By the time the west wall held—by the time the Bloodfangs slunk back into the trees, howls echoing their frustration, and the last of the shadow-mist peeled grudgingly off the fresh stone Luna had fused together—the pack looked at her differently.
Not like a curiosity.
Not like a ghost.
Like a storm they'd just watched roll over their roofs and *not* tear them off.
Some eyes were full of awe.
Some were sharp with calculation.
Some burned with resentment that she, the runt, had done what they could not.
The politics started before the sweat on her skin had dried.
"Storm-girl!"
Rhea caught up to her first, panting, one hand pressed to a shallow gash along her ribs that still bled sluggishly.
They were halfway back across the courtyard, the air thick with exhaustion and half-swallowed adrenaline.
"You held that wall like it owed you money," Rhea said, eyes bright. "If you're taking volunteers for whatever crusade you're about to lead, count me in."
Luna blinked at her, too tired to smooth her expression.
"I didn't—" she began.
"Don't lie," Rhea cut in, grin flashing. "You think anyone with half a brain looked at you fusing stone with your hands and thought, *Ah, this one will rest now and let the elders sort it out*?"
Luna huffed, something between a laugh and a groan.
Her fingers still tingled from channeling that much raw earth-heat, the new patch of wall warm under her palm, the curse pushed back there—for now.
"Fine," she said. "But if there's a crusade, it's not mine alone."
Rhea's gaze flicked to Orion, who was stalking the wall-walk, checking for new hairline cracks, giving clipped praise and sharper orders.
"His shoulders are broad," Rhea murmured. "But they're not that broad. They never were. We just liked to pretend."
Luna swallowed.
Old anger and newer pity twisted together.
"I'm not here to take his title," she said quietly.
"No," Rhea agreed. "You're here to make sure there's still a pack left to argue about titles over."
She clapped Luna on the shoulder—carefully, as if acknowledging both strength and the strain beneath it.
Then she jogged off toward a cluster of warriors, already barking at them to rotate properly, to drink, to *breathe.*
"Rhea's with you," Elia murmured, appearing at Luna's elbow like she always did when Luna's thoughts started to spiral. "That buys you a chunk of the middle ranks. Not bad for one evening."
Luna snorted.
"And the rest?" she asked.
Elia's eyes flicked to the balcony, where Maera and Kerran had reappeared, their expressions tight, their mouths moving in low, intense conversation.
"And the ones who see storms and only think of roofs they'll have to patch?" Elia said. "Oh, they're sharpening their tongues. Don't worry."
Luna's shoulders sagged.
She was bone-tired.
Her healer-thread ached from pulling too much, her storm lay low, humming under her skin like a banked forge.
She wanted a corner.
A blanket.
A moment to breathe.
Moonshadow's politics did not intend to give her one.
"Elia." Maera's voice cut down from the balcony, carrying a forced calm that made Luna's hackles lift.
"Bring Luna to the council chamber," the elder called. "The pack's leaders must... speak with her."
A hush fell over the courtyard within hearing of those words.
Rhea paused mid-step, eyeing Luna with something like sympathy.
Rebel, further off, grimaced.
"Upstairs, then," Elia murmured. "To the wolves who eat their meat cooked and their words raw."
Luna exhaled slowly.
Her wolf stirred.
*Den-top,* it muttered. *Old-wolves. Snarling. We go?*
"We go," Luna answered, more to herself than to anyone else.
She squared her shoulders and followed Elia up the side stairs to the balcony.
Every step echoed.
Halfway up, Orion joined them, falling into stride at her other side without a word.
He smelled of stone-dust and sweat and that strange, silvery thread of the curse that wrapped him constantly now.
He also smelled—annoyingly—of her storm, caught in his fur when he'd stood too close as she pressed rock back into itself.
She didn't look at him.
He didn't touch her.
On the balcony, elders and a few high-ranking wolves had gathered in a loose knot outside the council chamber's half-hanging door.
