Chapter 82: Heavy Crown

***Claire's Point of View***

The morning fog still hung around, and I already felt the pressure of two worlds bearing down on my shoulders. Redwater had always been home; now Midnight Moon—torn, shattered, and lost—looked to me for solutions as well. Standing at the edge of the training pitch, I observed both groups moving together with an uneasy rhythm. Trained in clean, sharp lines, redwater wolves. The Midnight Moon refugees were uncertain, uncoordinated, and slower.

I could sense their glares when they believed I was not watching. Some still doubted me. Some others regarded me as their only hope. Neither one lightened me.

Derek said gently from behind me, his voice consistent as a promise, "You are carrying it all again." He moved nearer, his arm grazing mine.

I did not turn to look at him. It is necessary for someone.

You are not required to do it by yourself.

That may not be the case, I said. I wished my voice had not broken so much.

Following my gaze, he shifted to stand next to me. They will learn to stand united. All they require is time.

The time. Everyone always wanted that; still, it was the one thing I lacked most. I shut my eyes and let the silence between us say what I was unable to.

Later that day, I met with the council of Redwater elders and the few Midnight Moon leaders who had decided to remain. For so many big egos and hurt pride, the hall seemed too small.

First was Elder Myra. Her silver hair was tightly braided back and her eyes were sharp. The integration is progressing too quickly, Claire. Our wolves are uneasy. Tempers are flaring.

Would you rather we let them in the woods to fend for themselves? That was my question.

She answered quietly, "No." We have to admit, though, that unity is not something one can impose.

Former Midnight Moon fighter Ronan came forward. Some of us would die for you, Claire. You released us from Jared. Still, some say you were once his mate. They believe your judgement is... clouded.

I gasped in my chest. Though the words were cautious, the meaning was obvious.

Voice low, I said, "I am not his anything." Freedom was my choice. I picked reality. I picked Redwater.

Myra said softly, "But you also decided to head both packs." No one has ever walked that route.

I scanned the space. Their faces merged—hopeful, sceptical, terrified. Everyone was looking at me.

I said, "I did not pick this since it was simple." Someone had to correct it, so I picked it.

I remained behind after the meeting, looking at the vacant seats and hoping they could provide counsel rather than stress.

I strolled alone across the camp that night. Between tents, fires burned casting shadows of families and warriors. Hearing laughter—a group of pups from both packs playing a chasing game, their giggles climbing into the night sky—I stopped.

For a brief while, the tension left my shoulders. Perhaps there was still hope.

Then I heard the footsteps. Soft, cautious. Not aggressive, but private.

I spun around fast. "Who is there?"

From behind a tree, a young woman emerged. Her face was sooty and her clothes were tattered. Her eyes, however, were far too sharp for her age. She seemed to be someone who had outlasted more than most.

You do not know me, she said softly. "But I knew your mother."

My heart pounded against my ribs. Years have passed since my mother died. Who are you?

I used to be a scout. I went with her throughout the last conflict. I was present when she struck a deal with the Lunar Council. A pact meant to save you.

I moved forward. What pact?

Reaching into her cloak, she drew out a wrinkled letter sealed with an ancient, fading sigil.

She gave this to me before to died. She said to look for you when you were prepared to bear two worlds.

I looked at her, then at the letter. My mother had never mentioned any pact. Never brought up a future in which I would run anything.

Afraid to open the letter, I took it with trembling hands.

The girl remarked, "There is more." You have been observing the packs... balancing power. But someone is also watching you.

I gripped more firmly. "Who?"

Her voice falling to a whisper, she gazed beyond me. "There is another pack. One that remained concealed. One who subscribed to Jared's ancient rule. But now that he has fallen, they are prepared to rise.

Cold and biting, the wind picked up and blew ash from a nearby fire.

"They are not here to join you, Claire," she said, retreating. "They came to steal everything."

Clutching the letter to my chest, her words reverberating in my ears, I stood motionless.

Was I prepared to head both packs... should a third one be ready to attack?

And what mysteries had my mother buried in that letter?

Was I still carrying a legacy intended to destroy me? Or could this mark the start of something even more sinister?