The garden remembers.
Not in the way of stone or blood, not in the echo of spells or the weight of memory, but in roots. In the way the moonflowers climb the blackened trellis where the Spire’s fire once scorched, in the way the silver ivy winds through cracks in the marble, in the way the soil—once poisoned with corruption—now pulses with quiet life. I step barefoot onto the moss-covered path, my robe open at the throat, the morning sun warm on my skin. The scent of jasmine is stronger here, tangled now with the sweetness of blooming nightshade, the crisp bite of pine, the ever-present whisper of iron—memory, not threat.
This place was once Malrik’s sanctuary.
His private garden, hidden behind wards and shadows, where he walked alone beneath the weight of his lies. Where he knelt in silence after condemning my mother to the pyre. Where he whispered her name into the dark.
Now?
It’s ours.
Kaelen walks beside me, bare-chested, his shadow-woven armor replaced with simple trousers, his scars catching the light. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t touch me. Just watches the garden—his silver eyes scanning the flowers, the fountain, the crumbling statue of a wolf with its throat torn out. He’s been quiet since dawn. Not tense. Not brooding. Just… present. Like he’s memorizing the moment.
“You brought me here for a reason,” he says, voice low.
“I didn’t bring you,” I say. “I came to remember.”
He stops, turns to me. “Then why did you let me follow?”
I don’t answer.
Because I did let him.
Because even now, after everything—after the truth, after the war, after the claiming—I don’t want to face the ghosts alone.
We move deeper into the garden, the path curving around a small pool where black lilies float, their petals edged with silver. At the center, the fountain still stands—cracked, silent, its basin filled with rainwater and fallen petals. The statue looms over it, half-collapsed, its stone eyes hollow, its mouth frozen in a snarl.
And beneath it?
A single rose.
Red. Perfect. alive.
It shouldn’t be here. Not in this soil. Not in this garden. Not after what it’s survived.
And yet—
It blooms.
I kneel beside it, my fingers hovering over the petals. Not to pluck. Not to destroy.
To see.
“She loved roses,” I say, voice rough. “My mother. Not the red ones. The white ones. The ones that grew in the old grove, before it burned.”
Kaelen crouches beside me, his heat searing through the air. “You never told me that.”
“There was a lot I didn’t tell you.” I trace the edge of a petal. “She used to say they were the only thing that could grow in shadow and still be pure.”
He’s silent for a long moment. Then: “Do you think she’s here?”
“Not as a ghost.” I shake my head. “Not as a spirit. But in the soil. In the roots. In the way this rose refuses to die.” I look at him. “She’s in me. In the way I fight. In the way I love. In the way I refuse to let the world break me.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just studies me—really studies me. “And what do you want from her now?”
I close my eyes.
Because I know.
Not vengeance.
Not justice.
Not even peace.
I want permission.
To stop fighting.
To stop surviving.
To just… be.
“I want to know if I’m doing this right,” I whisper. “If I’m strong enough. If I’m good enough. If I can protect what we’ve built without becoming the monster they said I was.”
He reaches for me—not to pull me into his arms, not to distract me, but to take my hand, to press it over his heart. His pulse is strong, steady, real.
“You don’t need her permission,” he says. “You never did. You were always enough. Even when you were trying to kill me.”
I open my eyes, glare at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
He grins—fully this time—and pulls me to my feet, lifting me off the ground. I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders, my legs wrapping around his waist. He carries me to the fountain, sets me down on the cracked edge, then steps between my thighs, his hands framing my face.
“You don’t have to carry it all,” he says, voice rough. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be here. With me. Alive. Unbroken.”
“It feels like it should be more,” I whisper.
“It is more,” he says. “But it starts with this. With us. With the fact that you’re not running. That you’re not hiding. That you’re staying.”
And then—
He kisses me.
Not with hunger. Not with need.
With certainty.
His mouth moves over mine, slow, deep, grounding, like he’s reminding me who I am. Not just a queen. Not just a weapon. Not just a hybrid.
His.
And he is mine.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm on my skin. “You don’t have to have all the answers,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to carry the weight alone. That’s what the Accord is for. That’s what I’m for.”
“And what if I fail?” I whisper.
“Then we fail together.” He cups my face, his thumb brushing my lip. “But we won’t. Because you’re not just strong, Sage. You’re right. And the world finally sees it.”
I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. “I don’t want to be a symbol,” I say. “I want to be real. I want to be able to walk the streets without people bowing. I want to be able to argue with you without half the city thinking it’s a crisis. I want to be able to love you without it being a political statement.”
He chuckles—low, warm. “Too late for that. Loving me was always a political statement.”
I open my eyes, glare at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
He grins again, and this time, he doesn’t kiss me.
He just holds me.
And for the first time since I walked into the Spire, I let myself be held.
—
The garden hums with life.
Not magic. Not memory.
Just presence.
Bees hover over the moonflowers. Birds flit between the ivy. A fox—small, silver-furred, its eyes sharp—watches us from the shadows before vanishing into the undergrowth. And beneath it all?
The rose.
Still blooming.
