Chapter 151 I Miss Old Times
The morning of the Remembrance dawned gray and heavy, the sky low with unshed rain. Inside the main hall, chaos reigned in controlled bursts, servants rushed with trays of ceremonial bread, guards adjusted banners bearing the pack sigil, elders argued over seating arrangements, and musicians tuned their instruments in nervous clusters. Everyone moved with purpose, urgency humming beneath every step.
Fernando stood near the dais in full Alpha regalia, deep crimson robes lined with silver thread, his wolf pelt draped over one shoulder, the ancestral dagger sheathed at his hip. He looked every inch the ruler, but his eyes kept flicking toward the entrance, searching.
Then Alberto appeared.
He wore a tunic of midnight blue embroidered with constellations in silver thread, his hair neatly combed back, the faint shimmer of his Enigma eyes catching the torchlight. He walked with quiet confidence, no longer hiding, no longer pretending.
Fernando’s expression softened almost imperceptibly as Alberto reached his side.
“You look like Luna,” Fernando murmured.
Alberto gave him a small smile. “I feel like I’m wearing a target.”
“You are,” Fernando said honestly. “But you’re not alone.”
They turned together as the first guests began to arrive delegations from neighboring packs, emissaries from neutral territories, even a few wary representatives from the Southern Ember Pack. Each was greeted with formal bows and measured words, but when Fernando introduced Alberto, his voice carried unmistakable pride.
“This is Alberto,” he said, hand resting lightly on Alberto’s back. “My chosen. The future Luna of this pack.”
Murmurs followed them as they moved through the crowd, some respectful, some skeptical, a few openly hostile but Alberto held his head high, meeting every gaze without flinching.
Across the hall, Darius watched them for a moment before slipping away from the throng. He found Mira near the eastern archway, adjusting the hem of her healer’s robes. She didn’t look up as he approached.
“Don’t forget the plan,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only she could hear.
Mira rolled her eyes without turning. “I’m aware.”
“You’d better be,” Darius said. “If anything goes wrong—”
“It won’t, I know my role well and I will do it to my best” she cut in, finally looking at him. Her eyes were calm, steady. “Just play your part.”
Darius studied her for a long moment, then nodded once before melting back into the crowd.
The ceremony began precisely at noon.
Elders took their seats. Guests settled. The air grew still as Garrick, the arbiter, stepped forward to begin the rites. He spoke of sacrifice, of loyalty, of the wolves who had fallen protecting their home Liana among them.
At the mention of her name, everyone rose.
It was tradition to stand in silence for three full minutes, honoring the dead with presence, not words.
That was when it happened.
Mira, standing near the front row, suddenly winced. Her hand flew to her abdomen, fingers curling into the fabric of her robe. Her face paled, and she swayed slightly on her feet.
Fernando, watching from the dais, caught it immediately. His eyes narrowed, a silent question forming in his gaze: What’s wrong?
Mira met his look and shook her head almost imperceptibly, mouthing, I’m fine.
But seconds later, she let out a sharp, piercing scream so sudden, so raw that the entire hall turned toward her.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Roland, one of the senior healers and immortal present and Mira’s ex husband, rushed to her side. “Mira! What is it? Did you eat something disturbing?”
Mira clutched his arm, breathing hard, eyes wide with pain or something else. “I don’t know… my stomach… it’s burning…”
One of the elders, Elder Laura, stepped forward, voice stern. “This is a sacred moment. If she’s unwell, remove her.”
Roland hesitated. “She’s a healer. She wouldn’t cry out unless it was serious.”
“Still,” Elder Soje added, “we cannot have disruptions during the Remembrance. Take her to the infirmary. Have her checked, this is a scared moment and disturbance of any such wouldn't be tolerated.”
Roland nodded reluctantly and helped Mira to her feet. She leaned heavily on him, her steps unsteady, her breathing shallow.
Once they were outside the main hall and down the corridor leading to the private healing wing, Mira’s trembling seemed to ease. Her color returned. She even managed a weak smile.
“You scared me,” Roland said, guiding her into a quiet antechamber. “What happened in there?”
“I think it was something in what I had this morning or perhaps some wrong prescription,” Mira said softly, sinking onto a bench. “Maybe spoiled herbs.”
Roland frowned. “I’ll check the next batch once it is made then before I leave.”
He started to turn toward the door, but Mira reached out and touched his arm. “Wait.”
He turned back.
Mira looked up at him, eyes filled with something unreadable regret, maybe, or sorrow. “Sit with me for a moment. Please.”
Roland hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.”
Mira stood slowly and walked to the small table where a tray of tea sat left earlier by a servant. She poured two cups, steam curling from the spout.
“Drink with me,” she said, handing him one. “For old times.”
Roland smiled faintly. “You always did make the best mint blend just like old days. I really do miss the good old times we spent together and what it would have been if I hadn't taken that decision”
He took the cup and sipped.
Mira watched him over the rim of her own cup, not daring to take a sip from the cup, her expression unreadable.
Within minutes, Roland’s eyelids grew heavy. His grip on the cup loosened. He swayed, then slumped forward, unconscious before he hit the floor.
Mira set her cup down carefully. She knelt beside him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “I truly am.”
She stayed there for a long moment, hand resting on his shoulder, eyes closed.
Then she stood, straightened her robes, and walked out of the room without looking back.