Chapter Fifty Six — Ash and Silence

Chapter Fifty Six — Ash and Silence
The world smelled of smoke and blood.

When the war cries faded away, what was left was worse—the aftermath. It weighed upon my breast like something I could not breathe under. The wind carried the smell of ash from border fires combined with the coppery flavor of spilled blood. The forest continued to burn in patches, a slow, hungry crackle eating the broken fragments of wood and flesh.

I stood where earth had been torn by claws and fury, surrounded by the last of carnage. Warriors arrived in grave silence, their steps burdened with exhaustion. Some were limping; others carried others who would not rise again. The sky above was a dull gray, the moon obscured by smoke as if she couldn't bear to look down on us.

Lucien's voice broke the silence. "Round up the wounded. Check every patrol. I want a count in the morning."

They were cool words, but I sensed the tension hidden behind them—the same shudder that coursed through all of us. When our gazes met across the ravaged clearing, something black passed between us. Anger. Fear. And grief that neither of us could voice.

I knelt next to a dead warrior, shaking as I closed his eyes. The young wolf's face was calm now, though I could remember the savage ferocity in his eyes just hours before. "He was one of yours," breathed Maren, one of the healers. Her voice was hushed, but I could hear condemnation beneath.

"I know." My voice broke. "He followed my command."

Maren stopped, then lowered her head and continued. I knelt there well past the moment when she vanished, looking at the dead body of the boy. The pack closed in around the dead to burn them, ritual fires already being prepared. I felt every death as a blade across my rib.

When I did eventually stand up, Lucien stood beside me. His fingertips touched mine—a fleeting contact that steadied me just long enough to regain breath. "We'll bury them decently," he whispered. "But first, we must understand what took place."

He strode over to a group of warriors dragging something through the mud. My breath caught at seeing what it was—a corpse, hardly human, the symbol of our pack ripped open across his torso.

Scouting party, one of the warriors growled. "Found him on the ridge. Throat torn open. But see." He rolled the body over, revealing markings that weren't claw marks. Blades. Silver-edged.

Lucien's gaze narrowed. "Rival pack?"

The warrior grimaced. "No. Their scent cuts off at the border. Whoever did this… came from our side.".

There was a wave of tension that ran through the ranks. I could feel it too, in my gut. Betrayal tasted like something—it was not sweat or blood or smoke. It was cold, bitter.

The warriors were dismissed by Lucien, but his gaze remained on me. "This was no ambush. One of our patrol routs has been leaked. They knew exactly when to strike."

I swallowed hard. "You think one of us did it?

"I don't think." His face hardened. "I know."

We walked back towards the camp with the fires smoldering at our backs, a mournful funeral pyre casting the orange and gold of the night. The pack had begun their silent vigil—no words, no howls, only the muted hum of mourning in the air. It was tradition to remain silent until the dead were surrendered to the Moon. But tonight it was different. It wasn't respect. It was fear.

In the big tent, I looked at the war map. Maps were smeared with blood, edges curled from the flames of the nearby torches. I traced the outline of the border, where the lines of the enemy pack had been drawn. "They attacked just where we pulled back the guards last night," I breathed. "But only a few knew of that change.".

Lucien looked at me sharply. “You’re saying it was leaked.”

I nodded. “Deliberately.”

His hand slammed against the table, rattling the maps. “Garron’s men.”

I winced at the title, even though it was months since Garron's open defiance. He had pledged oath under the Moon Stone, his oath chaining him. But oaths, I was finding, counted for nothing to those who wanted power. "If it was him," I said warily, "then he's breaking more than loyalty. He's calling war within our gates."

Lucien whirled away, his face tempest-dark. "He's already done that."

We did not speak for a while. The fire danced along the walls of the tent, shadowy figures dancing and twisting like smoke wolves. My thoughts revolved around the same thing repeatedly—someone who would do this to us, and why now?

The why came into my head gradually.

Because I had lived.

Because some still could not bear the sight of an Alpha-born Luna of human heritage standing alongside theirs.

I felt my throat constrict. "They'll blame me," I breathed. "That I led us into this."

Lucien came to face me, searing eyes. "Let them.".

I wanted to believe him. But when I left the tent later, the looks informed me of all that I needed to know. Some lowered their heads in respect. Some did not. I overheard here and there murmurs—my name, uttered in doubt.

She brings blood wherever she walks.
Maybe the Moon Goddess turned her face away from us due to her.

I didn't resist them. Not yet. I simply walked towards the ridge where the fires continued to smolder, the dead being burned. I hunched at the edge of the fires, the flames blistering my face, and spoke their names into the void.

They were all weights. A promise.

When the name slipped from my lips, I felt a soft breeze blow past me, with moonflower scent blowing over the smoke. The caress of the Moon Goddess—soft as one who mourns. It made my knees weaken.

"Are you looking, Mother?" I whispered into the night. "Are you seeing what they do in your name?"

The wind shifted, answering with silence.

Dawn came too soon, and the blazes dwindled to coals. The camp was silent—quandary silent. Wolves padded among the tents like phantoms, bypassing one another's eyes. Lucien gave orders, reestablishing patrols, talking to captains. I should have slept; I recognized that. I didn't. Not until I knew who had betrayed us.

That was when the messenger arrived.

A young wolf, barely past his first shift, gasping and gaping. "Luna," he stammered, "I found this—past the south fence."

He handed me a small scrap of leather. The scent met me first—familiar, oily, bad. Words had been carved into it, crude but deliberate.

"The pack bleeds because its Luna is unclean."

I bristled.

Behind me, Lucien's snarl vibrated in the air like thunder. He snatched the scrap from my fingers, crumpled it, and let it fall into the dying fire. It caught, hissing.

"This isn't over," he snarled.

"No," I whispered. "It's just beginning."

Smoke rolled between us as I shivered with the chill of realization spreading into my bones. The border was no longer the true battlefield.

It was here—within the pack.

And one man was sharpening knives.