POV: LUNA SILVER
03…02… the red numbers blink like tiny angry eyes.
My heart stops, then sprints.
Finn lunges at Vex, but the cave floor is slick with crystal dust; his paws skid, giving Vex one second to jerk the device away.
01…
I don't think—I slam my crystal chip against the giant stone.
Blue light bursts, swallowing the countdown in a flash so bright the numbers vanish.
Silence.
Then a hiss.
The black device falls apart in Vex's hand, wires turning to harmless ash.
Vex stares, mouth open, no plan left.
Finn tackles him properly this time; Vex's head hits the ground with a dull thud, and he stays still, out cold.
We stand there, panting, dust settling like soft rain.
Mara and Milo burst in, see the soot, see Vex, see us alive, and stop short.
No one speaks for three heartbeats.
Then Milo whoops so loud the cave bats flutter.
Mara hugs me hard, her coat smelling of pine and worry.
But the babies inside me kick harder than ever, as if the blast shook them too.
A warm wave rolls through my tummy, then up my throat.
The world tilts.
I drop to one knee, head spinning.
Finn catches my shoulders.
"Luna?"
His voice echoes far away.
Cold sweat covers my fur.
The crystal chip drops from my paw, cracked clean in half.
Light leaks out like spilled water, racing along the floor, climbing my legs, swirling around my belly.
I want to ask what's happening, but words tangle.
Mara presses fingers to my wrist.
Her face goes pale.
"The shock woke the baby up early," she whispers.
"But you're only ten.
Your body isn't ready."
Fear stabs sharper than any dart.
Finn's eyes widen; he lifts me like I weigh less than a snowball.
"We need the healer," he says.
Mara shakes her head.
"Too far.
The cave has an old healer's nest—follow me."
She runs; Finn keeps pace, Milo ahead clearing rocks.
Tunnel twists upward, warmer, softer earth under paw.
We spill into a round room lit by glowing moss.
A nest of moss and feathers waits in the center, looking slept in for years.
Finn lays me gently.
The light from the broken chip still circles my middle like a slow tornado.
It doesn't hurt; it hums, friendly but urgent.
Mara tears open her pack, pulling jars—moon juice, cloud silk, tiny vials I don't know.
Another cramp hits; I curl, whimpering.
Finn grips my paw.
"You're not alone," he says over and over.
His voice is the only steady thing in the spinning cave.
Mara pours sweet oil on my belly.
The light drinks it, calms a little.
She looks at Finn.
"The babies want out, but Luna's too small.
We need time.
The crystal light is keeping them safe for now, but it won't last."
Milo's ears perk.
"Then we give her time," he says.
He holds up Vex's broken device.
"Timer's gone, but the big crystal still listens.
Maybe it can pause things."
He races out before anyone can stop him.
I hear his paws slap stone, fading.
Minutes stretch like taffy.
The glow around me dims bit by bit.
Each time it fades, the cramps return stronger.
Finn wipes sweat from my forehead with his sleeve.
His own paws shake.
Footsteps thunder back—Milo, but not alone.
Behind him trots Elder Mora, carrying a roll of golden thread that glimmers with its own light.
She doesn't ask permission; she loops the thread around my wrist, then around Finn's, binding us together.
"Shared strength," she says.
"Let the king carry half the load."
Finn nods hard.
The moment the thread tightens, the pain eases, as if someone turned the knob down.
I breathe deep for the first time in ages.
The babies settle, but the glow keeps fading.
Elder Mora presses both palms on the big crystal outside the room.
She chants low, old words I don't know.
The crystal answers, sending a slow beam into the nest.
The light wraps me like a blanket, buys us hours, maybe a day.
Finn never lets go of my paw.
His fur is soaked with crystal sweat, but he stays.
I drift in and out of sleepy fog.
Sometime later, boots echo—lots of them.
The pack's warriors fill the tunnel, led by Sky Bloom's father.
They freeze at the sight: me in a glowing nest, the king bound to my wrist, the Elder chanting.
Sky's father clears his throat.
"The humans are gone, road sealed.
What orders, Alpha?"
Finn stands, still holding my paw, eyes bright with new authority.
"Guard the mountain exits.
No one enters or leaves until Luna is safe."
The warriors nod and vanish as quickly as they came.
I feel safer, but the thread grows warm—too warm.
Finn winces.
The shared pain is creeping into him.
Mara checks the thread.
Her face tightens.
"The bond is balancing, but it's pulling from Finn's own life spark.
We need another source soon."
Milo lifts the cracked crystal chip.
"What about this?
It's dying, but it still has juice."
Elder Mora nods.
She places the broken chip between Finn's and my joined paws.
Light flows from him into the chip, then into me, spreading the load three ways.
The heat drops.
Finn exhales, color returning.
For a moment everything steadies.
I even manage a small smile.
"We're gonna be okay," I whisper.
Finn squeezes my paw in answer.
Then a new sound—soft, almost sweet—fills the cave.
A lullaby, humming from the crystal itself.
Everyone hears it.
Eyes droop.
Even the babies are quiet, listening.
But under the lullaby hides a ticking—steady, metal, cold.
My ears twitch.
I look at the broken chip resting between our hands.
A thin red line snakes across its surface, growing brighter with each tick.
The countdown we stopped was only the first.
This is the backup, hidden inside the crystal heart, set to blow when the song ends.
The lullaby rises, masking the tick.
Finn's eyes start to close in peaceful trance.
I shake him hard.
He jerks awake.
I point at the red line.
His face drains.
We have less than a minute before the second bomb inside the chip erupts—right between our palms, right beside the babies the crystal is keeping alive.