Chapter 27 The Solstice Arrives

Chapter 27 The Solstice Arrives
One hundred twenty-three days became one hundred.
One hundred became fifty.
Fifty became ten.
And then, finally, it was the morning of the winter solstice.
I stood at the window of our chambers, watching the sun rise over the Northern Kingdom. The longest night of the year had passed. Today, for the first time in six months, I would see my daughter.
If the gods kept their word.
“You have not slept,” Kael said from behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist.
“How could I sleep?” My voice was steadier than it had been in months. Eight weeks of training with Lyra had given me physical strength. Eight weeks of research with Elder Thaddeus had given me knowledge. Eight weeks of meditation with Mora had given me focus. “Today changes everything.”
Through the bond, I felt his own anticipation mixed with dread. We had spent six months preparing for this moment, but we still had no idea what to expect.
Would our daughter remember us? Would she be allowed to speak freely, or would divine control force her words? Would she still be the infant we had lost, or something else entirely?
“Whatever happens,” Kael said quietly, “we face it together.”
“Together,” I agreed, turning in his arms to kiss him. Drawing strength from the bond that had sustained us both through the darkest months of our lives.
A knock interrupted us. Maya entered, her face pale.
“Luna Sera, Alpha King, there are… visitors at the gates.”
My heart stopped. “The gods?”
“No.” Maya’s hands twisted nervously. “Delegates. From every major pack in the werewolf world. They say they have come to witness the Shadow Queen’s return.”
Horror crawled up my spine. “How do they even know about today?”
“Divine magic does not hide well,” Elder Thaddeus said, appearing behind Maya. “When the gods set a date for the Shadow Queen’s visit, every shaman and seer in existence felt it. They have come to see what the gods have made of her.”
“Turn them away,” I said immediately. “This is a private family matter.”
“We cannot.” The old wolf’s expression was grim. “Many of these packs have treaty obligations. Others are testing our strength, seeing if the Northern Kingdom is still worthy of respect after our Luna’s child was taken.” He paused. “And some genuinely care about the Shadow Queen’s welfare. Want to ensure the gods are treating her fairly.”
“She is enslaved by cosmic beings,” I spat. “Nothing about this is fair.”
“Nevertheless, they are here.” Kael’s jaw tightened. “And turning them away would show weakness. Would invite challenges we cannot afford right now.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to keep this moment private, sacred, just for our family.
But the Alpha King was right.
“Fine,” I said, though the word tasted like ash. “They can witness from a distance. But if anyone tries to approach her, tries to touch her or use her for their political games—”
“I will tear their throats out personally,” Lyra promised from the doorway, her amber eyes glowing.
We descended to the throne room, which had been prepared for this moment. Every surface is polished to perfection. Every guard in full ceremonial armour. The Northern Kingdom presents its strongest face to the world.
And standing in neat rows throughout the massive space were delegates from thirty different packs. Alphas and Betas and Lunas, all watching us with calculating eyes.
“They are vultures,” I muttered to Kael through the bond. “Waiting to see if we are weak enough to destroy.”
“Then we show them strength,” he responded. “We show them that the Northern Kingdom does not break. That we are still the power they fear.”
We took our places on the twin thrones, I on Kael’s right, and waited.
Minutes stretched into hours.
The delegates grew restless, whispering among themselves. Some questioned if the gods would honour their bargain. Others suggested this was a trick, a test of the Northern Kingdom’s patience.
I sat motionless, counting heartbeats, reaching through the space where my bond with my daughter used to be.
And then I felt it.
A pulse in the air. A shift in reality itself.
The temperature in the throne room dropped twenty degrees in an instant. Frost spread across the windows. And standing in the centre of the room, where nothing had been seconds before, was Asteria.
Her starry eyes swept across the assembled wolves with cold disdain.
“The winter solstice has arrived,” she announced, her voice echoing across dimensions. “The bargain will be honoured. The Shadow Queen will visit her parents.” A pause. “For one hour. No more.”
One hour.
Six months of waiting. Six months of grief and rage and desperate hope.
For one hour.
“Where is she?” I demanded, standing from my throne. “Where is my daughter?”
“Coming.” Asteria gestured, and reality tore open behind her.
Through the tear stepped a figure that made my heart stop.
Not an infant.
Not even a child.
A young woman, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, with long dark hair and eyes that swirled with silver and storm grey. She wore robes that seemed woven from starlight itself, and power radiated from her with every breath.
She was beautiful.
She was terrible.
She was my daughter, aged sixteen years in six months.
“Seraphina,” Asteria said, using a name we had never given her. “You have one hour with your biological parents. Use it wisely.”
My daughter—Seraphina—looked at me with those swirling eyes.
And I saw nothing.
No recognition. No love. No memory of the four days we had shared.
