Chapter 60 The First Morning
Young Sera woke to sunlight streaming through her window.
For one brief moment, everything felt normal. The warmth on her face. The soft blankets around her body. The quiet sounds of the pack house settle into another day.
Then memory crashed over her like cold water.
Grandmother was gone.
Not sleeping. Not resting in the space between. Not watching from somewhere beyond the veil.
Gone. Completely and permanently gone. Erased from existence itself.
Young Sera stared at the ceiling, feeling the emptiness inside her chest like a physical wound. A hollow space where her grandmother’s presence had lived for sixteen years. A space that would never be filled again.
She looked down at her palm. The words were still there, etched into her skin like a brand.
She chose us. Now we choose life. For her.
“How do I even begin to do that?” young Sera whispered to the empty room.
No answer came. No gentle voice guiding her. No warm presence watching over her shoulder. Just silence and sunlight and the weight of a promise she had not asked to carry.
She lay there for a long time, not moving, not thinking, just breathing. Feeling each breath enter her lungs and leave again. Feeling her heart beat steadily and slowly in her chest. Feeling alive in a way that suddenly felt almost painful.
Her grandmother had given up existence itself so young Sera could keep breathing. Keep feeling. Keep choosing.
And young Sera could not even get out of bed.
A knock came at the door. Soft and hesitant.
“Come in,” young Sera said, her voice rough from sleep and crying.
Maya entered quietly, carrying a tray with tea and toast. Her kind brown eyes held understanding that went beyond simple sympathy. Maya knew what loss felt like. Knew what grief could do to a person.
“I thought you might be hungry,” Maya said, setting the tray on the bedside table. “You have not eaten since yesterday morning.”
“I am not hungry.”
“I know. But your body needs fuel regardless of how your heart feels. Eat something small. Just a few bites. For yourself.”
Young Sera looked at Maya and felt something crack inside her chest. Not breaking. Just shifting. Like something old and hard was beginning to soften.
“She would say the same thing,” young Sera said quietly. “My grandmother. She would tell me to eat. To take care of my body. To keep going even when everything hurts.”
“Then honour her memory by doing exactly that. Eat your toast. Drink your tea. Take care of yourself today.”
Young Sera sat up slowly, reaching for the cup of tea. The warmth spread through her hands and up her arms, grounding her in the present moment. Here. Now. Alive.
“How did you know?” young Sera asked. “How did you know I would need this?”
“Because I have been where you are. After I left my old pack. After I lost everything familiar. I woke up every morning feeling lost and empty and wondering how I was supposed to keep going. Someone brought me tea and toast. Told me to eat something small. And somehow that tiny act of kindness kept me from falling apart completely.”
“Did it get easier? Honestly?”
Maya sat on the edge of the bed, considering the question carefully. “Yes. But not in the way you might expect. It does not get easier because the pain goes away. It gets easier because you learn to carry it differently. The grief does not disappear. It just becomes something you can walk with instead of something that pins you to the ground.”
Young Sera took a small bite of toast. It tasted like nothing. But she chewed and swallowed anyway, honouring the promise written on her palm.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Maya present without demanding anything. No questions about how young Sera was feeling. No empty words about how things would get better. Just quiet company and warm tea and the simple act of being together.
“Kai fell asleep in the chair outside your door,” Maya said eventually. “He refused to leave last night. Lyra had to bring him a blanket.”
Young Sera almost smiled. Almost. “He is ridiculous.”
“He is devoted. There is a difference.”
“Is there?”
“A ridiculous person does foolish things for no reason. A devoted person does foolish things because someone matters to them more than their own comfort. Kai sat outside your door all night because you matter to him. That is not ridiculous. That is love.”
Young Sera finished the toast and drained the tea, feeling slightly more human than she had when she first woke up. The emptiness was still there. The grief was still a heavy stone sitting on her chest. But she had eaten. Had drunk something warm. Had gotten through the first hour of the first morning without her grandmother.
Small steps. One moment at a time.
“What does the pack expect from me today?” young Sera asked.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Garrett made sure of that. He told everyone the Luna Queen in training needs time to grieve. No expectations. No responsibilities. No one will bother you unless you want company.”
“And Kael? My grandfather through marriage?”
“He is grieving too. Quietly, in his own way. Garrett is watching over him. Making sure he eats. Making sure he does not disappear into his own guilt.”
