Chapter 150

Chapter 150: Chapter 150

The academy was stirring back to life.

Students filled the corridors, their voices echoing off the ancient stone walls. The return to classes had brought a semblance of normalcy to Shadowmoon—but it was a fragile normalcy, a thin veneer stretched over wounds that had not yet healed. The festival had left its mark on everyone. The death of the Moonblood heir had left its mark. And beneath the surface, the investigation into Nyra’s murder continued to churn.

Valeria Morvane had just finished teaching her afternoon class on combat strategy. The students filed out of the lecture hall, their voices fading into the distance. She gathered her notes, her mind elsewhere, when a shadow fell across her desk.

She looked up.

Soren stood in the doorway, his golden eyes blazing with barely contained fury. The scar on his jaw seemed more pronounced in the dim light, and his hands were curled into fists at his sides. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Soren." Valeria’s voice was cautious. "I didn’t expect to see you. If you’re here about the combat assessments—"

"I’m not here about assessments."

His hand shot out and closed around her throat. He slammed her against the wall, his face inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin.

"Start talking," he snarled. "You know something about what happened at the festival. About who killed Nyra. And you’d better not leave anything out, because I will kill you, and no one will question me."

Valeria’s eyes widened with terror. She clawed at his wrist, gasping for air. "Soren—please—"

"It’s only because of our past that I haven’t strangled you already. Now talk."

"I can’t—they’ll kill me if I talk—"

"Who? Varek? He’s in prison."

Valeria laughed—a choked, desperate sound. "Varek? What an expensive joke. Do you really think Varek is smart enough to orchestrate everything that’s happened? The poisoning? The assassination?" She shook her head as much as his grip would allow. "The truth is deeper than Varek alone. Much deeper."

Soren’s grip loosened slightly. "Explain."

"I can give you information. But I need something in return."

"What?"

"Protection. If I talk, the people behind this will kill me. I need you to swear that you’ll protect me. That you won’t arrest me. That you’ll keep me safe."

Soren stared at her for a long moment. Then he released her throat.

"Fine. I’ll protect you. But only if what you tell me is useful."

Valeria rubbed her neck, her breathing ragged. "It’s more than useful. It’s the key to everything." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Why don’t you start by questioning your fiancée? I’m sure Selene knows far more than I do."

Soren’s blood ran cold. "Selene?"

"She’s been lying to you since the moment you woke up. The memories she gave you—the stories she told—they’re all fabricated. She was working with someone. Someone powerful. Someone who wanted Nyra dead more than anyone." Valeria adjusted her collar and forced a smile. "That’s all I’ll say for now. If you want more, keep me safe."

She walked past him and out of the lecture hall, leaving Soren standing alone in the empty room.

His mind was racing. Selene. His betrothed. The woman who had whispered lies in his ear while he lay helpless. The woman who had held his hand and pretended to love him.

Was any of it real? he thought. Was anything she said true?

Kael stirred. She’s been playing us from the beginning. We should have seen it.

We saw what she wanted us to see. Just like everyone else.

Soren’s hands curled into fists. He had been a fool. A blind, trusting fool. But no more.

Time to unravel this web, he thought. One thread at a time.

In the Moon Court, Nyra had found the book.

It was exactly as the old texts had described—bound in leather that had been softened by centuries of use, its pages glowing with an inner light. The title was written in a script that predated the Seven Packs, but Nyra could read it instinctively, as if the words were speaking directly to her soul.

On the Return of Ascended Souls.

She had been reading for hours, her heart pounding with hope. The ritual was complex, requiring components she didn’t have and knowledge she didn’t yet possess. But it was a path. A way home. And she clung to it with everything she had.

Then she reached the end of the book.

The final pages were missing.

"What?" she whispered, flipping back and forth. "No. No, no, no—"

She searched the book again, her fingers trembling. The pages had been torn out deliberately—the edges were rough, as if someone had ripped them in haste.

Someone didn’t want me to find this, she thought. Someone didn’t want me to know the rest of the ritual.

Luna stirred. The goddess. She must have taken them.

I’ll get them back.