Just cold, divine purpose.
“Mother,” she said, and her voice was layered with echoes of cosmic power. “Father. It is… agreeable to see you again.”
Agreeable.
Not wonderful. Not joyful. Not anything a daughter should feel seeing her parents for the first time in six months.
Just agreeable.
Through the bond, I felt Kael’s devastation matching my own.
But I forced myself to smile. Forced myself to descend from the throne and approach this stranger wearing my daughter’s face.
“Seraphina,” I said, testing the name. Hating it. “Do you… Do you remember us?”
Her expression remained neutral. “I remember your biological connection to me. I remember the bargain that resulted in my current circumstances.” She tilted her head, studying me like I was an interesting specimen. “But emotional attachment to those memories has been… optimised away. For efficiency.”
Optimised away.
The gods had not just aged her body.
They had stripped away her capacity for love.
“No,” I breathed, reaching for her. “No, that is not—you are supposed to remember. We are your parents. We love you. You love us.”
“Love is inefficient,” Seraphina said, stepping back from my touch. “It clouds judgment. Creates vulnerabilities. The gods helped me understand this truth.” Her swirling eyes held no warmth. “I am grateful to them. And to you, for the biological materials necessary to create me.”
Biological materials.
That was how she saw us now.
Not as parents who had fought for her. Sacrificed for her. Counted every second of her absence.
As biological materials.
“What did they do to you?” Kael’s voice broke, his wolf howling with grief. “What did they take from you?”
“They took nothing I needed.” Seraphina’s expression remained perfectly neutral. “They simply revealed the truth. That attachment is a weakness. That love is vulnerability. That to serve effectively, one must be free of emotional compromise.”
“That is not the truth,” I said desperately. “That is brainwashing. They have broken you. Changed you into something you were never meant to be.”
“I was meant to be the Shadow Queen.” For the first time, something flickered in her swirling eyes. “To unite or destroy the packs. To bridge mortal and divine. That purpose remains unchanged.”
“But you were also meant to be our daughter,” I said through tears. “To be loved. To feel joy and sadness and all the complicated emotions that make us alive.”
“Life is not about emotion,” Seraphina said. “It is about purpose. Function. Duty.” She looked around the throne room at the assembled delegates. “I serve the gods now. Carry out their will. That is my function.”
“Forty-five minutes remain,” Asteria announced coldly.
Forty-five minutes to reach a daughter who did not remember love.
Forty-five minutes to break through divine brainwashing.
Forty-five minutes to save what was left of her soul.
I looked at Kael through the bond, desperate for guidance.
And saw my own helplessness reflected in his eyes.
Our daughter was gone.
Not dead, but erased.
Replaced by this cold, efficient instrument the gods had crafted from her flesh.
“Do you remember your birth?” I asked, trying a different approach. “The moments before the gods took you? Do you remember choosing to sacrifice yourself to save us?”
Something flickered again in Seraphina’s eyes. Brief. Suppressed almost immediately.
But there.
“I remember data related to that event,” she said carefully. “But the emotional context has been archived as irrelevant.”
Archived. Not destroyed.
Hope sparked in my chest.
“Then access the archives,” I said. “Please. For just this hour. Remember what it felt like to love us. To be loved by us.”
“That would be inefficient,” Seraphina said, but her voice held the slightest waver.
“I do not care about efficiency!” I closed the distance between us, grabbing her hands before she could pull away. “I care about my daughter. The girl who sacrificed everything to protect her family. The child who looked at me with trust and love before the gods stole her.”
Through our touch, I felt it. A pulse. A fragment of connection where the bond used to be.
And through that fragment, I felt her.
My daughter. Buried deep beneath divine control. Screaming silently in a prison of her own mind.
She was still in there.
Just trapped.
“Mother,” her voice came through the fragment, desperate and young. “Mother, I am still here. I can hear you. I remember. But they will not let me speak. It will not let me feel. Will not let me be anything except their instrument.”
“I know,” I whispered through the connection. “I know, baby. But I am going to get you out. I am going to find a way to break their control.”
“You cannot.” Even through the fragment, I felt her despair. “They are gods. They owe me. I signed the bargain. I am theirs for twenty-one years.”
“Then I will wait twenty-one years.” I squeezed her hands tighter. “I will count every second. And when your trial comes, when you have a chance to earn your freedom, I will be there. We will be there. And we will help you pass.”
“Thirty minutes,” Asteria announced.
Seraphina’s hands pulled away from mine, divine control reasserting itself.
“This conversation is not productive,” she said, her voice once again cold and empty. “Perhaps we should discuss matters of state instead. The Northern Kingdom’s alliance structures. Resource distribution across pack territories. Optimal conflict resolution strategies.”
She was reciting topics the gods wanted her to cover.
