The throne room is silent.
Not the silence of submission. Not the silence of fear.
The silence of waiting.
I stand at the top of the dais, barefoot, my robe open at the throat, the cool air kissing my skin. No armor. No sigils. No weapons. Just me—Sage, daughter of Lyra, last of the Moonbloods. And beside me?
Kaelen.
His shadow-woven armor gone. His fangs sheathed. His scars on full display—across his chest, his side, his neck. The ones from battles. From punishments. From love. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t reach for me. Just stands, his presence a wall, his breath steady, his silver eyes scanning the hall.
Below us, they wait.
Wolves. Witches. Fae. Vampires. Humans. Hybrids.
All of them.
Not as subjects. Not as enemies. Not as allies.
As people.
The Pact of Eclipse lies in shards at our feet—blackened parchment, cracked wax, broken seals. The fire that burned it still smolders in the hearth, its embers glowing like dying stars. No more laws. No more lies. No more purges. Just truth. Just choice. Just us.
I look down at the crowd.
At the faces.
At the hands no longer clenched into fists.
At the children who no longer hide.
And I feel it—
Not victory.
Not relief.
Not even peace.
Responsibility.
Because we didn’t just burn a law.
We burned an era.
And now?
Now we have to build something better.
Kaelen shifts beside me. Just a fraction. But I feel it—the coiled strength in his thighs, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch toward mine. He knows what’s coming. We both do.
“They’re waiting,” he murmurs.
“Let them wait,” I say.
He glances at me, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Still defiant.”
“Still impossible.”
He chuckles—low, warm—and reaches for my hand. His fingers are calloused, warm, strong. He doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t pull. Just holds me, like he’s reminding me I’m not alone.
And I’m not.
Not anymore.
Not since the border. Not since the council. Not since I stood before the world and said, “I am not your pawn. I am your queen.”
Not since I bit him.
Not since he let me.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says, voice rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”
I look at him.
Really look.
At the man who once stood between me and my revenge. The man who subdued me to save me. The man who carried me through the rain, through the fire, through the dark.
The man who loves me.
Not because of fate.
Not because of magic.
But because I’m real.
And I love him.
Not because the bond demands it.
But because he’s the only thing that’s ever felt like home.
“I’m ready,” I say.
He nods. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to protect me.
Just steps back.
And lets me walk forward.
I step to the edge of the dais, my bare feet pressing into the cold stone. The hall holds its breath. No whispers. No murmurs. No shouts.
Just silence.
And then—
“I am Sage,” I say, voice clear, carrying. “Daughter of Lyra. Heir of the Moonblood line. Co-leader of the Hybrid Accord.”
A ripple moves through the crowd. Not fear. Not anger.
Recognition.
“I came here to burn them all,” I continue. “To tear down the Spire. To expose the lies. To make them pay for what they did to my mother.”
My voice doesn’t waver. Doesn’t break.
But my hands do.
They tremble at my sides. Not from fear.
From memory.
From fire.
From smoke.
From the silence after the scream.
“And I did,” I say. “I burned the council. I exposed the truth. I made them answer for their crimes.”
I pause.
Let the words settle.
Let the silence stretch.
Then—
“But burning isn’t enough.”
The hall stirs.
Not with unrest. Not with doubt.
With curiosity.
“Fire destroys,” I say. “But it doesn’t build. It doesn’t heal. It doesn’t protect.”
I turn, look at Kaelen.
He’s watching me. Not with pride. Not with awe.
With certainty.
Like he already knows what I’m going to say.
Like he’s known all along.
“We are not here to destroy,” I say, turning back to the crowd. “We are here to create. To protect. To live.”
“No more purges.”
“No more lies.”
“No more blood for blood.”
“From this day forward, no one will be hunted for their blood. No child will burn for who they are. No truth will be punished.”
“We are not wolves. Not witches. Not vampires. Not Fae.”
“We are not hybrids.”
“We are not half-breeds.”
“We are not abominations.”
“We are whole.”
“We are free.”
“We are alive.”
And then—
I raise my hand.
The Archive of Whispers appears—hovering above my palm, glowing with silver light. I don’t speak. Don’t chant. Just open it.
The vision spills out—clear, sharp, undeniable.
Malrik. Standing before the council. Signing the Moonblood purge. Laughing as the flames rose. Watching my mother burn. And then—Kaelen, stepping forward, demanding mercy. Being overruled. Being punished. Being marked.
