I took a slow, deep breath as I surveyed the gathering of the first summit of the dominion. The Grove’s centre had changed dramatically in just three weeks. Once, it had been a forgotten place, overrun with tangled vines and moss-covered stones. But now, it had become a great circle cleared and made new, large enough to hold the dozens of representatives from every corner of Anarion.

At the heart of the circle, twelve chairs sat in perfect symmetry. Four chairs carved from ironwood for the wolves, dark as midnight and engraved with ancient runes. Four made of white quartz for the witches, gently glowing as if the magic still dwelled within their polished surfaces. And four chairs woven delicately from silverroot branches and sparkling crystal for the hybrids.

Kael, Caelum, and I stood at the very centre under the ancient Gathering Tree, its sprawling roots arching protectively around us. Our seats were not higher or grander than the rest. They didn’t represent of dominance or command, but of equality, balance, and hope. A new way forward that none of us had ever truly imagined possible.

In spite of this perfect picture, I felt uneasy. I felt it prickling my skin like static before a storm. Wolves eyed witches with suspicion, and witches glared back with barely hidden distrust. Hybrids stood uncertainly, caught between two worlds. This peace was brittle, and we all knew it.

Scanning the circle, I recognised faces staring back at me. Elder Myra of Frostreach, with her twin sons flanking her. Alpha Calder from Duskfen, refusing to meet Kael’s gaze, resentment rolling off him like heat from a forge. And High Priestess Nerium from the Circle of Flame, whose cold eyes held memories of the time the witches called openly for my execution.

None of them bowed their heads or showed any sign of acceptance. It was too soon for that. Centuries of hatred didn’t vanish overnight, and I was too cynical to believe we could heal such deep wounds with mere promises of peace.

Caelum stepped forward, his robes pristine, repaired after the battle. His staff pulsed ever so often, marking his authority. Kael, dressed in black and silver armour, stood beside me.

I stood between them in a simple gray cloak sweeping the ground and the mark of the Grove seared forever into my palm. It felt fitting, somehow, that the only mark I wore was one of sacrifice, earned in blood and loss.

When the room finally stilled, every pair of eyes locked onto me, waiting.

“We’re not here to relive old wars,” I began, my voice clear, firm, yet tinged with bitterness. “As the first female Baudelaire wolf, I know firsthand how cruel our separation has been. My entire existence was marked by isolation—by being neither wolf nor witch enough. But that hardship prepared me for this moment. It made me see clearly what hatred and division have cost us.”

A ripple passed through the council and summit, whispers and narrowed eyes, but no open hostility. Yet.

Caelum’s voice rose beside me, smooth, like a soothing balm over fresh wounds. “I was raised among hybrids, in a place where wolves and witches learned to live as one. I have seen that peace isn’t a dream—it can be real. But it starts with changing how we see each other. We were never truly enemies. We were only told that we were, and we foolishly believed it.”

Kael nodded, taking his turn to speak. “This change we’re creating today won’t stop here. It will spread beyond these trees, across Hollowmane’s hills, into the darkness of Blackpine, and through every corner of Anarion. Power hasn’t shifted, it’s returned to the way the Goddess meant for it to be from the very beginning.”

I lifted my chin, daring any of them to speak against us. “It’s all of us, together, or it’s none of us.”

A heavy silence settled, and it was quite uncomfortable, until Myra slowly stood. Her expression was tight, and guarded. “You speak beautiful words, but words alone won’t erase centuries of war, loss, and death. Wolves and witches have died for generations. That pain won’t disappear just because we sit together here.”

“We’re not trying to erase the past,” I replied, meeting her eyes head-on. “But we will make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’ll need more than a fancy circle of chairs to stop us from turning on each other,” she continued, sceptical and too cynical for my liking. “Keeping peace is endless work, and our hatred runs deeper than you realise.”

Kael stepped forward, around the council seats. “We’re prepared. From now on, there is no separate Dominion of wolves, no Dominion of witches, no lines drawn to keep us apart. There’s only Anarion—whole, united, and ruled by all of us equally.”

“You’ll no longer bow to fear or outdated traditions,” Caelum added firmly. “The Triad Council will enforce new laws based on fairness, respect, and unity.”

