Chapter 71 Victory's Price
Dawn came slowly. Like it was afraid of what it would reveal.
The grove no longer shook with battle cries or magic. The light that had once blazed gold and silver had faded into pale morning gray. Smoke drifted low across the ground. Carrying the scent of blood, burned earth, and wet stone. What remained was silence. And bodies.
Hundreds of them.
Wolves lay where they had fallen. Some in human form. Others half-shifted. Caught between skin and fur when death claimed them. Broken weapons littered the ground. Claw marks scarred the ancient stones. The Sacred Grove, which had once hummed with old power, now felt like a grave.
Amanda moved through it barefoot.
Her steps were slow. Careful. As if the earth itself might shatter under too much weight. Her dress was torn and stained dark at the hem. Her palms still glowed faintly. The last embers of her power flickering like dying coals.
She knelt beside a young wolf first. He could not have been more than eighteen. His eyes were open. Glassy. Staring at a sky he would never see change again. Amanda swallowed hard and pressed two fingers to his throat anyway. Nothing.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. Though no one asked her to be.
She moved on.
Every few steps, she stopped. Sometimes she found life. A shallow breath. A weak pulse clinging stubbornly to existence. For those, she gave what little she had left. A touch to the chest. A steadying warmth. Not the blazing miracle of the ritual, but something quieter. Enough to close wounds. Enough to keep a soul anchored.
Each time she did it, the world tilted a little more.
Derek watched her from a distance. His jaw locked so tight it ached. He wanted to stop her. Wanted to pull her back into his arms and tell her she had already given too much. But he knew better.
This was who she was.
So instead, he carried the dead.
He lifted bodies with care. Laying them side by side where the pack had begun to gather the fallen. Warriors he had trained with. Wolves who had followed his father. Faces he had known his whole life. He did not rush. He did not break.
An Alpha could grieve later.
When his arms were full, he carried another.
By midday, the grove had been cleared enough to breathe.
Pyres were built along the far edge. Stone circles stacked with wood and wildflowers. The living moved quietly. Passing bundles of herbs. Laying tokens beside the dead. Claws, beads, scraps of cloth scented with home. The air filled with low murmurs and muffled sobs.
Amanda sat on a fallen log. Her shoulders slumped. Her hands trembled in her lap. Derek came to her then. Finally close enough to touch. He crouched and wrapped her fingers in his.
Cold.
"You need to stop," he said softly.
She looked at him. Eyes red-rimmed. Hollow with exhaustion. "There are still some breathing."
"And there will be none left if you fall," he said.
For a moment, it looked like she might argue. Then her chin dipped. Just slightly. He pulled her against his chest and held her there while her breath evened out. Slow and shaky. Around them, the pack worked on. Respectful. Giving them space without being told.
When the sun reached its highest point, the ceremony began.
The packs gathered in a wide circle around the pyres. Nightfang. Emberfang. And others. Packs Derek barely knew by name. All drawn by the same war. The same threat. No banners flew. No weapons were raised. Only heads bowed.
Moira stepped forward first. Her voice steady as she called the names.
Each one landed like a stone.
A murmur followed every name. Memories spoken under breath. Grief shared quietly. A father. A sister. A mate. Some howled when the pain became too much. No one stopped them.
When Moira finished, Derek moved to the center.
He did not stand on stone or raise his voice. He simply stood among them. Blood still drying at his cuffs. Eyes bright with unshed grief.
"Today," he said, "we stand because they fell."
His gaze swept the circle. Wolves met his eyes. One by one.
"They did not run. They did not break. They held the line when the darkness came. And because of that, our children will sleep under a safer moon."
He turned, then, toward a single pyre set apart from the others.
Silas lay there. His hands folded over his chest. His face looked younger in death. The sharp edges softened. The shadows gone.
Derek's voice did not waver. "Silas betrayed us once," he said. The words rippled through the crowd. "That truth does not disappear with death. But neither does what he chose in the end."
Amanda felt Derek's grip tighten around her hand.
"He stood against the Nightbringer knowing it would cost him his life. He bought us time. He bought us hope. And because of that, we are here."
A pause.
"May we all find such courage when tested."
The pyres were lit together.
Flames climbed into the sky. Smoke curling upward like dark wings. Howls rose. Low. Aching. And fierce. The sound carried across the valley. Rolling through the trees. Marking the dead so they would never be forgotten.
When it was over, the packs began to drift apart.
Some left quickly. Grief driving them home. Others lingered. Unsure where home even was anymore. Messengers spoke in low voices. Land had been burned. Borders shattered. Whole packs reduced to a handful of survivors.
As the sun dipped toward evening, leaders began to approach Derek one by one.
The first was a small mountain pack. Barely thirty wolves remained. Their Alpha bowed his head and spoke plainly.
"We ask to stand under Nightfang's protection."
Then another.
And another.
By the time the shadows lengthened, five packs had made the same request.
Amanda felt the weight of it settle like a second exhaustion.
Together, Nightfang and Emberfang were already powerful. Adding more would change everything. Old alliances. Old fears.
That night, when the camp had quieted and the fires burned low, Councilor Agatha asked for a private word.
They met near the edge of the grove. Where the stones still glimmered faintly with sealed power. Agatha's face was lined deep. Her eyes sharp despite her years.
"You did what legends are made of," she said. "Both of you."
Derek inclined his head. Amanda said nothing.
Agatha's gaze flicked between them. "But legends are dangerous things."
She stepped closer. Lowering her voice. "Your power is unprecedented. Packs will see you as saviors. Others will see you as a threat to the balance we've held for centuries."
Her eyes hardened. "Not all the darkness in our world came from the Nightbringer."
She paused.
"Some of it is already bowing to you.”