Prophecy worth celebrating

Emry’s POV

Dawn crept through the curtains, soft and gold, painting thin lines across the bed.

Emry stirred, heavy with the kind of exhaustion that came from too many emotions and too little rest.

Braxton’s arm was still draped over her waist, his breathing deep and slow. His warmth pressed against her back, steadying the storm still humming beneath her ribs. She let herself stay there a moment longer, eyes half-closed, counting the rhythm of his heart against hers.

Then reality whispered its reminder — prophecy, rogues, the weight of the moon.

She exhaled, untangling herself gently.

“Stay,” Braxton murmured, half-asleep.

“I can’t,” she whispered, brushing his hand from her hip. “If I stay, I’ll forget why the world keeps spinning.”

His lips curved lazily. “That’s the point.”

She smiled despite herself, tugging on her tunic. “Sleep, Braxton.”

“Only if you come back before noon,” he mumbled.

She didn’t answer, but her grin lingered as she slipped out into the corridor.

⸻

The halls smelled of bread and honey. Warm voices echoed from the kitchen, grounding her in something blessedly normal. When she entered, Mirae was already there — legs folded on a bench, mug in hand, looking perfectly at home.

“Well, well,” Mirae said with a smirk. “The moon-touched descends from her divine quarters. I was starting to think you’d joined the heavens permanently.”

Emry rolled her eyes. “Good morning to you too.”

“Morning? Sweetheart, the sun’s practically bored waiting for you to wake up.”

Mirae’s grin softened. “Though to be fair, I’d probably sleep late too if I had a mate built like that.”

“Mirae,” Emry warned, though her cheeks betrayed her.

“What? It’s a compliment! The pack’s still talking, you know. Half of them think the goddess herself tied you two together under the moon.” She leaned forward, conspiratorial. “So, when’s the celebration?”

“The what?”

“The mate ceremony,” Mirae said, as if it were obvious. “Don’t tell me you’re skipping it. Emry, it’s tradition! Blessing under the moon, vows before the pack — it’s practically the only good thing the elders still do that involves dancing and wine.”

Emry froze halfway through reaching for a piece of bread. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

Mirae stared at her. “You what? You sealed a divine bond and didn’t think about the ceremony? Gods, I leave for a few months and you turn into one of those stoic prophecy types.”

Emry sighed, rubbing her temples. “Mirae, I can’t think about that right now. There’s too much—”

“Too much what?” Mirae interrupted. “Too much destiny? Too many world-ending omens? Exactly why you should think about it. You of all people need a reminder that life’s still worth celebrating.”

Emry looked down, fingers tightening around her mug. “You sound like my mother.”

“Your mother was a smart woman,” Mirae said gently. “And she’d probably tell you the same thing. Prophecy or not, the moon’s blessing is supposed to be shared, not hidden away in dark hallways.”

Emry’s throat tightened. “You think a ceremony will make it easier?”

“I think it’ll make it real,” Mirae replied. “The pack needs to see you as more than the vessel in a story. They need to see you living. And maybe… you need that too.”

Emry exhaled slowly, staring at the table for a long moment before finally nodding. “All right. But only if you help.”

Mirae grinned, triumphant. “Oh, I was counting on it. You handle the divine balance — I’ll handle seating arrangements and flower choices.”

“Flower choices?” Emry groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“Admit it,” Mirae said, biting into her bread. “You missed me.”

Emry’s smile returned, small but real. “Maybe a little.”

⸻

Later, when she left the kitchen, the sunlight had shifted, spilling in pale gold across the courtyard. She spotted Braxton near the training grounds, sleeves rolled up, sparring with Eastin. He looked up the moment he felt her, the bond tugging between them like gravity.

She watched him a long time before calling out, “We need to talk tonight.”

He arched a brow, wiping his forearm across his jaw. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“It’s not,” she said — though even to her, the words sounded unsure. “Mirae wants to plan a mate ceremony.”

His expression flickered — surprise, then something softer. “And you?”

Emry hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I told her we would.”

Braxton’s grin spread slow and wolfish. “Then I suppose I’ll need something better to wear.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she turned away.

For a moment, she almost let herself believe Mirae was right — that celebrating the bond might not be an indulgence, but a kind of defiance.

A way to tell the gods she was still human enough to love.