, but him.
And said:
“I want the lies to end.”
Silence.
She stepped forward, lifted her mother’s journal.
“This is what you buried. What you let rot in the archives. My mother wasn’t a traitor. She was a protector. She carried the Luna Flame so I wouldn’t be forced to kneel. And you let her die for it.”
She turned to Verin. “And you knew.”
His jaw clenched.
She tossed the journal to the ground. “You want to talk about exile? Then let’s talk about what it costs when you strip someone of their name, their blood, their truth.”
Elira sneered. “So what? You want to be Luna now?”
Thalia smiled.
“No.”
The Flame flared faintly behind her, pulsing in the rune-lined soil.
“I don’t want to be Luna.”
She turned to the gathered packs.
“I want to end the bloodline system.”
Gasps.
“You think mates should be chosen in ceremony halls? That magic only lives in the Alphas? You think the Flame waits for a Council to give it permission to burn?”
She pointed to the crescent symbol stitched into her collar.
“I didn’t ask for the bond. But I’ll choose what to do with it.”
Cassian stepped forward, slowly.
“If I step down as Alpha,” he said quietly, “will you still walk away?”
Thalia looked at him and for a moment, just a moment, the ache behind her ribs softened.
“I don’t want you to step down,” she said. “I want you to stand up. With me.”
---
Verin
He should’ve spoken.
Should’ve interrupted when her words turned from anger to inspiration.
But he didn’t.
Because even he couldn’t deny it anymore.
The Luna Flame had answered her.
And the people were listening.
---
Thalia
After the summit, the packs didn’t speak.
They whispered.
About the girl with the exile mark who lit the old runes.
About the Alpha who didn’t speak over her.
About the Luna who wasn’t chosen…
…because she chose herself first.
And far beyond the reach of torches and banners, the Flame waited.
Not for permission.
But for the next match to strike.