Nyra closed the book with a snap and stormed out of the library. The Moonblood souls she passed shrank back at the fury on her face. She moved through the palace corridors like a storm, her silver hair flowing behind her, her eyes blazing with determination.

Her earthly mother intercepted her in the great hall.

"Nyra! What’s wrong? Where are you going?"

"To see the goddess. She took something from me. Something important."

"Your mother is busy—"

"She’s never too busy for this." Nyra pulled away and continued toward the throne room.

The Moon Goddess was seated on her throne of pure moonlight when Nyra burst through the doors. She looked up, and a small smile curved her lips.

"Daughter. What brings you here with such urgency?"

"You know why I’m here." Nyra held up the book. "Where are the rest of the pages? The ones you tore out?"

The goddess’s smile didn’t waver. "Which book? Which pages? There’s no book anywhere. Perhaps you should rest. A trainer will come soon to help you cultivate your powers."

"Don’t lie to me." Nyra’s voice was sharp. "I know you took the pages. I know you’re trying to keep me here. But I won’t be kept. I won’t be caged."

The goddess laughed—a beautiful, melodic sound. "My beautiful daughter. There’s no lie here." Then her expression went cold. "But even if there were—do you think I would simply let you return to that land? To the people who want your downfall? No. I won’t allow it."

"You can’t stop me."

"Can’t I?" The goddess rose from her throne. "I am the Moon Goddess. I control the tides, the stars, the very fabric of this realm. And I control whether you stay or go."

"Then I’ll find another way."

"There is no other way."

Nyra’s hands began to glow with silver light. The power surged through her—stronger here, in the realm of the Moon, than it had ever been in the mortal world. She raised her hand, and a blast of moonlight shot toward the goddess.

The goddess deflected it with a wave of her hand. The light scattered, harmless.

"Stop this," she said, her voice sharp. "I don’t want to hurt you."

"Then let me go."

"I can’t."

Nyra raised her hand again, but the goddess was faster. She gestured, and two guards—beings of pure moonlight—materialized at Nyra’s side, gripping her arms.

"You want to go back so badly?" the goddess said, her voice heavy with something that might have been grief. "Then let me show you the world you’re so desperate to return to. Let me show you the truth you’ve been blind to."

She waved her hand, and a portal opened before them a shimmering window into the mortal realm.

Nyra’s breath caught.

The portal showed Lord Varek in his prison cell. He was not broken, as she had hoped. He was scheming—meeting with a guard who slipped him messages, planning his escape, plotting his revenge.

"He is not finished," the goddess said. "He will never be finished. Even from prison, he will find a way to hurt you."

The portal shifted, showing Morgath in her dark chamber. The witch was drawing power from the earth itself, her body crackling with dark energy. Her apprentices chanted around her, feeding her strength.

"She grows stronger every day," the goddess continued. "She is preparing a ritual to destroy your soul completely. If you return, she will hunt you. And this time, she won’t fail."

The portal shifted again, showing Elias Nightveil. He was meeting with soldiers, giving orders, consolidating power. Nyra’s eyes widened.

"He’s Varek’s son," the goddess said. "A traitor hidden in plain sight. He’s been working against you since the beginning."

Nyra’s heart pounded. "Elias... he was one of Soren’s team. He fought beside us."

"He was spying on you. Reporting your every move to his father."

The portal shifted one final time.

Finn Harlan.

Nyra’s best friend. Her roommate. The boy who had made her laugh when she wanted to cry, who had defended her against Draven, who had held her when she broke down.

He was meeting with Selene in the shadows of the palace. They were talking in low voices, their faces cold and calculating.

"No," Nyra whispered. "No, this can’t be real. Finn wouldn’t—he’s my friend—"

"He is the worst of them all," the goddess said, her voice soft but relentless. "The cruelest. The most manipulative. He has been playing you from the moment you met. Everything he did—every joke, every kind word, every moment of friendship—was a performance. He is the one who orchestrated your brother’s death. He is the one who poisoned Soren’s mind. He is the one who wants you dead most of all."

"Stop." Nyra’s voice cracked. "Please stop."

But the goddess continued. "He watched you suffer. He watched you cry. He pretended to care while he plotted your destruction. And you trusted him. You loved him. You called him your best friend."