Kael turned, facing the crowd, voice rising as if daring them to argue. “I stand here not just as an Alpha, but as mate to Luna Baudelaire—the woman chosen by the Goddess herself to unify Anarion. She is my bond, my Luna, and the only one who will stand beside me now and always.”

Whispers broke out instantly—shock, disbelief, envy dripping from every hushed breath. Kael didn’t have to announce our bond so openly, but he’d done it anyway, as if daring anyone in the crowd to challenge him. I couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the reactions around me. Of course they stared. How could they not?

Kael and Caelum were painfully beautiful—each in their own way. Kael, fierce and commanding, with green eyes like a storm you knew could either shelter or destroy you. Caelum, quiet yet captivating, radiating a kind of mysterious calm that drew you in, like the shadows themselves whispered secrets only he could hear. And then there was their power—one an Alpha, the other a High Priest.

Any female in Anarion would’ve given up kingdoms to stand where I stood. Yet somehow, by a twist of fate or cruel luck, these two impossible men belonged to me.

I caught myself staring, a bitter little smile tugging at my lips. If only the envy in those eyes knew the truth. Loving Kael and Caelum didn’t make me powerful. It made me vulnerable in ways I didn’t want.

But they didn’t know that. They saw what they wanted to see—a woman wrapped in power, flanked by strength and beauty. Lucky, privileged. They didn’t see the scars I wore inside, hidden behind carefully composed expressions. They didn’t know the price we’d paid—the blood spilled, the tears shed, the souls lost.

But it was too late for me to run. Too late for regrets or doubts.

My gaze slid between Kael and Caelum once more. Despite everything, my heart gave a traitorous flutter, reminding me yet again of the cruel irony of how easily love and loss, envy and grief, hope and bitterness, could exist side by side.

And so could we.

Only a few had witnessed our private mating ceremony—just my brother Marrick, Lyra, Caelum, and the Nightclaw elders. I’d kept it small on purpose, wanting intimacy, not spectacle. Caelum’s binding to me had been just as quiet, just as sacred.

Now Caelum spoke again. “She is my bond as well. Marked by magic, chosen by fate, blessed by the Goddess who defied destiny itself to create her.”

My heart tightened at their words, at their open devotion. The Dominion watched us carefully, wary but intrigued. Our unity wasn’t something any of them had ever imagined possible.

I understood their scepticism. I felt it myself, sometimes. But standing there, flanked by Kael’s strength and Caelum’s quiet resolve, I let myself believe again that maybe peace could last. Maybe, finally, we had a chance to rewrite our story.

And as the silence settled once more, heavy but not entirely hopeless, I lifted my gaze, daring anyone else to speak against us. Against this fragile new future we were building together, brick by bloody brick.

I reached for Kael’s hand first, feeling the rough calluses of a warrior who had seen too much loss. My other hand found Caelum’s, softer yet no less certain, his quiet strength grounding me as always. Standing between them, I knew the words I was about to say would crush whatever illusions remained of the old Dominion, and I welcomed it. The Dominion deserved nothing less.

“We stand here because your wars, your hatred, your selfish pride, took everything from us. You don’t have to like us, and honestly, we couldn’t care less, but if you truly want peace, you’ll follow us. This is the goddess” will,” I said.

Unspoken hung the truth I wouldn’t voice aloud; that anyone who chose to ignore the sacrifice of Damien and Fabian would find no mercy or patience here. Only death.

When the last murmurs faded and the council and summit was dismissed, Caelum gently touched my shoulder. He didn’t tell me where we were going; he simply offered his hand, and I took it without hesitation. I was beyond questions now, too tired for doubts.

He led me along a narrow path that wound deeper into the heart of the Grove. New towers and halls rose around us, carved from pale moonstone and smooth ash wood. It was a strange sight—this place, once wild and forgotten, now a growing symbol of something.

We stopped at the foot of a tower I’d never noticed. It wasn’t tall or grand like the council hall or Kael’s watchtower in the south, but it stood proudly, its spiral shape carved carefully, marked with silver runes that shone in the evening light. At its base, clear water pooled softly, fed by a gentle stream that spilled quietly over polished stones.

And there, standing guard in the clearing before the tower, were two statues.

My heart froze mid-beat.