Maera.
Kerran.
Two lesser elders, Gaius and Lirra, whose roles had always been more about echoing the strongest voice in the room than offering new thoughts.
Rebel, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Rhea, who'd beaten them there somehow.
Selene.
She stood slightly apart from the others, cloak perfect, hair smoothed, face composed.
Only the faint tightness at the corners of her mouth betrayed how hard she was clenching her teeth.
Her eyes flicked over Luna when they arrived, lingering for just a heartbeat on the faint scorch-marks along Luna's sleeves, on the dust smeared across her cheek.
Then she smiled.
It didn't reach her eyes.
"Stormcaller," she said lightly. "You've certainly made an... impression."
"Elders," Orion cut in before Luna had to decide whether to ignore Selene entirely or trip over her own tongue. "You called for us?"
He stepped deliberately close to Luna—near enough that if someone looked from a distance, they'd see Alpha and storm-wolf side by side at the council chamber's threshold.
A united front.
Luna felt Selene's gaze sharpen between her shoulder blades.
Maera cleared her throat, pulling herself up to her full, not-very-impressive height.
"Yes," she said, fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve. "Pack leadership must address... recent developments."
"The curse?" Luna asked bluntly. "The widening cracks? The pups barely pulled back from shadow?"
Kerran flinched at the nakedness of the list.
Maera's mouth tightened.
"Those as well," she said. "But more immediately: the... arrival of... of *you.*"
A murmur of agreement from Gaius.
Selene's smile sharpened.
Luna set her jaw.
"I didn't realize my existence was more immediate than walls falling," she said coolly. "But all right. Let's talk."
Orion shot her a quick glance—half warning, half reluctant amusement.
He gestured toward the council chamber.
"Inside," he said. "All of us."
The room smelled of old smoke and new fear.
Cracks marred the carved emblems on the walls; the long table bore fresh gouges from someone's claws, a mark of some recent, heated disagreement.
Luna took it in quickly, then focused on the wolves around it.
The power in this room wasn't just in titles.
It was in memories.
In who had spoken when she'd been thrown aside.
In who had laughed.
In who had looked away.
Her pulse sped.
Her palms itched.
Elia moved to stand against the wall, not taking a chair.
Neither did Rhea or Rebel.
They flanked the table.
On one side: elders and Selene.
On the other: warriors who'd just stood at Luna's shoulder while stone tried to eat them.
Luna didn't sit.
Neither did Orion.
They remained at the end of the table, facing the room.
Old order and the new storm.
Or something in between.
Maera clasped her hands, knuckles pale.
"Luna," she began, voice thin and overly patient, like she was speaking to a pup who'd tracked mud across the patrol maps, "your... intervention with the pup and at the west wall is... noted. The Goddess has clearly given you... gifts."
"Understatement of the century," Rhea muttered under her breath.
Gaius shot her a quelling look.
Maera plowed on.
"But Moonshadow is not merely a battlefield," she said. "It is a *pack.* With rules. With structure. With... *roles.* You were not... raised for leadership."
The words landed like old blows.
Luna felt them all the same.
"Is that what you told the Goddess when She marked me?" she asked, keeping her voice level. "That She made a mistake because you had other plans for your hierarchy?"
Kerran grimaced.
"We are not questioning the Goddess," he said quickly.
"Aren't you?" Luna asked.
Maera's eyes flashed.
"We are questioning the *wisdom* of letting one untested wolf—" she bit off the word "omega" with visible effort "—make unchallenged decisions that affect the entire pack's survival."
Ah.
There it was.
Not a denial of her power.
A fear of what it would *change.*
Selene's lips curved slightly.
"Power without guidance can be... dangerous," she said smoothly. "Luna's... talents are impressive. But she has not lived in these walls for years. She does not know the full... intricacies... of our alliances, our enemies, our... internal balances."
She spread her hands, posture open, expression all false concern.
