The morning after the funeral, the pack gathered in the meeting hall, its usual warmth replaced with a suffocating tension. Kleon sat at the edge of the room, his eyes downcast. He could feel their stares burning into him, hear the murmurs of discontent that rippled through the crowd. Lyra, standing at the head of the room, was a pillar of resolve, though the strain of grief and frustration was evident in the tightness of her jaw.
A messenger entered, breaking the tension with the rustle of parchment. He handed Lyra a letter, bowing before stepping back. She unrolled it, her eyes scanning the contents quickly. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“It’s from Crescent Howl,” she said, her voice carrying through the room. “Bella has been named Luna. Alpha Kael stands beside her, and their pack flourishes.”
The news struck Kleon like a blow. His cousin Bella—once tormented, humiliated, and doubted—had risen to become a Luna. She had succeeded where he had failed. The weight of comparison settled heavily on his shoulders, and he struggled to meet his mother’s gaze.
Lyra turned to him, her expression unreadable. “Your cousin endured unimaginable hardships,” she said. “And yet, she found the strength to rise above them. She became a leader, a protector. Can you say the same, Kleon?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered. Lyra stepped closer, her voice dropping low enough that only Kleon could hear. “You are my only heir, but yesterday, you let this pack down. You let your grandparents die, and you allowed rogues to take from us. I can’t protect you from the consequences anymore.”
Kleon’s voice cracked as he whispered, “What are you going to do?”
Lyra straightened, addressing the pack. “Kleon will leave this pack. He will not return until he proves himself worthy of leading us.”
The room erupted into murmurs and gasps. Kleon’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re exiling me?” he choked out.
“This is not exile,” Lyra said firmly. “This is a lesson. You grew up with everything handed to you, Kleon. It’s time you learn what it means to fight for something. To earn it.”
Kleon’s fists clenched, his heart a storm of anger and regret. He stood, his voice rising above the noise. “Fine,” he spat. “If you think I’m such a failure, I’ll leave. Maybe I’ll prove you wrong. Or maybe I won’t. Either way, I’m done being judged by this pack.”
Without waiting for her response, Kleon stormed out, the murmurs following him like ghosts.