One statue stood exactly as Damien had always stood, defiant and proud, head raised, shoulders back as if daring the world to break him. Even in stone, his lips curled into a familiar snarl. The other was Fabian, quiet and thoughtful, his taller form standing calmly beside Damien’s fierce posture. His hand was raised as though casting, forever protecting this place. They faced each other, their weapons resting at their sides, their backs turned not away from the Grove but toward it, still guarding it even after death.

The sight hit me harder than any wound. My throat burned with grief, my chest tightening painfully. Tears blurred my vision, and I shook as Caelum stepped quietly beside me.

“I built this after our binding ceremony,” he said gently, voice soft but heavy with emotion. “Damien and Fabian died so that we could create a better Dominion. I wanted them remembered for what their lives meant, and how much they loved and protected.”

He paused, looking down at me, his eyes raw. “They were yours too, Luna. Always.”

My knees buckled without warning. I sank to the soft grass, fingers trembling as I reached toward Damien’s cloak, then to Fabian’s outstretched hand carved in cool stone.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered hoarsely, voice breaking. “How am I supposed to lead anyone when half my heart is buried right here with them?”

Caelum knelt slowly beside me, a careful hand brushing along my back, offering comfort without demanding I pretend I was okay.

“Then let us help you carry the other half,” he said quietly.

His words nearly broke me. I leaned into him, grief rising in my throat like an ocean, powerful and so suffocating. But this time it didn’t consume me. It flowed out slowly, easing into the earth with every tear that fell. I didn’t stop myself from crying this time.

“You’re not alone, Luna,” Caelum whispered softly, his breath warm against my hair. “Not ever again.”

Three weeks had passed since the Vale. Three weeks since Damien’s blood soaked the ground, and my heart had been torn apart. Three weeks since Fabian fell to Caelum’s magic. Three weeks since we shattered the Divide and forced the Dominion to begin healing wounds centuries old.

Three long weeks since I’d allowed myself to feel anything except the aching emptiness of their absence.

I hadn’t let them touch me since then. No, not Kael, whose patience lingered like the warmth of a sun-soaked stone, nor Caelum, whose gentle understanding felt like the soft brush of a breeze against raw, exposed skin. The guilt from the vale had settled between us, seeping into every crevice and locking my heart away. Kael never pushed me to move past it. He simply waited. And Caelum only watched me, his gaze soft yet piercing, as if he could trace every jagged line of my pain, every scar I hadn’t yet admitted to myself.

But now, as I knelt beside these statues, the grief that had numbed me finally cracked, replaced by a different kind of pain; a beautiful ache of memory. I brushed the sculpted folds of Fabian’s robes, then Damien’s proud jawline, and my throat tightened again. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t find words powerful enough for what I felt.

Slowly, I rose and turned toward Caelum. He waited quietly from under the branches of a glowing moon-tree, arms crossed gently over his chest, eyes deep with the kind of understanding that always left me breathless. He looked like he’d always known this moment would come. As if he’d been patiently waiting for me to finally find my way back.

I crossed the space between us without hurry. And when I reached him, I didn’t hesitate or ask permission; I kissed him.

Caelum’s breath caught sharply, his body going rigid under my touch as if he thought this was another dream he would lose if he dared to breathe. But then he exhaled, slow and shuddering, and kissed me back. Carefully at first, like I might disappear. When I pressed closer, hungry for more, his arms tightened around me, pulling me to him with reverence that unravelled every remaining defence.

We stumbled backward, down into the shallow, warm brook that pooled at the tower’s base. I didn’t remember losing my cloak, didn’t recall how my fingers found bare skin or how his voice grew rough when I bit softly at his lip. I only knew I needed this—needed him—more than air.

His magic wrapped around me, pulling me closer as we sank into the gentle water. There were no words, explanations or whispered promises; just heat, skin against skin, a tremble of relief and release as our bodies finally met.

And for the first time since that horrible day at the Vale, I wasn’t drowning in guilt or loss. I wasn’t numb, and I wasn’t afraid.

I was alive.

Because Caelum didn’t demand I move on or forget. He simply let me feel all the grief, the love, the ache, and he held me steady through it.

Together, we breathed through the hurt, under the watchful gaze of Damien and Fabian.