"We simply want to... protect her," she lied easily. "From overreach. From burning too bright, too fast."
Luna's hands tingled again.
Not with storm.
With the urge to slap.
Rebel snorted.
"So we what?" he asked bluntly. "Stick her in a room and ask her to pretty up the nursery walls with lightning while the rest of the den crumbles?"
Gaius glared at him.
"Nobody said—"
Rhea cut him off with a snarl.
"You're not going to chain the one wolf who can *touch* that curse without losing her mind," she said. "Not while you sit up here and argue about structure."
Maera's composure cracked.
"This is not about chains," she snapped. "This is about *order.* Moonshadow has survived for generations because we understood that power must be... *tempered* by counsel. By wisdom. By the pack's traditions."
She looked pointedly at Luna's crackling fingers.
"At what cost?" Luna asked quietly.
The room stilled.
She let the question hang for a heartbeat, then two.
"How many pups have you buried in the last year?" she asked.
Maera's mouth opened.
Closed.
Kerran looked at the table.
"Six," he said hoarsely. "Not counting the ones that never... took first breath."
Luna's stomach lurched.
Six pups.
Six Linas who hadn't been pulled back.
"How many elders lost?" she pressed, softer.
Silence.
"Four," Gaius muttered.
Luna nodded slowly.
"And warriors?"
Rebel's jaw clenched.
"Twelve to the cracks," he said. "Nine to the Bloodfangs. Three to rogues. Two to... fights that got out of control."
Luna inhaled.
The numbers sat heavy in the air, pressing down on everyone.
Slowly, she turned her gaze back to Maera.
"To keep your traditions," she said, "you've let twenty... thirty... *more* wolves die than needed to. You clung to 'order' so hard you left no room for change. For help. For—" she almost said "for me," caught herself, rephrased "—for anything that didn't look the way you thought it should."
Kerran flinched like she'd struck him.
Maera's face flushed a mottled red.
"How *dare* you—" she began.
"How dare you," Rhea snapped back. "She saved the pup that your 'order' had already thrown to the Goddess' ledger."
Selene's gaze flicked between them, pleased with the rising volume.
Division fed her.
Selene fed the curse.
Luna saw it in the way the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to thicken, responding to raised voices.
She needed to tread carefully.
Storms could break walls.
They could also flatten everything beneath them.
Luna took a breath.
Reined in her rising fury.
"I'm not here to raze your council chamber," she said, voice quieter but no less firm. "I'm not here to throw you off your chairs and plant myself in them."
Selene's eyes narrowed, as if she'd just had a favorite fantasy snatched away.
"I am here because if this curse rips your pack apart from the inside, it will not stop at your borders," Luna went on. "Rogues. Forests. Other packs. The Goddess Herself warned me. This is bigger than your pride. Bigger than Moonshadow. Bigger than me."
Her chest burned with the truth of it.
She saw incredulity on some faces.
Fear on others.
Orion's gaze on her profile was a steady, heavy weight.
"What do you want, then?" Kerran asked, and for the first time there was something like honest curiosity in his tone.
Luna blinked.
She hadn't expected the question so plainly.
She looked around the table, at each face, letting herself *see* them not as caricatures of cruelty, but as wolves with their own cracks: Maera's desperation to hold onto the only kind of power she knew; Kerran's regret at being too slow to adapt; Gaius' fear of chaos; Lirra's exhaustion.
Selene's snake-slick ambition.
Orion's shame.
"I want us to stop pretending this is a problem you can solve with sharper drills and more patrols," Luna said. "I want access to the worst of the cracks. The heart of them. The places you've shut off because they scare you."
Maera bristled.
"The Alpha's tower is *not*—"
"Maera," Orion said quietly.
The room shifted.
He hadn't spoken in several minutes, letting them snarl and circle.
Now, his voice cut calm and cold through the tension.
"This is still my pack," he said. "My walls. My tower."
Luna swallowed.