Nyra crumpled to the floor, the strength draining from her body. The guards released her, and she knelt there, staring at the portal, tears streaming down her face.

Finn. Her Finn. The boy who had been her anchor in the storm.

It had all been a lie.

"That’s enough," the goddess said, and the portal closed. She signaled to the guards. "Take her to her room. Let her rest. The trainer will come tomorrow."

The guards lifted Nyra to her feet. She didn’t resist. She couldn’t. The fight had gone out of her.

Her earthly mother watched as they led her away, then turned to the goddess.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why did you show her those things?"

The goddess’s expression softened. "Because she needed to understand. The mortal world is not the place she remembers. It is a world of betrayal and pain. If I let her go back, she will suffer. She will die. And I cannot—I will not—lose my daughter again."

"Again?"

The goddess was silent for a long moment. Then she spoke, her voice distant.

"I lost her once before. The day I sent her to the mortal world."

The backstory unfolded like a tapestry of light and shadow.

Centuries ago, the Moon Goddess had walked the earth in human form. It was a time of great upheaval—the old magic was fading, and the divine realm was losing its connection to the mortal world. The goddess had come to understand why.

She had come to observe.

She had not intended to fall in love.

His name was Alexander Astrlyn—the young king of the Astrlyn pack, the third largest in the realm. He was brave and kind and passionate, with eyes that sparkled like starlight. She had met him at a festival, disguised as a simple noblewoman from the northern territories. They had danced. They had talked until dawn. They had fallen in love.

For one glorious summer, they had been happy.

But their love was forbidden. His parents opposed the match, insisting he marry a woman of noble blood. Her own people—the divine court—demanded she return to the heavens and take her place as the Moon Goddess. The laws of both worlds forbade their union.

She had returned to the heavens, heartbroken. And then she discovered she was pregnant.

The child was a miracle—a bridge between the mortal and divine realms. But it was also a danger. If the divine court learned of the child’s existence, they would destroy it. If Alexander learned of it, he would tear the realm apart to find her.

So she hid the pregnancy. She waited. And when Alexander married his noble bride—a kind, gentle woman who was pregnant with her own child—the goddess made a choice.

She transferred her child into the womb of Alexander’s wife.

The two babies grew together in the same womb—twins, though they were not truly siblings. Thorne, the mortal son. Nyra, the divine daughter. The wife never knew the truth. Alexander never knew the truth. Only the goddess knew, and she watched from the heavens as her daughter grew.

Nyra’s silver hair marked her as different from birth. Her inability to shift marked her as different. And when Alexander finally realized that his daughter was not an ordinary wolf—that she carried the old magic, the Moonblood power—he did the only thing he could to protect her.

He sealed her powers away.

The goddess watched as her daughter grew up hidden and ashamed, believing she was weak, believing she was a failure. She watched as Thorne was poisoned by his uncle. She watched as Nyra took her brother’s place, disguised as a boy, fighting for her life in a world that wanted her dead.

She watched. And she wept.

And when the arrow pierced Nyra’s heart, the goddess finally intervened. She called her daughter home, to the one place where she would be safe.

And now, standing before Nyra’s earthly mother, the goddess felt the weight of centuries pressing down on her.

"Am I to be blamed for being strict with her?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Am I wrong to want to keep her here, where she’s safe? Where no one can hurt her?"

Nyra’s earthly mother was silent for a long moment. Then she reached out and took the goddess’s hand.

"No," she said softly. "You’re not wrong. But you’re also not right."

The goddess looked at her, startled. "What do you mean?"

"Keeping her here won’t protect her from pain. It will only delay it. Nyra is a fighter. She always has been. If you cage her, she’ll only fight harder to escape." She squeezed the goddess’s hand. "Sometimes the best way to protect someone is to let them go."

The goddess stared at her for a long moment. Then she turned away, her form shimmering with emotion.

"I can’t," she whispered. "I can’t lose her again."

And she vanished, leaving Nyra’s earthly mother standing alone in the empty throne room, the weight of two mothers’ grief pressing down on her like a physical force.