Chapter 106 The Shaman's Wisdom
LIRA POV
The spirit world was nothing like I'd imagined. Not peaceful. Not ethereal. Just cold, empty darkness stretching forever. And the eyes. Hundreds of them, watching from the void.
"You came alone." The voices echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "Brave or stupid."
"I came to offer justice." My voice sounded small in the vastness. "To acknowledge what was done to you."
"Acknowledge?" Laughter, bitter and endless. "Words won't heal our wounds, little Luna."
"Then what will?" I turned slowly, trying to find a source. "Tell me what you need."
"Blood." The answer came swift. "The same blood that was stolen from us."
"I can't give you that." I summoned moonfire, but it flickered weakly here. "The guilty are already dead."
"Their children live." The voices pressed closer. "Their grandchildren, their bloodlines continue while ours ended."
"Ending more bloodlines won't bring you peace." I argued. "It'll just create more dead. More rage and curse."
"We don't want peace!" The shout made the darkness tremble. "We want what was taken! Our packs! Our families! Our lives!"
"I can't give you that either." I admitted. "I can only offer the truth. Recognition and the territory returned to rightful ownership."
"Territory." The voices paused. "You'd give back what was stolen?"
"It was always mine." I straightened despite fear. "As the last Silvermoon heir, the land reverts to me. I acknowledge your deaths. I honor your sacrifice and claim what's rightfully ours."
Silence, long and heavy. Then a shape emerged from darkness. Not quite solid, not quite transparent. A she-wolf with kind eyes and familiar features. "Mother?" The word escaped before I could stop it.
"Hello, my child." Vera Ashborne smiled sadly. "You've grown so strong."
"You're not real." I stepped back. "You're dead, this is a trick"
"I am dead." She agreed. "And real. Both can be true, the spirit world holds all who died with unfinished business."
"Your business was protecting me." I whispered. "You died doing that."
"I died succeeding." She corrected gently. "You survived. You awakened. You're here, facing what I couldn't."
"I don't know if I can do this." The admission hurt. "They want blood but I can only offer words."
"Words have power." Another shape formed—a tall wolf with alpha presence. "Especially from the right mouth."
"Father?" I moved toward him instinctively.
"Dmitri Ashborne." He inclined his head. "Last Alpha of Silvermoon, who is very proud of his daughter."
"I failed you." Tears came hot and fast. "I let them keep me prisoner, I let them suppress my power"
"You survived." He interrupted firmly. "Against impossible odds. That's not failure, That's triumph."
"But the pack" I gestured at the watching eyes. "They're still dead, angry and cursed."
"Because they need what you haven't given." A third shape emerged, ancient and powerful. "Truth spoken with authority."
This wolf was different, older than my parents, as power radiated from her translucent form.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Lyanna Moonblood." She moved gracefully. "First Luna of Silvermoon. Bearer of the original blessing and the one who can break this curse."
"I thought I had to break it." I said I was confused.
"You do." She smiled. "But not alone, not without guidance. Not without understanding what the curse truly is."
"It's vengeance." I stated. "Dark magic fueled by murdered wolves"
"It's pain." She corrected gently. "Unresolved pain that's festered for years. Magic isn't a curse, the refusal to heal is."
"I don't understand." I looked between my parents and this ancient Luna.
"The five alphas didn't just kill wolves." Lyanna explained. "They broke the pack bond. Severed connections between mates, parents and children, alphas and their wolves. That severing—that breaking of love—that's what created the curse."
"So love can break it." I remembered my mother's journal. "Love freely given."
"Love freely acknowledged." Lyanna corrected me. "These dead wolves don't need blood. They need recognition, they need the living to say: 'You mattered, you were loved, your deaths meant something.'"
"How do I do that?" I asked desperately.
"You already started." My mother touched my shoulder. "By coming here. By facing them and by offering truth."
"But it's not enough." I felt the rage still pressing from the darkness. "They want more."
"Then give more." My father said, "Give them names. Memories. Stories, give them back their existence."
"I don't know their names." I protested. "Don't know their stories"
"We do." Lyanna gestured, and suddenly the darkness filled with light.
Hundreds of wolves appeared, each one distinct. Young and old. Strong and weak, all watching me with hope instead of rage.
"Speak for us." They whispered together. "Tell our stories, make the living remember our memories."
"I" My throat closed. "There are too many, i can't"
"Start with one." Lyanna encouraged me. "Just one, then another. Then another. Until they're all acknowledged."
She gestured to the nearest spirit. A young she-wolf, barely adult. "Her name was Mira." Lyanna said. "She died defending her younger siblings. She was seventeen, she loved wildflowers and singing under the full moon."
The young wolf's form brightened at being named. "Say it." Lyanna urged. "Give her a voice."
"Mira." I spoke clearly. "Seventeen, she defending her siblings. She loved wildflowers and singing."
The wolf smiled, then faded to a peaceful light. "One down." Lyanna moved to the next. "This is Thomas, he was a father of five. Died trying to evacuate the young ones, his last words were 'run.'"
"Thomas." I repeated, tears flowing. "Father of five. Died protecting children, his last words were 'run.'"
Another peaceful fading.
"Keep going." My mother encouraged me. "All of them, every single one."
For hours—or maybe minutes, time moved strangely here—I spoke names. Acknowledged deaths and honored their sacrifices. Each one took pieces of my heart. Each one showed me the true cost of the massacre.
"Sarah, mother died calling for her mate., Viktor, a warrior who died holding the line so others could escape, Elena, a healer who died tending the wounded until the end."
On and on. Hundreds of wolves, with stories. That all ended in violence and darkness. By the time I reached the last spirit, I was sobbing openly.
"Dimitri." I choked out. "Just three years old. Died in his mother's arms, he never got to shift, never got to run free."
The child spirit faded into light, and I collapsed to my knees. "It's too much." I whispered. "The pain, the loss. How do you bear it?"
"We didn't." The spirits spoke gently now, rage replaced with something softer. "That's why we became cursed. Why we sought vengeance, pain with nowhere to go becomes poison."