Mag-log inIn the end, I never really thought I would say itâlove is patience, love is sacrifice. Love is not quick to judge, it is not hateful. Love is not merely sweet or reverent, and it is not the absence of ache.Love is a quiet fire that warms even when the world is cold.It is a tide that pulls and releases, shaping the shores of the heart.a fragile bloom in a storm, yet stubborn enough to survive.Love is both shadow and light, always present, sometimes unseen.Love is sometimes a heartbeat echoing in the silence of longing.Yet the cruel truth I fear to admit is this: love asks no âwhy.â Love does not dwell in perfection. Love is the sword that rends every heart, leaving only surrender in its wake.But it baffles me how the very opposite of love can sometimes wear its skinâhow longing, loneliness, and unprofitable pain can disguise themselves as devotion. If not tested by truth, they linger as shadows of love, breeding nothing but regret.And where do we draw the line between love and
đ«ŠItâs been a long day. I toss my dress aside and step into the washroom. The air is thick with memoriesâthis place carries the scent of him, the echo of a past I thought Iâd buried. I slip into the warm bath and stretch my legs, letting the water swallow my sigh. The calm barely settles before a knock sounds at the door. âIâm almost done!â I call out. âOkay,â Varynâs voice answers, low and familiar. And thatâs when it hits meâthis is his washroom. Heâs not leaving. Which means, sooner or later, Iâll have to walk out there and face him. âCome in,â I whisper, barely audible. Iâm not even sure he hears me. But the door shifts open, slow and careful. He stands there, framed by the soft light, as though heâs been waiting for that single wordâcome. Something turns deep within my spirit, but I canât bring myself to look at him. Not yet. When I finally doâjust a tilt of my headâI meet his gaze already waiting on me, steady and unreadable. Iâve known this man before, yet in this m
He grab my hand, pulling me along. âCome, I want you to meet someone.â âWhat? WaitâI need to receive complaints for Pelin.â âThat can wait,â he replies, tugging me forward. âOkay, can we not run? Weâre too old for it!â He lets go of my hand I snap, turning back. âNo, no, no,â he hurries, catching my hands again. âWe walk togetherâslowly.â But I see the haste in his eyes. âOkay, we can walk fast,â I murmur. And then he starts running. I just smile as his feet barely touch the ground, graceful and purposeful. I tighten my hold on his hands, quickening my pace to match him. We reach the West Castle, and as we step inside, an elder female stands waiting. Varyn presses a subtle nod toward me, and my breath catches. Sheâs his motherâthe same elder whose house I stumbled into that night I wandered the West lands. Now I understand what her silent tears were forâthey were for me. Was she able to see through my frustration that night, or did she simply feel the weight
âHow long does it take you to get any message?âhe asks. I just stand there, breath caught somewhere between shock and ache. How do I act before him now? Do I show him the anger Iâve buried for seven yearsâthe frustration, the abandonment? Or do I thank him for simply being alive? Should I tell him how everything fell apart after his presence vanished from that battlefield? Or should I turn away and say I want none of thisânone of him? But the truth is, thereâs nothing Iâve wanted more in five long years than this. âI have come to take you back,â he saysâhis voice steady, commanding, unmistakably Varyn. Possessive as always. I just stand there, unable to meet his eyes. The universe feels as though itâs spinning endlessly around us, yet I remain still, trapped between a thousand breaths I canât release. My throat aches; I swallow once, desperate to find wordsâanger, relief, regretâbut nothing comes. Then, in a heartbeat, the full moon swells above us. I finally lift my gaze to
đđFive years later, the West Clan sits in feral peace. Anzelrius has been executed by hanging, the corrupt elders exiled forever, and no soul dares rise in rebellion or treachery again. The calm across the lands feels almost unreal. Every street, every field, seems unnaturally quietâso peaceful it sometimes bores me.In all my sisters , My sisters remain by my sideâexcept Pelin, who reigns as Luna of our motherâs tribe.. Keala is more than happy as Luna in the South, naming a beautiful village after Moren, the first wolf and a female land name . Caelora has claimed the East as Cat Luna, her dominion respected and feared. Nyvrae only returns once a year, always with her mate. Thyra, however, has never come back since she left, and I worry for her, wondering how she fares. Dolly wanders the lands, frequenting her favorite hauntsâthe taverns loud with raucous, careless people. She sits in silence among the chaos, and somehow always ensures someone pays for their folly before she leav
âž» And immediately, I see Varynâs eyes widen in hopeâwhile Rauthâs narrow in fear. I turnâand there he is. The boy who once helped Varyn meet Elarion for the first time. He steps forward, bows low before the throne. âForgive me, my Alpha. I am late.â From his satchel, he draws the ancestral fangs of hierarchyâthe lost symbol of ruleâand places them into Varynâs open hand. Varyn lifts it high, the room holding its breath. The elders who challenged him drop to their knees, fear and guilt washing over their faces. The guilty ones rise in a hurry, scrambling toward the doors as Varyn turns back to the boy. âThank you, Myric,â he says, his voice soft for the first time. He pulls the boy into a brief, grateful embrace. âAsk me anything you desire, and I shall grant it. Wealth, land, shelterâname your wish.â Myric bows deeper. âI am sorry, my Alpha. I want the young Alphaâs godmother.â The words hang in the air like a blade. âWhat?â The sound escapes me before I can stop it. Var







