The great hall of Creek Mountain shimmered with lantern light, each flame swaying like a captured star. The air hummed with the pulse of hundreds of heartbeats, yet the energy tonight was not of war, fear, or chaos. It was softer, joyful, reverent, woven with the threads of peace long fought for.

Celeste stood in the center, her dark hair now streaked with silver, her curves carved more by wisdom than battle. She still carried herself as an Alpha, shoulders square, chin lifted, but her eyes ...