By the time the rain finally stopped, it felt like the whole world had started over again.

Smoke cleared slowly from the corners of the Grove, drifting away into nothing. The ground, darkened and scorched by magic and violence, slowly settled, drinking in all the blood it had been given. And now, something new stirred within it. Living energy whispering quietly through roots that rose like veins around the hill we stood on. The Grove was awake in a way it hadn’t been before, humming under my feet with quiet power.

None of us had planned for this place to become the centre of anything. We hadn’t crowned this hill as special, hadn’t named it as the heart of our new peace.

The Grove had chosen that on its own.

By noon, the first messengers arrived, cautious and watchful as they stepped carefully into the clearing. On one side stood witches in their long, black robes, silver embroidery glinting like distant stars. They kept their hoods down, revealing wary eyes filled with suspicion and unease. On the other side stood wolves—not shifted, but restless and alert. Their armour caught the muted daylight. Betas chosen for strength and loyalty. Alpha representatives from distant packs stood beside them, tense but quiet. Even the lone wolves, the rogues who answered to no Alpha, hovered at the end of the group, silent and uncertain.

And at the centre of all of it stood the three of us—Kael, Caelum, and me.

It was strange to think of myself at the centre of anything. For years, I’d hidden, always running, always fighting just to stay relevant. But now, everyone was looking at us, waiting to hear what we’d say, waiting for answers none of us had completely figured out yet.

Caelum stepped forward first. Today, he wore no cloak, none of the sweeping, heavy robes witches loved so much. He looked different without them, younger somehow, yet no less commanding. I’d always wondered why witches wore those robes. Maybe it was to hide secrets or hold the significance of tradition close. I’d meant to ask Caelum one day, or maybe Fabian. But now, the idea brought a bitter ache to my chest.

Fabian. Damien. Their loss still burned deep inside me, a wound I wasn’t sure would ever heal completely. I’d wondered more times than I wanted to admit if I could have changed things. If I’d known what the Divide would demand of me, would I have made different choices? Could I have saved either of them?

I pushed the thought aside, forcing my attention back to Caelum.

He carried no wand or staff, wore no crown. Yet power wrapped around him effortlessly. When he spoke, his voice carried easily through the silent clearing.

“The Divide has fallen,” he said simply, each word heavy with meaning. “The hatred it once kept alive between wolves and witches dies with it.”

Whispers and murmurs rose quietly among the gathered groups. A witch near the front flinched slightly when a wolf beside her shifted impatiently. I didn’t blame her. Generations had passed with both sides learning only one truth: the other was dangerous, the other was the enemy.

Kael stepped forward next, stripped down to simple clothes rather than the usual Alpha armour that would have marked him as Ultima. He didn’t seem to need it now; authority followed him effortlessly, quiet and strong. I still found it hard to believe that Kael was one of my mates. The thought was strange, unexpected, almost laughable. And yet, he’d known all along. It made me wonder about the moments I’d overlooked or misread, moments when he’d stood quietly near me, watching closely and protecting me.

“There will be no more fighting along the borders,” Kael said. “No more hunts pretending to protect packs or covens. Anyone who attacks another out of hatred for their bloodline—witch, wolf, or hybrid—will answer to us as traitors of the Dominion.”

Growls rippled quietly among the wolves. A witch scowled deeply, words she dared not speak flickering behind her eyes.

That’s when I finally stepped forward to join them. Silence fell hard and sudden, as though even the trees had stopped breathing.

“I’m Luna Baudelaire,” I said, meeting their eyes steadily, my voice clear and strong despite the exhaustion in my bones. “Daughter of wolf and witch. Daughter of the river that tried to bury us and the moon you pretended to worship.”

Several eyes widened, heads snapping up in surprise or anger. I didn’t soften the truth for them, and I never would again.

“I watched the Divide destroy lives. I felt it take the ones I loved most. That hatred demanded sacrifices from all of us. But now,” I said, my voice growing stronger, clearer, “we stand in its ashes. And we won’t rebuild the same broken world again.”

The Grove surged slightly, pulsing quietly in agreement.

“We’re never going back to how things used to be,” I continued, letting the words sink in deeply. “You’ll learn to live side by side, whether you want to or not. You’ll learn that strength doesn’t give you the right to hurt anyone weaker or different from you.”

My gaze flickered to the witches. “No more punishing wolves just for following their nature.”

And then to the wolves. “No more caging witches out of fear of their magic.”

They watched me warily, some openly defiant, most unsure, but all listening now, and forced to acknowledge the truth.

“This Grove,” Caelum stepped in again, “belongs to no single pack or coven. It belongs to all of us. It will be the heart of our new Dominion.”

Kael nodded in agreement. “And anyone who tries to break this peace we fought for will become our enemy.”