She felt his pain like heat coming off a forge.
Felt, too, the curse's cold, steady pulse in him.
He turned to her, eyes dark, silver threads bright.
"You said the cracks started here," he said. "At Moonshadow. At this gate. At this... pack."
His gaze didn't waver.
"You weren't wrong," he added.
The admission hung heavy.
Maera looked like she'd bitten glass.
Selene went very, very still.
"I cannot... undo what I did that night," he went on, voice roughening. "I cannot turn back the moon. But if what lives in my tower, in my walls, in my *bones* is the root of what's eating everything else, then you have my permission to go where you need."
His jaw flexed.
He looked like the words hurt.
They did.
Power sharing always did, especially for an Alpha for whom control had been the only thin shield against his own guilt.
Luna's throat tightened.
This was the first time he'd acknowledged, in front of others, any link between his choices and the curse.
A small step.
A seismic one.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Selene's lip curled.
"You're just going to hand her the keys to your den?" she demanded, mask cracking. "Let her crawl through every private corner? The Goddess may have flung some sparks at her, but she's still a rogue. A rejected—"
"Selene." Orion's voice held an edge it hadn't, even earlier.
She stiffened.
Bit her tongue.
Luna felt old hurt flare, then settle into something colder.
Selene would not stop.
She'd already started her quiet campaign in the halls.
Luna had seen the way some elders' glances had flickered between her and Orion, full of new, wary calculation.
She filed that away.
One battle at a time.
"For now," Luna said, turning back to the table, "I'll need three things."
Maera inhaled sharply, ready to argue.
Luna held up three fingers.
"First," she said, "no one walks the halls near the worst cracks alone. Ever. Not pups. Not elders. Not even you. Shadow picks off the isolated. It likes quiet, empty spaces. That stops."
"That will strain our watch schedule," Gaius began.
"Good," Luna snapped. "Maybe if some of you have to walk past the rot together, you'll stop pretending it's not there."
A few of the warriors made small, quickly-hidden sounds of agreement.
"Second," she continued, "I need a space. Somewhere I can work. Sleep. Not in the omegas' quarters, not shoved back into the kitchens. Somewhere near the heart of the den. Near the moon-room."
Kerran blinked.
"We... we could clear out the old shrine room," he offered haltingly. "No one uses it now. The roof leaks there and the... the Goddess has been... quiet..."
Luna thought of the little shrine where she'd once left her whispered pleas.
Of the dust and neglect she'd seen last time she'd snuck near it as a girl, before she'd left.
"Good," she said. "I'll fix the roof."
Maera opened her mouth to protest.
Orion spoke first.
"She gets the shrine," he said flatly. "She's the only one She's answered in a long time."
Silence.
Selene's eyes flashed.
Luna's heart lurched.
That was... not what she'd wanted him to say in front of the elders.
It helped her.
It also put a target on her back the size of the moon.
"Third," Luna said, pushing through the spike of anxiety, "I need... wolves. Not as... subordinates." The word caught in her throat; she wasn't ready for that. "As... a circle. Different ranks. Different strengths."
Elia snorted.
"A council of your own," she said. "Moon help us. The girl's learned fast."
"Not *of my own,*" Luna shot back, flushing. "If this is going to work, it cannot be one wolf dictating to everyone—including me. I need voices that will tell me when I'm about to make things worse." Her gaze slid briefly to Orion. "Even if I don't want to hear it."
His mouth twitched.
Regret and rue wove in his eyes.
She forced her attention to the room.
Rhea stepped forward.
"I'll stand in that circle," she said. "You already know I'll argue."
Luna's lips quirked.
Rebel rolled his shoulders.
"Someone has to represent the wolves who actually bleed on your plans," he said. "Might as well be me."
Elia raised a hand lazily.
"You think I went to all the trouble of hauling you back here just to shut up now?" she asked. "I'm in."
Luna's chest squeezed.
