POV: Soraya
The desert wind had finally cooled when Baltimus and I stepped outside the Saren palace. The sky stretched wide and pale above us, soft and quiet—a mercy after the venomous tension Zarek left coiled inside my ribs. Our horses were waiting at the foot of the steps, stamping at the sand as if they, too, wanted nothing more than to flee this place.
I exhaled slowly, ready to ride, ready to put Saren behind me again.
Then a voice I never wanted to hear again cracked across the courtyard.
“...Soraya?”
Everything inside me froze.
My head turned slowly, as if pulled by invisible chains. Baltimus stiffened beside me, hand hovering near my back.
A man stood near the archway, leaning heavily on a carved staff. His hair had grayed. His skin sagged. His shoulders bent as though the weight of the world had crushed them long ago.
Darron. My father.
I felt my stomach drop into the sand.
He took a step toward me, eyes wide and wet, trembling as though he beheld a ghost rather than a daughter he cast out to die.
“Soraya,” he whispered again. “My child. My little girl.”
My throat closed so sharply I couldn’t breathe.
He kept walking, hands shaking. “You’re alive. You’re truly alive. And you’re—” He swallowed hard, gaze flicking to Baltimus, then back to me. “Luna of Zehrael. Gods, Soraya… look at you.”
The words were gentle, full of awe and pain.
And they made something dark flash through me.
My fists closed until my nails dug into my palms.
“You,” I hissed, “don’t you dare.”
He flinched as though struck. “Soraya… please. I—”
“You killed her,” I said, my voice trembling. “You killed my mother.”
His lips parted, breath shaking. “I—I regret—”
“No.” My eyes burned, vision swimming. “You murdered her in front of me. And then you dragged me through your palace like a stain, like something shameful. You didn’t even blink when Zarek chained me.”
“Soraya—listen—”
“You left me there!” My voice broke. “You left me to rot in his hands. You knew what he wanted from me. You knew he would destroy me. And you did nothing.”
Tears rolled down his lined face. “I was afraid. I—Zarek controlled everything. I thought—”
“You thought only of yourself,” I snapped. “You always did.”
He stumbled forward another step. “I thought you were dead. I mourned you. Every day—”
Baltimus stepped in front of me, blocking him with nothing more than his presence. His voice was cold iron.
“That is close enough.”
Darron stared at him with shaking fear. “Alpha Baltimus… forgive me, I only wish to speak to my daughter—”
“You lost that right the moment you condemned her with your silence.” Baltimus’ aura sharpened like a blade. “You will not approach her. You will not touch her. And you will not attempt to rewrite history.”
Darron’s voice cracked, desperate. “I want to make amends—”
“You cannot unspill blood,” Baltimus said quietly. “And you cannot heal a wound you inflicted with your cowardice.”
My breath trembled at the raw, merciless truth in his tone.
Darron looked at me again, tears streaking down his face. “Soraya… please. Please look at me. I am still your father.”
My wolf snarled violently inside me.
“You’re nothing to me,” I said.
He recoiled like the words were knives.
“You’re a stranger wearing my father’s face. My father died the day he killed my mother.”
Darron’s knees buckled. He dropped to the ground, hands outstretched, begging. “I failed you. I failed her. But please—please don’t turn your back on me. You’re all I have left.”
A broken sob tore up my throat. I hated that his words hurt, hated that he still had the ability to twist something in my chest.
Baltimus turned to me, voice softer. “Soraya. You owe him nothing.”
My hands shook. My breath trembled.
Darron’s voice grew small. “I love you, Soraya. I always… I always loved you.”
A bitter smile twisted across my lips. “If that was love, then I’d rather be unloved.”
He cried harder, shoulders shaking. “Please…”
I looked down at him for a long, painful moment—this broken, withered man who never chose me, who never protected me, who killed the only parent I had left.
And for the first time, I felt nothing.
No lingering love. No ache. No longing. Just emptiness.
“I survived without you,” I whispered. “And I will keep surviving without you.”
Darron reached forward again as if to touch my feet. Baltimus shifted instantly, stepping between us like a wall.
“If you take one more step toward her,” he said quietly, “I will intervene, and you will not enjoy the outcome.”
Darron collapsed fully then, forehead pressed to the stone, sobbing into the dust. “Please… please…”
Baltimus placed a steady hand on my back and guided me toward the horses.
I followed him, trembling, feeling every ounce of strength drain from my bones.
When we reached the horses, I let out a shuddering breath I’d been holding for years.
Baltimus spoke gently.
“You were brave.”
“No,” I whispered. “I was angry.”
“And rightfully so.” He helped me onto my horse. “But you stood your ground. You faced him. And you didn’t break.”
I swallowed hard, throat burning. “I thought I would.”
Baltimus mounted his horse and leaned closer to me.
“You didn’t. And you won’t.”
Behind us, Darron’s cries echoed across the stone courtyard, thin and broken under the desert sun.
I didn’t look back.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
Baltimus clicked the reins, and together we rode away from Saren—with the past finally left screaming behind us on the sand.