A low, mocking scoff came from the back of the wolves. “And if we refuse?”

Kael didn’t hold back. “Then you never leave here.”

The Grove responded instantly. Branches creaked and bent toward the gathered groups, clearly showing the threat. Silence fell again, deeper this time. No one dared challenge it.

The crowd had begun to thin when I finally saw them.

Nightclaw armour, catching the dull sunlight like flowing water. Three wolves approached slowly, walking in perfect formation. And at their centre was Marrick.

My heart twisted at the sight of him. He seemed older somehow, more worn, but the moment our eyes met, his hard expression softened completely.

“Luna,” he said quietly, emotion roughening his voice.

I didn’t even think. I ran straight into him, and he caught me easily, wrapping his arms tightly around me like he never wanted to let go again. My throat tightened painfully, and for a long, heavy moment, I couldn’t speak. I buried my face against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of leather, rain, and home.

“You came,” I whispered finally, relief and gratitude pouring through me. “You really came.”

“I should’ve come sooner,” Marrick said, his voice rough with regret, eyes heavy with shadows I hadn’t seen before. He looked like he’d lived a lifetime in just the last few days, and guilt tightened my chest. I’d forgotten, in all my pain and anger, that Marrick carried his own burdens, his own hurts. He had always shouldered them silently, stubbornly refusing help even when he needed it most.

Behind him, Lyra was already rushing forward, tears streaming down her face, making pale trails through the dirt smeared across her cheeks. She threw her arms around me so fiercely I nearly stumbled, her hands trembling as they clutched my sleeves, desperate and afraid.

“I thought—I thought you were gone,” she gasped, burying her face into my shoulder. “I couldn’t feel you through the bond, Luna. Not at first. And then suddenly, you were there again. What happened? Please, tell me’”

She broke off abruptly when I didn’t respond, pulling back just enough to search my face. I saw the exact second realisation struck her, the moment the truth stabbed into her heart. Her eyes darted from me to Kael, then lingered on the empty space at our side—the place Damien should have stood.

“Where’s Damien?” Marrick asked quietly, as though he already knew the answer but needed the words spoken out loud, no matter how much they’d hurt.

Kael stepped forward, shoulders tight, his expression carved from stone. “He’s gone,” he said, the simple words landing heavier than anything else could have.

Lyra staggered backward as though she’d been struck, her breath hitching painfully in her throat. Marrick’s jaw tightened, the muscles there flexing, his eyes darkening with a grief so intense it burned silently in their depths. He didn’t yell, collapse or rage. He just nodded, once, and turned away.

Grief, I realised bitterly, wasn’t always tears or screams. Sometimes it was quiet, an armour made of silence, forged to keep the rest of the world out.

I reached for Lyra’s hand gently, threading my fingers through hers and squeezing softly. “We’re going to make it right,” I promised her quietly. “We’re going to make everything we’ve lost mean something. I swear it.”

Lyra nodded shakily, blinking rapidly to keep her tears in check, mouth pressed tight to hold back the scream that was clearly building behind her trembling lips.

Movement from the corner of the clearing caught my attention, drawing my eyes upward. Selene approached quietly with the Nightclaw council flanking her silently. Her gaze swept coolly over the Grove, the gathered wolves and witches, before finally settling on Kael. And then on me.

She didn’t sneer or speak, didn’t offer one of her icy, cutting remarks. She simply watched, assessing the situation before her like it was just another game of strategy.

Kael moved forward. “Since you’re all gathered here,” he announced clearly, “know this. Luna Baudelaire will be my mate.”

I arched a brow at him. Will be? Wasn’t I already?

Selene’s eyes flickered, blinking once in shock, then again to hide it. Slowly, she bowed her head. The council behind her mirrored the gesture immediately.

When she rose again, there was something different in her gaze. Acceptance, perhaps, or resignation. “Then you have my loyalty,” she said carefully.

It was as close to defeat as Selene had ever allowed herself to get.

Lyra tugged softly at my sleeve, leaning in close. “You and Kael?” she whispered, confusion clear in her voice. “How—when did that happen?”

I managed a small, tired smile, feeling both amused and slightly overwhelmed by her astonishment. But it was understandable. Last we spoke, I was talking about my feelings for Damien. “Come with me,” I said gently. “I’ll tell you everything.”

As Lyra and I walked away from the gathering, I glanced back over my shoulder at Kael. Even from a distance, I felt his presence with me. I couldn’t have predicted any of this. Kael had always been a constant, unwavering figure in my life, someone I trusted implicitly but never imagined standing beside in this way.

When the Grove finally emptied, leaving only quiet whispers of the past behind, Kael found me at the base of the ancient trees.

“I want to do it soon,” he said softly, almost tentatively. “The mating ceremony. I think it needs to be official, Luna. Everyone needs to see that things have truly changed.”

