POV: Soraya
The journey toward Ashra was calmer than the one to Saren. The desert stretched wide, endlessly breathing, the dunes rising and falling like a golden tide beneath the late afternoon sun. I let the steady rhythm of my horse soothe the knot of emotions twisting inside me after seeing my father. Baltimus rode beside me in silence, but it was the comforting kind—the kind that let me piece myself back together without pressure.
When the wind shifted, he glanced at me.
“Do you wish to return straight to Zehrael?” he asked. “You’ve had enough for one day.”
I breathed in, then out.
“No,” I murmured. “We should go to Ashra. I… I want to see them. Vienne, Kaide, Tazir.”
I hesitated. “And… Raevan.”
Baltimus nodded as if he already expected it. “And politically, it will serve us. Ashra needs to see Zehrael stand by them. Zarek is stirring the desert too violently for us to remain apart.”
His voice held calm logic, but I knew him well enough to hear the personal layer beneath it. He was doing this for me more than for politics.
“I appreciate you,” I whispered.
He offered a small, warm smile. “I know.”
The sun dipped lower as we approached the borders of Ashra. The fortress-city rose from the sand like carved obsidian, sharp and dark against the glowing sky. Towers of black stone shimmered with runes etched by generations of wolves. The gates—two enormous wolf statues with sapphire eyes—opened the moment our group approached.
Baltimus lifted his chin, posture instinctively Alpha-like. “Stay close to me.”
As though I would ever wander from someone who felt more like a shield than a husband.
We passed through the gates, and instantly, the air shifted. Wolves paused in their tasks, eyes widening. Their scents inhaled sharply.
“Zehrael…”
“Moon-marked…”
“Is she really—?”
“Baltimus of the Lost Clan…”
“Gods, they’re alive.”
Whispers rippled through every corner of the courtyard like wind through dry grass.
Baltimus leaned toward me. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “But they look at us like legends.”
“You are,” he said simply.
Before I could comment, a familiar voice pierced the crowd.
“Soraya!”
My head snapped toward the sound.
Vienne was running—actually running—through warriors and elders and startled guards, her braid whipping behind her and her eyes fuller than I remembered. The instant she reached me, she threw her arms around my waist so hard it knocked a tear straight out of me.
“I thought I was dreaming,” she whispered against my shoulder. “Oh gods, you’re back.”
I swallowed against the lump thickening in my throat and hugged her tightly.
“I missed you too,” I whispered, voice cracking.
Baltimus stepped slightly back, letting us have the moment.
Vienne pulled away and cupped my cheeks. “You look different,” she breathed. “Stronger. Radiant. Like a wolf who finally knows her place.”
“I do,” I said softly.
Her gaze flicked to Baltimus, eyes widening. “And you must be—”
“Baltimus,” he said, offering a courteous nod. “Alpha of Zehrael. We’ve met.”
Vienne’s jaw dropped. Then she bowed—deeply. “It is an honor.”
Baltimus looked slightly amused. “Honor is mutual.”
The courtyard stirred again as more warriors approached—some bowing, some murmuring reverently, others just staring. I felt their awe like static on my skin.
“Soraya…” a guard whispered. “We thought you died.”
I met his gaze calmly. “So did I.”
Another voice chimed in. “And Zehrael… we thought your land was gone.”
Baltimus stepped forward in a way that made everyone instinctively straighten.
“It is not gone,” he said. “And you are not alone in the war that approaches.”
Gasps spiraled through the gathered wolves. Respect rolled through the air like a bowing tide.
Then footsteps approached—slow, hesitant.
Kaide.
His eyes found mine across the courtyard, widening with a shock that softened into something warmer—relief, disbelief, and the ache of a brother who thought he had lost someone forever. He stepped forward.
“You’re really here,” he said quietly.
I nodded, throat tight. “I’m here.”
He didn’t hug me—Kaide was too composed, too Kaide for that—but he placed a hand over his heart and bowed.
“Welcome home, little moon.”
That one sentence undid every emotional wall I had left.
Baltimus watched the exchange with a faint smile, like he knew these were the pieces of my heart he could never touch, but still respected.
Tazir approached next, grinning widely. “Look at you,” he said, shaking his head. “Zehrael Luna, huh? I always said there was something terrifying about you.”
“Thank you,” I said dryly.
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“Obviously,” I muttered.
The courtyard softened with laughter. For a moment, everything felt almost normal—almost peaceful. Almost like the year of pain and loss had not carved itself into my bones.
But beneath the laughter and warmth, I felt another presence.
A stare.
Sharp enough to burn the side of my face.
I didn’t look toward Raevan. Not yet.
I couldn’t. Not when my heart still remembered how to break.
Vienne squeezed my arm gently and whispered, “He’s here.”
“I know,” I murmured.
Baltimus shifted closer, placing a grounding hand against the small of my back. A silent reassurance: You’re not alone.
A breeze rolled through Ashra’s courtyard, carrying scents of steel, dust, fire—and an ache I tried to ignore.
I finally lifted my eyes.
Raevan stood across the courtyard.
Frozen. Silent. Staring at me like I was a miracle he wasn’t allowed to touch.
Ashra watched, breath held, waiting for something to explode.
Baltimus leaned close and whispered, “Are you ready?”
I inhaled deeply.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I am.”
Because this time, I wasn’t a frightened girl dragged by fate.
I was Luna of Zehrael. And I had returned not to bend, but to stand.