The vision ends.
The hall is silent.
Not with rage.
Not with denial.
With grief.
With truth.
With justice.
And then—
One by one, they rise.
Not in unison. Not in ceremony.
One by one.
Wolves. Witches. Fae. Vampires. Humans. Hybrids.
Standing. Watching. believing.
And I realize—
This isn’t about me.
It’s about them.
They’re not kneeling.
They’re not bowing.
They’re standing.
And they’re free.
Kaelen steps forward.
Not to the dais. Not to the throne.
To me.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t reach for power. Just takes my hand, lifts it to his lips, and kisses my knuckles.
“You were right,” he says, voice low, for me alone. “You didn’t come here to burn them all.”
I look at him.
“No,” I say. “I came here to burn them all.”
He smiles—just a twitch of his lips.
“And you did.”
“And I rebuilt something better.”
He nods. Then turns to the hall, his voice ringing out.
“The Pact of Eclipse is dead.”
“The council is disbanded.”
“The purge is over.”
“From this day forward, the Hybrid Accord stands. No more species. No more bloodlines. No more lies.”
“We are one.”
“We are free.”
“We are alive.”
And then—
He kneels.
Not in submission.
Not in surrender.
In choice.
Before me. Before the hall. Before the world.
And he lifts my hand.
“Sage of the Moonblood line,” he says, voice steady, strong. “Will you stand with me? Not as my mate. Not as my queen. But as my equal? As my partner? As my truth?”
The hall holds its breath.
Not with fear.
Not with doubt.
With hope.
I look down at him.
At the Alpha-King who once terrified me. Who once stood between me and my revenge. Who once subdued me to save me.
Who once let me bite him.
Who once whispered, “Then hate me. But don’t die.”
And I know—
This isn’t just about justice.
Not just about power.
Not just about survival.
This is about love.
Not the kind that burns.
Not the kind that destroys.
But the kind that builds.
The kind that heals.
The kind that lives.
I step forward.
Not to the throne.
Not to power.
But to him.
I drop to my knees before him, my hands framing his face, my thumbs brushing his scars.
“I stand with you,” I say, voice clear. “Not as your mate. Not as your queen. But as your equal. As your partner. As your truth.”
And then—
I kiss him.
Not with fury.
Not with desperation.
Not with fire.
With certainty.
Slow. Deep. Endless.
And as his hands move, as his mouth finds mine, as the hall erupts into cheers, as the children laugh, as the wind carries our names through the spires—
I know.
The war isn’t over.
There will be more lies.
More purges.
More blood.
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.
—
Later, we stand on the balcony.
The city sprawls below—awake, alive, free. Lanterns sway gently in the evening breeze. Children run through the square, their laughter ringing through the air. The sapling still stands, its leaves shimmering with captured starlight, its roots deep in the earth.
And above it all?
Peace.
Not the peace of surrender.
Not the quiet of exhaustion.
The peace of choice.
Kaelen stands beside me, his hand in mine, his heat a steady pulse against my side. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.
We did it.
Not with blood.
Not with fire.
With truth.
And it was harder than I thought.
“You were good out there,” he says, voice low.
“So were you.”
“I meant what I said. About standing with me.”
“I know.” I squeeze his hand. “And I meant what I said too. About being your equal.”
He turns to me, his silver eyes searching. “You’re not just a queen, Sage. You’re a leader. And you’re better at it than you think.”
“I don’t want to be a leader,” I say. “I want to be real. I want to be able to walk into a market and haggle over apples. I want to argue with you without half the city thinking the Accord is collapsing. I want 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 glare at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
He grins—fully this time—and pulls me into his arms, lifting me off my feet. I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders, my legs wrapping around his waist. He carries me through the night, his heat searing through my robe, his heartbeat strong beneath my palm.
“You’re distracting me,” I murmur.
“Good.” He kisses me—slow, deep, savoring—before his mouth moves to my neck, his teeth grazing the pulse point. I shiver. “You don’t have to be perfect,” he says against my skin. “You don’t have to be fearless. You just have to be you. And that’s enough.”
And then—
He shows me.
Not with words.
With hands.
With mouth.
With heat.
And as the stars watch over us, as the city breathes beneath our feet, as the wind carries our names into the night—
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.