This was more than she'd grown up thinking she deserved.
Voices not above her, not beneath.
Beside.
Maera sniffed.
"The elders have not ceded their role—" she began.
"I want one of you, too," Luna cut in. "In the circle."
It surprised them enough that they stopped.
Kerran looked flummoxed.
Maera frowned.
"Why?" she demanded. "So you can... parade us as your tamed elders? So you can say you 'included' tradition while you burn it down?"
Luna met her gaze.
"So I can hear why you're afraid before I decide how loud to howl," she said. "Someone who really understands how this pack was *supposed* to work. Not just how it did."
Maera's mouth opened.
Closed.
Kerran cleared his throat.
"I... will stand in this... circle," he said slowly.
Maera whipped her head toward him.
"You?" she snapped.
He held her stare.
"We built something that is breaking," he said, voice low. "We can either pretend it's still whole or help hold pieces while she... while *they* mend it."
"The Goddess marked her," Lirra murmured, surprising them all. "Ignoring that is... folly. We can hate it later, if we live."
Maera looked around.
At the cracks.
At the faces.
At Luna.
Her shoulders slumped a fraction.
"Fine," she bit out. "Kerran will... represent the elders."
She said "represent" like she was swallowing a bitter herb.
Selene's eyes flicked briefly to him, then back to Luna, assessing, calculating anew.
Orion let out a slow breath, the smallest hint of relief loosening his jaw.
"You have your... circle," he said to Luna. "For now. We still decide as a pack. But we will... listen."
He looked like the word physically hurt.
Some part of Luna understood.
He'd ruled with his own judgment and the elders' constant input for years.
This—sharing leadership with a runt-turned-storm—upended everything he'd been told was proper.
"Listening doesn't mean rolling over," Luna said quietly. "It just means fewer surprises in the middle of a wall collapse."
Rhea snorted.
"Less shouting in the hall," Elia added. "Maybe."
Selene stepped forward then, all smooth lines and cool eyes.
"And what role do *I* play in this brave new order?" she asked.
Her voice was mild.
Her gaze was not.
Luna's spine stiffened.
She hadn't forgotten the way Selene had already started cutting at her in the courtyard.
She'd also seen the way some wolves' eyes flicked to Selene for cues without realizing it.
"The one you already play," Luna said, picking her words carefully. "You have the ear of many wolves. They trust you. They've followed your counsel this far."
Selene's lips curved slightly.
"Flattery from you," she murmured. "Careful. I might start to think you respect me."
Elia made a strangled sound against the wall.
Luna met Selene's gaze head-on.
"I respect what you can do to this pack," she said. "For good or for ill."
A flicker passed over Selene's face.
Pride.
Annoyance.
Something darker.
"You make that sound like a threat," she purred.
"A warning," Luna corrected. "You don't have to be in my circle. But I would be... grateful... if you brought concerns there first before taking them to every frightened ear in the dens."
She felt Orion's attention sharpen.
He hadn't missed the implication.
Neither had Selene.
"You think I speak against you," Selene said softly. "Already."
"I think you've never seen a storm you didn't try to steer into someone's house," Elia muttered.
Luna didn't look away from Selene.
"I think you want Moonshadow to survive," she said.
It wasn't fully true.
Selene wanted Moonshadow to survive in a shape she could rule comfortably.
But framing it this way handed Selene a mask she might choose to wear.
"And I don't believe you're foolish enough to assume you can do that by undermining the only tools the Goddess has left us," Luna finished.
Selene's jaw flexed.
"I see," she said.
Her eyes were hard.
Her smile was not.
"We are all... on the same side, then," she murmured. "For now."
The way she said it made Luna's skin prickle.
But there was no point in forcing a public confrontation here.
Not yet.
Luna nodded once.
"For now," she echoed.
The council session dissolved slowly after that, like a storm spinning out over open water.
Elders drifted away to fuss over records.
Warriors peeled off to check on their wounded.
