~Aethelia~
The mark is still raw on my skin, but the shouting starts again. Louder this time. Closer.
Warriors argue with elders. Some want proof. Some want blood.
"Repeat it," someone cries. "Do it again."
"Prove it," another answers.
Kael lifts one hand. The sound does not vanish, but it folds back for a breath. I feel the pull of him before I understand it. My chest aches toward his steady presence. My wolf shivers.
"We repeat the ritual," he says. "And I know it is what you all waited for. But this is not a personal choice."
A hard breath moves through the crowd. They know the rules. Twice only. After that, consequences. The third call is forbidden. Catastrophic.
Two new elders step into the center to take their places. High Elder Zepharion and Moon-Seer Thandros. Thalia stays, she is not replaced, while Dravion stands not far from them, angry that he must face the result of what he wanted.
Ash is scraped away and drawn fresh. Candles go back in place. Bones lie in their marked spots. The circle is the same. The cold stone presses under my bare feet.
Kael steps into the circle.
A violent wind slams through the courtyard.
Dust fills my eyes. I blink and see nothing but grit. In the blindness, I feel Kael hold his breath against the gust. My throat closes as I cough. His chest tightens too.
People cough.
"My eyes," someone shouts.
Then the wind stops.
Dravion steps forward with dust on his face and in his hair. He lifts his chin.
"The second ritual must be done," he says. "The Moon warns us, but we will face the cost."
Some nod. Some look afraid. Still, they agree. The fear does not stop them.
The drum starts.
Thud. Thud.
The chant follows, low and then stronger, folding into the night and into my ribs.
What they must prove is not mine to carry.
If this says I am the messenger, it will not make them want me alive. It will not make them stop calling me a monster. It will not bring Evra back.
If I live, I have one task. I have to prove I am not a monster, even if no one wants to believe me.
A few moments later, Zepharion steps forward with a blade. He cuts Kael's left leg near the ankle. The cut is quick and clean. Blood beads and runs into the ash.
Pain answers under my ribs.
Kora jerks hard inside me.
The elders keep chanting. Their voices rise and fall. The firmament hangs above us like a dark lid.
Then silence.
All eyes turn to me.
They hold their breath because of me. They forget all the rest of the unmated women. Faces harden.
Seven minutes.
They wait.
I keep my head low. My gaze stays on the soil.
The first minute crawls. The second strikes slow and dull. By the fifth, the sacred rope burns a red line into my wrists, and a hot pain snaps through my left ankle.
Sharp. Bright. Like a brand.
I grit my teeth. I try not to call out for him, but I do not need to. He is already here, in every beat of my pulse, in every twitch of my wolf.
I scream. My vision blurs.
Kael drops to one knee. He vomits blood.
His presence is impossible, irresistible. I want to reach him. I cannot look away. He is mine in ways I cannot name, and I feel it in the marrow of my bones.
The crowd surges forward. Hands grab the rope. Someone yanks my arm. I fall to my knees.
They stare at my left leg.
Blood stains the skin.
The same cut.
The same cross of slashes near the ankle.
Exactly like his.
Gasps break through the courtyard.
The moonlight changes.
It brightens over my ankle first, thin and cold. Silver slides over the wound and makes the blood shine. The light moves again and touches Kael for one heartbeat.
Then it eases back.
At once, everyone in the crowd grabs at their heads as if a hammer has split their skulls. I feel it too. Kael feels it. I scream again.
A woman faints on the stones.
Someone shouts, "Impossible. Blood is coming from my nose."
Another voice cracks with pain. "Why did you repeat this ritual?"
A low sound moves through the pack. Not joy. Not peace. It is the groan of people being forced to look at what they did not want to see.
Thalia steps forward.
Her face is pale, and her voice shakes. "She is the messenger we have waited for," she says. "Aethelia is chosen. We cannot reject her."
A few voices echo her.
Only a few.
Most of the crowd stands stunned or angry or too confused to speak.
Messenger.
It tastes wrong.
Why me? Why now, when my hands are stained? Why mark me now, when the pack has already marked me for death?
The questions rise behind my teeth.
Kora threads through me, calm and firm. Do not panic, she says. It is done. Accept it. Kael is our mate.
Accept it.
Just like that?
I cannot.
I carry the face of the one I killed and Evra's smile. I see it whenever I close my eyes.
The courtyard bursts.
Dravion pushes to the front. His voice breaks on the first word, then hardens around the rest.
"This is impossible," he roars. "An abomination. The Moon always chooses the pure. Not someone like Aethelia. This bond is a blasphemy."
He points at me like a spear.
"This bond is a blasphemy!"
Others take up the cry. Men shout it until it sounds like law.
Kael does not answer. He only shakes his head once. Slow. It looks like pain. It looks like a refusal.
The bond between us hits my chest.
"Execute her," someone yells.
"Kill her," another screams.
A man whose daughter I injured steps forward before anyone can stop him. He points first at the council and then at Kael.
"You plan to save this monster," he says, rage shaking his voice. "If anything happens to my daughter, I will never take it easy in this pack."
My father opens his mouth. Then he closes it again. His jaw tightens. His eyes lock on me.
Voices crash over one another. Fingers stab toward me. Old wounds open in the noise.
Moon-Seer Valtheron climbs onto a low stone and lifts his voice above the rest.
"We know the pain," he says. "We know the loss. But the Moon does not lie. If the Messenger is named, we cannot throw away our duty for revenge. Our Alpha must find his mate. This chance matters to every pack."
His words slow the noise.
They do not stop the anger.
Dravion cuts in before the silence can hold.
"Do you remember your daughters?" he snaps. "The victims' families mourn. Justice must be served. We can never allow a murderer to be crowned as Luna."
"Never."
He slams his staff against the stone.
The pack trembles on the edge of violence.
Then Kael steps forward.
He does not shout. He does not plead.
"Enough," he says.
The single word closes the noise like a door.
The crowd drops into stunned silence.
My ears ring. The cool night wind brushes my cheek. The pain in my ankle eases for one breath.
Kael looks over the pack. He grips his cloak hard. When he speaks again, his voice is low and steady.
"I know what you feel," he says. "But you saw what happened. Aethelia is my fated mate. It is the Moon's will, not ours."
He pauses. He does not look at me. He searches the faces around the courtyard.
"I cannot make this decision tonight," he says. "The council and I will speak at dawn. Tomorrow the council will give the final sentence."
No one answers.
Dravion opens his mouth and finds nothing to fight with. Kael lifts five fingers.
"Enough. Tomorrow will decide."
Then he turns to the guards.
"Return her to the cells. And all the prisoners. But she is under my protection."
The words hit me like warm water after cold stone.
I feel something warm, certain, magnetic. My wolf leans into it. My heart leaps. For the first time, amidst fear, death, and the weight of prophecy, I feel safe in a man's presence.
My mate.
Kael stands between me and the pack, and tonight that is enough.
He is Alpha. Protector. Anchor. Irresistible.
Even through the noise, even through the fear, I know it.
He is mine.
Tomorrow waits like a blade in the dark.
Tomorrow will decide whether I live as the Messenger or die as the monster—and I know I am guilty.