Chapter 104 104

Chapter 104 104
SELENE’S POV

Silence crashes between us. Then, slowly, something else rises in me not denial, not fear but something sharper. “If this is true,” I say, my voice unsteady but hardening, “then she doesn’t control me.”

Vayer’s eyes flicker. “Selene…”

“I don’t care what she made me for.” My hands stop shaking, not because I’m calm, but because something else is taking its place. “I am not a weapon she gets to use whenever she wants.”

The air shifts subtly but real“I chose him,” I continue, quieter now. “Not her. Not fate. Not whatever plan she thinks she set in motion.”

“Iver is not my enemy. He is the man I choose”

Vayer watches me carefully. “And if your very existence says otherwise?”

My chest tightens but I don’t look away. “Then my existence is wrong.” After all, I would not be here if it were not for him. I say to myself.

I allow the conversation with Vayer to sink in while I take in my environment. The world doesn’t settle, it limps.
The forest is quieter now, but not in peace. It’s the kind of silence that comes after something has torn through and decided it was enough. Bodies lie still. Others don’t. The ones who survived move wrong, like their limbs don’t fully belong to them yet, like something unseen is still clinging to their bones.

I didn't move at first. My arms are locked around him, my son pressed tightly against my chest. His breathing is uneven, fragile, but there. Every rise and fall feels like something I have to guard, like if I loosen my grip even slightly, it will disappear again.

The air feels… wrong. I feel watched. Slowly, I lift my head. They’re looking at me.
Not all of them, some can’t but enough. Wolves in human form, some half-shifted, some barely holding themselves upright. Their eyes find me one after the other, uncertain at first. Then something shifts, it’s not relief, it’s recognition. My chest tightens slightly. This isn’t how they used to look at me.

Before, I was something adjacent to power. Iver’s mate. His Luna. His Breeder. Respected, yes but always second to something greater. Now, there’s nothing behind me, no throne, no name to hide inside, just me. I rise slowly, adjusting my hold on my son as I stand. No one moves to help. No one dares. Good. My gaze sweeps across them, taking in what’s left. The broken, the bleeding, the ones still trying to steady themselves.

“You’re still standing,” I say.

My voice isn’t loud, but it carries anyway. A few of them straighten instinctively. “If you can stand,” I continue, “you can fight.”

The words settle into them, not like a command but like something they don’t know how to refuse.
One of the older wolves lets out a rough breath. Blood runs down the side of his face, his arm hanging at an angle it shouldn’t.

“Fight what?” he asks hoarsely, glancing toward the place where the goddess stood.

I follow his gaze, it’s empty but not gone. My jaw tightens.“Everything that comes next,” I answer.

He studies me like I’ve lost my mind, maybe I have. But something inside me has shifted, settled into something colder. Not the chaos from before, not the fear, this is different.

“They didn’t break you because you were weak,” I say, my eyes moving across them again. “They broke you because you were divided.”

That lands, as I see it in their faces, in the tension, the quiet understanding. Packs, borders, loyalties… none of it mattered when she came. “They will come again,” I continue. “Her. Others like her.”

My grip tightens slightly around my son. “And next time…we don’t fall apart.”

Silence stretches between us. “You’re speaking like a commander,” someone mutters.

“No,” another voice cuts in, quieter but steadier. “She’s not.”

I turn toward the speaker. A woman stands there, exhausted but sharp-eyed, watching me closely.

“She’s speaking like someone who survived it,” she finishes and in that moment I’m grateful someone gets it.

Our gazes lock. Something unspoken passes between us. I take a step forward, no one retreats.

“I’m not asking for loyalty,” I say. “I’m not asking you to forget what you were before this.”

My voice hardens. “I’m telling you it won’t be enough anymore.”
The wind shifts, carrying ash and blood through the clearing. “Iver built strength,” I continue, his name steady on my tongue even as something tightens in my chest. “Power. Order.”

I gesture faintly to the destruction around us. “But this isn’t something order survives.”

Another step forward. “This is something you endure.”

They don’t interrupt, I don’t let them. “So decide,” I say. “You walk away, you scatter, you try to rebuild what you had before…”

I let the thought hang. “They’ll pick you off one by one.”

No one argues because they’ve seen it. “Or,” I continue, quieter now but sharper, “you stand together.”

I pause. “With me.”

The words settle differently. I wasn’t making a request or a demand. I was drawing a line. For a moment, nothing happens. Then the older wolf straightens fully despite the tremor in his body. He doesn’t bow but he nods. It’s small but it’s enough. Others follow. Slowly. Unevenly. Not all but enough. The woman steps forward next, deliberate.

“We don’t follow crowns,” she says.

“Good,” I replied immediately.

Her brow lifts slightly. “Because I’m not offering one.”

Something flickers in her expression. “Then what are you offering?” she asks.

I look at all of them. What’s left?. What didn’t break?.

“A chance,” I say, “to survive what’s coming.”

The air stills. “And to make sure it doesn’t decide who lives and dies ever again.”

Silence greets us again. Then, one by one, they step closer not to kneel or to bow but to stand with me. I exhale slowly, something locking into place inside me. I lock eyes with Iver and I can’t read him.

My gaze lifts, steady now, unyielding. “Then listen carefully,” I say