Selene left without another word, cloak whispering over stone.
Luna exhaled only when the room had thinned to Elia, Rhea, Rebel, Kerran, Orion, and herself.
Her bones felt hollow.
Her skin too tight.
Elia clucked her tongue softly.
"You did... better than expected," she said. "Didn't call anyone an idiot to their face. Didn't set the table on fire. I'm proud."
Luna laughed weakly.
Rhea dropped into a chair, blowing out her cheeks.
"I'm supposed to be more terrified of elders than of the Bloodfangs," she said. "But I'd rather take three more border skirmishes than another hour of that."
Rebel grunted.
"You want me to stomach sitting through those 'circles' with Kerran and Maera breathing down my neck," he told Luna, "you'd better make sure you keep the walls interesting."
Luna smiled faintly.
"I'll see what I can do," she said.
Kerran cleared his throat.
She looked at him.
For the first time since she'd walked into the chamber, his gaze met hers without skittering away.
"There are records," he said haltingly. "Old scrolls. From before my time. Tales of... elemental wolves. Moon-chosen. We... dismissed them. Stories for pups."
He swallowed.
"We will... find them," he added. "Bring them to the shrine. If you're to be working with the Goddess'... temper... you might as well know what She's done before."
Luna's chest tightened.
"Thank you," she said.
He nodded, as if that settled a debt he'd carried for too long.
Orion lingered as the others drifted out.
When the room was nearly empty, he spoke, voice raw.
"You handled them," he said, "better than I ever have."
Luna blinked.
"That's... not saying much," she pointed out, too tired to soften it.
He huffed something almost like a laugh.
"True," he said.
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy with everything unsaid.
Gratitude.
Regret.
Fear.
"Luna," he began.
She lifted a hand.
"Not now," she said quietly.
His mouth shut with a click.
She could see the hurt there.
The understanding.
He nodded slowly.
"Tomorrow," he said. "At the shrine. Your circle. My... tower." His throat worked. "We start then."
"We started the moment I stepped through your broken gate," she said.
His gaze flicked down, as if he saw that hand-wide gap anew.
He nodded again.
Turned to go.
At the doorway, he paused.
Looked back over his shoulder.
"For what it's worth," he said, voice low, "I... respect you."
The words were awkward in his mouth.
Unpracticed.
They still landed like a blow.
They shouldn't have mattered.
They did.
Luna swallowed.
"You should," she said, because she'd learned to stop underselling herself just to make others comfortable. "But I'm not here to be... redeemed in your eyes, Orion. I'm here to fix the mess you all made. With or without your respect."
His jaw flexed.
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth.
"I know," he said.
He left.
The room quieted.
Elia looped an arm through Luna's.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go look at the shrine. See what kind of hole you've negotiated yourself into sleeping under."
Luna let herself be steered out, exhaustion dragging at her limbs.
Moonshadow was the same and not.
Same stone.
Same halls.
Same wolves.
But the lines of power that ran through it had shifted.
Elders no longer held a monopoly on the pack's future.
Selene's whispers were no longer the only stories in the halls.
Orion's voice no longer rang unanswered.
There was a new current now.
Raw.
Untested.
Divine.
Her.
As she walked toward the neglected shrine that would become her den and war-room both, she felt the pack's gazes on her through cracks in doors, from shadowed alcoves, over bannister railings.
Fear.
Respect.
Resentment.
Hope.
Moonshadow didn't know what to make of her yet.
She didn't fully know what to make of it, either.
But one truth rang clear as a wolf's call through the den:
She was no longer the runt scurrying underfoot.
She was a force they had to account for.
And in the coming days, as she walked these familiar halls with unfamiliar power, she would have to learn a new kind of hunting:
Not of rogues in the snow.
Of lies in the walls.
Of old habits in old hearts.
Politics and power plays.
Storm and stone.
All tangled together in the den she once scrubbed and now, somehow, had to help lead.