She wasn’t just playing politics.

She was starting a war.

And I was the match.

Before sunrise, I stood on the balcony overlooking the training grounds, watching warriors gather.

Caelin walked up beside me, eyes tired.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Good. Stay sharp. You’re not fighting ghosts anymore. These are wolves with claws and centuries of grudges.”

She patted my shoulder and walked off.

I stayed, watching the sky shift from dark blue to blood-orange.

And I knew.

This was the beginning of the end.

One way or another.

The sky bled red at dawn.

Ominous. Prophetic. Like the moon was giving us a warning and a promise all in one.

I stood on the edge of the Darkwood training grounds, armor strapped to my shoulders, the sigils on my skin dimmed beneath the thick black fabric. But I could feel them. Thrumming. Buzzing. Waiting.

Ronan stood beside me. Dressed in obsidian war gear, calm as ever. The only hint of tension was the muscle twitching in his jaw.

“She’s going to come hard and fast,” I said quietly.

“She always does. Zara thrives on shock.”

“She’s counting on chaos.”

He turned toward me, silver eyes hard. “Then we give her order.”

A simple nod.

And the battle preparations began.

Hours passed like seconds.

Orders were shouted. Warriors assembled. Caelin passed out blades and hand signals. The mood was taut—no one spoke more than necessary.

And me? I was vibrating from the inside out.

Not with fear. That part was burned out of me months ago.

No, this was something different.

Purpose.

I was done hiding. Done begging for scraps of safety.

If this was the prophecy—I’d own it.

Even if it killed me.

We didn’t wait for Zara to attack.

We struck first.

Ronan led a scouting team through the eastern ridge while I and a small pack of warriors took the north flank, where Zara’s forces had set up a rogue post. We were supposed to watch. Observe.

But watching isn’t really my style.

Especially not when I saw him.

Damian.

Alive. Armed. And laughing.

My pulse spiked.

I signaled Caelin. “New plan.”

“You’re about to do something stupid, aren’t you?”

“Almost definitely.”

We ambushed.

Fast, brutal, surgical.

The rogues scattered as we hit them hard, steel flashing in the daylight. I moved on instinct. My blade found bodies before my brain could think. My wolf growled behind my eyes, eager for more.

And then—

He turned.

Damian.

His smug face dropped the second he saw me.

“Lyra?”

I smiled coldly. “Miss me?”

He stepped forward, raising his sword. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You mean alive?” I tilted my head. “Funny. That’s what the last rogues said before I buried them.”

He looked shaken. Good.

“You’re different,” he muttered. “You’ve changed.”

“No thanks to you.”

He lunged.

And I let him.

Because the moment his blade touched my shoulder, my mark lit up—and flared with pure moonlight.

He screamed as his weapon burned red-hot in his hands.

I grabbed his throat and slammed him into a tree.

“You took everything from me,” I hissed. “Now I take back me.”

He wheezed. “You don’t understand what’s coming—”

“I understand perfectly.”

The sigils on my arms spiraled outward, glowing brighter. My power surged—not wild like before, but sharp. Controlled.

I didn’t kill him.

Not yet.

I released him and let him fall gasping to the dirt. “Go. Crawl back to Zara. Tell her I’m coming.”

His eyes widened in fear.

Good.

We returned to the pack with minor injuries and a major win. But there was no celebration.

Because Ronan was missing.

He hadn’t returned with his team.

The air in the packhouse turned to ice.

Panic flickered in every corner.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Caelin grabbed my arm. “You don’t think—”

“No,” I said. “I know.”

Zara had him.

And I was done letting people I cared about get ripped away from me.

Darius tried to stop me. So did the war council.

“You can’t just march into Zara’s stronghold!”

“Watch me.”

“She’s baiting you.”

“Let her.”

I stood before them, not as a marked girl or rejected mate—but as something new.

Something feared.

“She took my Alpha,” I said. “She declared war. And she wants me to come? Fine. I will.”

The mark on my chest flared.

Darius paled. “Your powers—if you push them too far—”

“I’m not going to push them,” I said.

“I’m going to wield them.”

I took a small strike team. Caelin. Three others. Silent, lethal.

The moment we crossed into Zara’s borderlands, I felt it.

Dark magic.

Thick and oily in the air.

She’d made a pact with something foul. And I could feel it watching me.

We hit the stronghold by midnight.

My visions had shown me pieces—corridors, doorways, shadows.

And I followed them like a map etched into my bones.

Then I heard it.

A groan.

A familiar voice.

Ronan.

I broke down the door with a wave of my hand. Wood shattered. Guards went flying.

He was chained, shirtless, blood dripping down his arms—but alive.

I dropped beside him. “You’re okay?”

He smiled faintly. “Took you long enough.”

I grabbed the chains. My sigils pulsed, heating the metal, melting it in seconds.

He collapsed into me. “She’s coming.”

“I know.”

And then the door slammed shut.

Zara.

She stepped through the smoke like a queen of nightmares.

“Lyra. You’re glowing again.”

“I get that a lot lately.”

Her eyes gleamed. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“You took something that belongs to me.”

“You belong to me, child. You just don’t know it yet.”

Her power exploded out—black tendrils of corrupted magic, snaking toward me.

I raised my arms, and the moon answered.

Silver met shadow.

Light met darkness.

The room shook.

Zara screamed.

And I let go.

Everything I’d been holding back—every wound, every rejection, every ounce of fury and pain—I unleashed it.

Moonlight roared through the chamber, tearing her magic to shreds. The sigils on my skin flared with fire, and for a moment, I was the prophecy.

Power.

Judgment.

Rebirth.

I don’t remember how long the blast lasted.

When the light faded, the stronghold was in ruins.

Zara was gone.

Not dead. Not yet.

But scattered.