Using our time together for political intelligence gathering.
“No,” Kael said firmly, stepping forward. “If we only have thirty minutes, we are not wasting them on politics.”
He pulled something from his pocket. A small bundle of cloth.
The blanket from her nursery. The one that had smelled like her for weeks after she was taken.
“Do you remember this?” he asked, holding it out.
Seraphina stared at it, her expression neutral. “Fabric. Woven cotton. Standard swaddling material for—”
“It is your blanket,” Kael interrupted. “From the four days before you were taken. Your mother slept with it every night for two months because it still carried your scent.” His voice cracked. “She held it and cried and counted down the days until she could hold you again.”
“Emotional attachment to fabric is illogical,” Seraphina said.
But her hand reached out. Trembling. Fighting against divine control to touch the blanket.
“Then be illogical,” I said. “Just for a moment. Just for us. Touch the blanket and remember what it felt like to be held. To be loved. To be our daughter instead of their instrument.”
Her fingers brushed the fabric.
And the mask cracked.
For just a second, her swirling eyes cleared, showing pure storm grey. Showing the infant we had lost and the young woman she should have been.
“I miss you,” she whispered, her voice raw and young and achingly real. “Every second. I miss being held. I miss feeling safe. I miss—”
Divine fire flared around her, forcing the mask back into place.
“Fifteen minutes,” Asteria said coldly. “The Shadow Queen is becoming compromised. Perhaps this visit should end early.”
“No!” I lunged forward. “You promised an hour! We still have fifteen minutes!”
“An hour with appropriate emotional distance,” the god countered. “Your attachment is interfering with the Shadow Queen’s conditioning. This is unacceptable.”
“Then it is unacceptable!” I screamed. “She is my daughter! I will not pretend to be distant when I have waited six months to hold her!”
“You will not hold her at all.” Asteria’s starry eyes blazed. “Physical contact is clearly triggering archived emotions. It will not be permitted.”
My daughter stood frozen, divine fire keeping her locked in place three feet away.
So close I could almost touch her.
But unreachable.
“Then we talk,” Kael said desperately. “Just talk. We still have fifteen minutes.”
“Very well.” Asteria’s expression suggested she was humouring us. “Speak your final words. Then the Shadow Queen returns to her duties.”
I looked at my daughter, trapped in divine fire, her eyes once again empty.
And I understood.
This was not mercy.
This was torture.
The gods were showing us exactly what they had done to our child. Proving they could strip away everything that made her human. Demonstrating their absolute control.
This visit was never about compassion.
It was about breaking our hope.
“Seraphina,” I said, pouring everything into my voice. “I know you can hear me beneath the control. I know part of you remembers. So listen carefully.”
Her empty eyes fixed on me.
“In twenty-one years, you will face a trial. A chance to earn freedom. And when that day comes, your father and I will be there. We will never stop fighting for you. Never stop loving yourself. Never stop believing you can break free.”
“Attachment is irrelevant,” she said mechanically.
“No.” I smiled through my tears. “Attachment is everything. It is the only thing the gods cannot truly control. Because love exists outside their power. Beyond their jurisdiction. In spaces they cannot reach.”
“Time,” Asteria announced. “The hour is complete.”
“Wait!” Kael pulled out one more item. A small wooden wolf, carved by his own hands. “Take this. Hide it somewhere they cannot find it. And when you feel lost, when you forget who you are, hold it and remember.”
“I cannot accept unauthorised materials,” Seraphina said.
But her hand moved anyway. Fighting divine control. Reaching for the carved wolf.
Her fingers closed around it for just a second.
And then reality tore open behind her, pulling her backwards into divine realms.
“Twenty-one years,” I screamed as she vanished. “We will be waiting!”
The tear closed.
My daughter was gone.
The throne room fell silent except for my ragged breathing.
And then, from where Seraphina had stood, something small fell to the floor.
The wooden wolf.
She had not been able to take it with her.
I picked it up with shaking hands, clutching it against my heart.
One hour. Six months of waiting for one hour with a daughter who did not remember love.
“Twenty-one years,” Kael said, his arms wrapping around me as I collapsed. “We wait twenty-one years and try again.”
“She will not remember us by then,” I sobbed. “She will be so thoroughly broken that there will be nothing left to save.”
“Then we rebuild her,” he said fiercely. “Piece by piece if necessary. But we do not give up.”
Through the bond, his determination flowed into me.
And I realised he was right.
This was not the end.
This was just the beginning of a much longer fight.
The delegates began to leave, having witnessed the Northern Kingdom’s greatest shame.
But I did not care about politics or perception anymore.
I cared about one thing.
Counting down to the next visit.
The summer solstice.
In exactly one hundred eighty-three days.
I looked at the wooden wolf in my hands.
And began to count.