Kael's blood stained the snow, his body trembling from the wound. Aradia's tears fell hot, her fire flickering weakly in her hands.
And then something inside her broke.
Her fire erupted—not wild, not uncontrolled, but vast, consuming the battlefield. Flames rose higher than trees, wrapping around Kael, burning Garron's body to ash, searing shadow-wolves into nothingness.
Her eyes glowed molten gold, her voice thundered with power. "No one touches him. No one takes him from me."
The battlefield stilled. Wolves and shadow alike froze before the crown of fire.
Kael, bloodied but unbowed, staggered to his feet, his eyes wide with awe. He reached for her, his hand trembling. "Aradia…"
Her fire dimmed, bending only for him, her body collapsing into his arms.
And in that moment, every wolf who watched understood: she was not curse, not witch—Queen.
Kael lifted her in his arms, his lips brushing her hair, his voice a vow to the night: "Let the world burn. I will not let her fall."