“Guilt? Why would Kael feel guilty?”
Maya hesitated. “Because he loved your grandmother. Deeply. And because he blames himself for not being able to save her. For not finding another way. He feels like he should have done more.”
“There was nothing anyone could have done. She made her choice. Chose to sacrifice herself so I could refuse the Void Lords. That was her decision. No one could have stopped her.”
“You know that. I know that. But grief does not listen to reason. Grief just hurts. And people who are hurting often blame themselves because it feels better than accepting that some things cannot be controlled.”
Young Sera understood that more than Maya probably realised. She had spent years blaming herself for things that were not her fault. Years of believing she was worthless because her grandmother’s absence from her daily life meant something was wrong with her rather than something was wrong with the world.
Her grandmother had spent years trying to teach her the difference. Had spent sixteen years in the space between, watching and guiding and protecting, all to help young Sera understand that she was worthy of love exactly as she was.
And now her grandmother was gone. But the lesson remained.
Young Sera was worthy. Not because of what she did. Not because of destiny or prophecy or the mark on her palm. But because she existed. Because she breathed. Because she chose to keep going.
“Maya?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For the tea. For sitting with me. For understanding without me having to explain everything.”
“You never have to explain with me. I just know.”
“How?”
Maya smiled gently. “Because we are the same. Two girls who survived things that should have broken us. Two girls who keep choosing life even when it hurts. We understand each other because we have walked the same dark roads.”
Young Sera nodded, feeling a connection between them that went deeper than friendship. A bond built on shared pain and shared survival. A bond her grandmother would have approved of.
Another knock at the door. This time louder and less hesitant.
“It is Lyra,” came the familiar voice. “Kai has been awake for an hour and is driving me insane with his hovering. Either let him in or I am sending him away.”
Young Sera looked at Maya, who raised an eyebrow in silent question.
“Let him in,” young Sera said.
The door opened and Kai stumbled inside, his hair messy from sleeping in a chair all night. His eyes were red and tired but immediately softened when he saw young Sera sitting up, holding an empty tea cup.
“You ate something,” he said, relief flooding his voice.
“Maya made sure of that.”
“Good. Maya is a genius.”
“I am well aware,” Maya said, standing from the bed. “I will leave you two alone. Come find me later if you need anything. Either of you.”
Maya slipped out quietly, and Lyra disappeared from the doorway with one last look at young Sera. A look that held something young Sera had not seen from Lyra before.
Tenderness.
Kai sat on the edge of the bed where Maya had been, close but not touching. Giving young Sera space while making it clear he was not going anywhere.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Honestly? Terrible. Empty. Lost. Like someone reached inside my chest and removed something essential. Something I cannot function without.”
“You can function without it. You just have to learn how.”
“My grandmother spent sixteen years teaching me how to function with her guidance. Now I have to figure out how to function without it. That feels unfair.”
“It is unfair. None of this is fair. But unfair does not mean impossible.”
Young Sera looked at her palm again. The words stared back at her, steady and permanent.
She chose us. Now we choose life. For her.
“I made a promise,” young Sera said quietly. “To her. To the pack. To myself. I said I would live fully. Would choose life. Would build beauty in honour of what she sacrificed.”
“You did.”
“But right now all I want to do is crawl back under these blankets and never come out again.”
Kai reached over and took her hand gently. The hand with the mark. He looked at the words for a long moment, tracing them with his thumb without pressing hard enough to hurt.
“You do not have to do everything today,” he said. “You do not have to be brave every single moment. You are allowed to grieve. Allowed to cry. Allowed to feel the pain without immediately trying to fix it.”
“But the promise—”
“The promise does not say you have to be perfect. It says choose life. And you are choosing life right now. By sitting here. By eating breakfast. By breathing. By letting me hold your hand. That is choosing life. It does not have to look dramatic. It just has to be real.”
Young Sera squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of him anchor her in the present. Here. Alive. Choosing to keep going.
Outside, the Northern Kingdom stirred into its morning routine. Wolves moved through the pack grounds, living their lives, honouring the absence of the woman who had given everything to protect them.
And young Sera sat in her room with the boy she loved, holding the words of a promise on her palm, taking the first small steps into a life without her grandmother.
It was painful.
It was hard.
But it was life.
And life, her grandmother had taught her, was the greatest gift of all.