I nodded slowly, understanding exactly what he meant. “We’ll do it right,” I assured him. “In front of the council, every wolf and witch who still doubts us. They’ll all see that peace is a reality now.”

Kael’s eyes shone softly with pride, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “And afterward,” he continued seriously, “we create the Triad Council. Twelve seats, divided equally—witch, wolf, hybrid. Every voice counts. No single leader holding power over the rest. It’s time everyone had an equal say.”

I looked up at him, feeling a warmth spread slowly through my chest. Kael’s determination, his strength, had always been comforting. But this plan, this vision of a fair, balanced Dominion made me hopeful. Hopeful that all the pain we’d enured would finally bring something good into this broken world.

“That’s how peace lasts,” I agreed quietly.

He turned fully toward me, lifting my hand gently to his lips and pressing a soft, reassuring kiss against my fingers. “That’s how we lead,” he whispered.

But as twilight settled over the Grove and the flames of torches cast shadows across the clearing, I felt another tug, softer but just as insistent. My gaze shifted across the Grove, settling on Caelum.

His eyes met mine silently, waiting in the shadows, calm and patient as always. My heart twisted slightly, remembering all we’d faced together, the sacrifices made and bonds forged in the chaos. Kael’s presence was strength and certainty, but Caelum’s pull was different—quiet, deep, and impossible to ignore.

I drew in a shaky breath, suddenly feeling less confident than I wanted to admit. Destiny, fate, whatever name people liked to call it had never been gentle with me. All my life, it had twisted me around, thrown me into chaos, and laughed as I struggled to survive. Hope felt strange, almost dangerous, because every time I dared to feel it before, the world had ripped it away.

But maybe this time could be different. Maybe this peace we’d bled so painfully for would finally last. Maybe, just maybe, the painful truths I’d hidden from for so long wouldn’t destroy everything I cared about.

Even if I still wasn’t quite ready to face them.

Slowly, my feet carried me toward Caelum. He stood apart from the rest, lingering near the end of the clearing, watching the last remnants of the day fade into night. His expression was distant, unreadable, his dark eyes reflecting quiet shadows.

He didn’t turn to face me as I approached, though I knew he felt me there. Caelum always seemed to sense things others couldn’t, as though he carried secrets he’d never share even with me.

“You should be resting,” he said softly, eyes fixed on the distant tree line, voice carefully blank.

“So should you,” I countered gently, pausing just a step away from him.

Neither of us moved or spoke again right away.

Then finally, I said the truth that had lingered between us since the chaos had ended.

“You have no one left.”

He flinched slightly, eyes briefly shutting as though the words had physically hurt him. When he opened them again, his expression was carefully guarded, calm once more. “I have the Grove,” he answered simply, quietly, as though that was supposed to fix everything.

I shook my head slowly, a sadness growing in my chest. “That’s not the same, Caelum.”

He glanced at me, and for the first time tonight, I saw past his careful mask. There was a loneliness buried there, deeper than the dark earth under our feet. “It’s enough,” he insisted softly, though the words sounded hollow even to him.

“No,” I said quietly, refusing to let him hide behind that lie. “It isn’t. And you know it.”

When he stayed silent, I stepped closer, until our shoulders nearly touched. Until he couldn’t deny I was right there, offering something he’d never had or realised he’d needed so desperately.

“You have us now,” I told him. “You have me. Kael. Marrick. Lyra. Whether you believe it or not, you’re part of our family now. My family is yours.”

My words weren’t fancy or poetic. I wasn’t good at comforting speeches, never had been. But they were real, and I knew he felt that too.

Caelum drew in a slow, shaky breath, and for the first time since I’d known him, I watched his shoulders relax slightly. Just a fraction, as if he’d allowed himself to drop one of the heavy burdens he’d carried alone for far too long. He turned to fully face me, a vulnerability flickering briefly across his usually unreadable features.

“I don’t know how to belong,” he admitted quietly, voice hesitant, unsure—two words I never thought I’d hear from Caelum’s mouth.

A smile touched my lips, it was small but genuine. “You’ll learn,” I promised him gently. “We’re all learning. None of us knew how to trust or how to be trusted, but we’re figuring it out together.”

A faint, hesitant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, gentle and genuine. For the first time, I saw past the careful distance he always maintained, glimpsing the warmth hidden behind it.

And standing there with him, in that fragile quiet, I felt the world around us shift again.

It was a promise that even after pain, after loss and heartbreak, life could still offer kindness.

Maybe destiny wasn’t entirely cruel after all—or maybe, just maybe, it had finally decided we’d suffered enough. Either way, standing here, under the twilight sky, beside a man who had lost everything but still dared to trust, I allowed myself to believe it.

Just this once.