POV: Soraya
A year in Zehrael land feels like a lifetime and a single breath all at once.
If someone had told me I would stand on a moonlit balcony overlooking glowing blue sands as Luna of an entire nation—alive, whole, loved in a way that demands nothing—I would have laughed. Or cried. Or both.
But time has a way of reshaping a shattered life into something new. Not perfect. Not painless. But real.
The Zehrael stronghold hums beneath my feet, a living thing carved into the cliffs. Every morning the air shimmers with soft magic as wolves shift and run along the ledges. Children practice control exercises, tiny sparks of silver drifting from their hands like fireflies. Warriors meditate beside crystal pools, learning discipline rather than bloodlust.
This place rebuilt me.
Piece by slow piece.
And over twelve months, Zehrael land changed too.
Walls rebuilt. Borders strengthened. Traditions revived.
Hope—real hope—took root again.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, I became theirs.
***
My room—our room—faces the western horizon. From here, the dunes stretch endlessly, glowing violet under dawn light. Baltimus built the balcony railing himself, carved with Zehrael symbols for clarity and unity. He said I should watch the desert wake each day, so it remembers me and I remember it.
“You’re part of this land now,” he told me on the morning after the wedding. “It must know your heartbeat.”
At first the words scared me. Now they soothe me.
I lean my elbows on the cool stone, breathing in the quiet.
Inside the chamber behind me, faint footsteps echo—Baltimus rising early, probably preparing for another long council day. His movements are steady, controlled. He’s a man who rarely startles, never rushes, and speaks as if every word weighs something.
Our marriage is the same.
Steady. Respectful. No illusions. No pressure.
When he first asked, he didn’t kneel or bring flowers. He simply sat across from me at the meditation chamber and said:
“Zehrael needs a Luna. You are the strongest among us. I will not ask for your love. I will offer you partnership, autonomy, and a united front. Say no, and nothing changes between us. Say yes… and you will rule beside me.”
I said yes.
Not because of romance. Not because I was trying to replace someone. Not because I stopped grieving what I lost.
But because this land had welcomed me when no one else did.
Because the wolves looked to me, trusted me, grew with me.
Because Baltimus was honest. And gentle. And safe.
Because being Luna means safety for me as well.
Our bond is a quiet one. A partnership. A shield.
And slowly—without forcing itself—something warm has grown between us. Not the wildfire I once knew, but a steady lantern that never blows out.
I don’t love him.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever in the way he deserves.
But I care for him deeply.
And he never asks for more.
***
After a year of training, my powers aren’t a threat to anyone anymore.
Heira made sure of that. Every morning she tested my ability to control healing energy: lifting minor wounds from warriors’ skins, stabilizing fevers, soothing shakes after bad shifts. My telepathy is no longer a chaotic storm either. The elders taught me how to erect mental walls, leaving only the door I choose to open.
As for my wolf… she is no longer a beast clawing inside me.
She runs when I let her. She shifts smoothly, without tearing pain. Her eyes glow moon-silver, and her fur ripples with Zehrael markings.
I’m not afraid of her anymore.
We exist as one.
Balanced.
Sometimes when I shift, the entire pack sits along the ledges to watch. Young wolves look at me the way I once looked at elders—half awe, half curiosity, half fear.
“Luna Soraya,” they whisper.
“Moon-marked one.”
“She brought Zehrael back.”
I’m no savior.
I just lived.
But if they need a symbol of rebirth, I will wear the mantle.
***
When Baltimus steps onto the balcony beside me, the morning wind lifts his dark braids. He ties them back with a strip of silver cloth, then rests one hand on the rail, not brushing mine—he never touches without invitation.
“Council wants you in the meeting later,” he says mildly. “They need your thoughts on the northern border patrols.”
I nod. “I’ll be there.”
His eyes flicker over my face, checking. Not demanding. Assessing.
“You slept well?”
“Mostly,” I lie.
His eyebrow lifts. “Another vision?”
I sigh. “Another memory. Or half-memory. It’s hard to tell.”
He doesn’t push.
He never pushes.
“Walk with me after the meeting,” he says instead. “There’s something I want to show you. A new training ground.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “Another one? The last one nearly buried me in sand.”
“Which strengthened your stance.”
“And almost killed me,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “Effective methods often do both.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
He doesn’t. But his eyes warm.
Silence settles between us—not awkward but familiar. Companionable.
Then Baltimus turns toward me fully.
“You’ve grown, Soraya.”
His voice is low, but not heavy. Like he’s stating a fact he’s proud of. “You move like you belong here now. With certainty. Not fear.”
I swallow. “I… feel like I do.”
His expression softens—barely, but enough. “Good. Zehrael stands stronger with you.”
And I stand stronger with them.
I don’t say the words aloud. But he hears the truth in my silence.
Baltimus straightens. “I’ll wait outside the council chamber.” He hesitates, then adds, “Take your time this morning. The pack can manage without you for one hour.”
When he leaves, I breathe deeply again.
A year ago, I was running barefoot through a desert, bleeding, hunted, alone. I was unwanted by one empire and used by another. A year ago, I didn’t know where I belonged.
Now? I have a home carved into moonlit stone. People who call me Luna.
A wolf who runs free under starlight. A husband who respects my every boundary. A life. A future.
And for the first time in all the years I’ve been alive—I feel safe enough to imagine what comes next.