Still alive.
I don’t pluck it.
Don’t crush it.
Just leave it there—rooted in the soil, defiant in the light.
And as we walk back through the garden, Kaelen’s hand in mine, his heat a steady pulse against my side, I know—
I don’t need permission.
I don’t need absolution.
I don’t need to be a myth.
I just need to be here.
And that’s enough.
—
The northern tower breathes.
Not with healing magic. Not with quiet. But with purpose. The moment we return, the corridors flood with messengers, rebels, healers, warriors. Taryn stands at the entrance, his armor repaired, his sword at his side, his leg healed but his gaze sharp. He bows as we pass.
“The packs are with you,” he says. “The witches are mobilizing. The Fae are… watching.”
“Riven?” I ask.
“Vanished,” Taryn says, smirking. “Left a note. Said he’d be back when the real fun starts.”
I don’t smile.
Just nod.
Kaelen doesn’t speak. Just grips my hand tighter, his thumb brushing my knuckles, his presence a wall against the storm. We move through the tower—past the healing chambers, past the war rooms, past the library where I once cornered Malrik, where we first kissed in the rain. The air hums with tension. Not fear. Not doubt. But anticipation.
We reach the war chamber—a vast hall with a map of the Shadow Continent carved into the stone floor. Candles flicker around the edges, their flames steady. The leaders are already there—wolves, witches, Fae, even a few human representatives. They fall silent as we enter.
“A new threat,” says the elder witch, stepping forward. Her hair is white, her eyes milky, her staff carved with moon runes. “From the east. A rogue pack—led by a wolf who claims the Alpha throne was stolen from his bloodline. They’ve already attacked two outposts. Killed twelve.”
The chamber stirs.
Some snarl. Some mutter. Some reach for weapons.
Kaelen doesn’t move. Just studies the map, his jaw tight, his fangs retracted but his presence feral.
“And what do they want?” I ask.
“Power,” says a vampire elder. “Chaos. The return of the old ways.”
“Then they’ll get war,” Taryn growls.
“No,” I say.
They turn to me.
“Not war,” I say. “Not yet. We don’t respond to fire with fire. We respond with truth.”
“And if they attack again?” asks a werewolf elder.
“Then we defend,” I say. “But we don’t become them. We don’t slaughter. We don’t purge. We show them what we’ve built. We show them the sapling. We show them the child. We show them that there’s another way.”
They murmur.
Some in anger. Some in confusion. Some in awe.
And then—
“I stand with you,” says the elder witch, stepping forward. “The Moonblood line was wronged. The truth demands justice. And I will not see another purge.”
“Nor will the Northern Packs,” Taryn says, stepping up. “The Alpha speaks for us. And we stand with him.”
One by one, they join—wolves, witches, Fae, humans. The vampires hesitate longest. But in the end, even they bow their heads.
“Then it’s done,” Kaelen says, voice final.
“Not yet,” I say.
I turn to the map. To the east. To the border.
“We go to them,” I say. “Not with an army. Not with weapons. But with a delegation. With truth. With light. With unity.”
They stare.
Some in awe. Some in fear. Some in hope.
And Kaelen?
He doesn’t speak.
Just takes my hand.
And squeezes.
—
That night, we stand on the highest balcony.
The city sprawls below—dark, restless, alive. The ruins of the Spire smolder in the distance, its blackened bones jutting into the sky. But the wind carries something new. Not just the scent of iron and jasmine.
Hope.
Kaelen stands behind me, his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. His breath is warm on my neck, his body a furnace against my back. I lean into him, my hands covering his, my pulse steady.
“You did it,” he murmurs. “You burned the lie.”
“We did,” I say. “Not me. Not you. Us.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just holds me tighter.
And then—
“What now?” he asks.
I turn in his arms, facing him. His silver eyes search mine, his jaw tight, his breath warm. “Now we go to them,” I say. “Now we show them what we’ve built. Not with force. Not with fear. But with truth.”
He studies me—really studies me. “And if they kill you?”
“Then they kill us both,” I say. “Because I’m not going without you.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just cups my face, his thumb brushing my lip, his voice low, final.
“Then I’ll stand beside you. Always.”
And then—
He kisses me.
Not soft. Not slow.
With need.
His mouth crashes over mine, not gentle, not careful, but hungry, like he’s trying to memorize me, like he’s afraid this is the last time, like he’s pouring every unspoken word, every buried fear, every silent vow into this one kiss. I gasp, my body arching into him, my fingers clawing at his shoulders. He groans, his hands tightening on my hips, his body pressing me back until the stone railing bites into my spine.
“Sage,” he murmurs against my lips, breathless, broken. “I don’t deserve you.”
“No,” I say, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You don’t. But you have me anyway.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just kisses me again.
And as the moon climbs higher, as the city breathes below, as the ruins smolder in the distance—
I know.
The war isn’t over.
Malrik is still a threat.
The council still a prison.
But we’re not fighting alone.
We’re not just a weapon.
Not just a pawn.
Not just a hybrid.
We’re Sage and Kaelen.
And we are unstoppable.