#6 The Keep Awakens

Daiera POV

I wake to the sound of running water, a servant humming, and a light through the curtains. For a second I forget what the world used to be....the blood and the name calling and the way my hands used to shake from being hungry and afraid.

Lunaryn nudges me, amused and tender. "Come on, lazy goddess. There’s work to do."

Tarin knocks gently and then bursts in with towels like a smug angel of domesticity. She fusses over my hair, braids it half up, and plies me with breakfast I cannot refuse. I devour pancakes like a woman reclaiming stolen time.

Velwyn bustles around the room making sure every corner of the keep hums. Royce fusses with maps. Bennick arranges schedules like a man who loves order. The staff glance at me like I’m a comet and they’re ready to orbit. It’s ridiculous and if someone had told me last month I would be eating real pancakes with a staff member curtsying at the foot of my bed, I would have laughed until I threw up.

But here I am.

After breakfast, Tarin takes me on a tour. The keep moves like a living thing. The stables are clattering, the smith hammering a rhythm, the great hall rehearsing for dinners it’s never had. There’s a manic joy in the place, like a hive waking. Somehow, through Velwyn and Royce and these quiet, competent people, the keep has been keeping itself ready for me. For my name. For the Seralyn Queen to rise again.

We walk through the gardens. A fountain gurgles. There are rows of herbs, flowers, and a long stone path that looks like it walked straight out of a dream. Tarin chatters about the staff like a proud mother. “These maids have been trained in combat protocol, Alpha,” she says, grinning. “They sew and spar. They’d skin a man with a needle and have him smiling about it.”

I snort and bite into an apple. Tarin laughs and says, “That’s the spirit..”

Velwyn sidles up and says, “You’ll have a new staff meeting tomorrow. For now, let the keep breathe. Meet your people. They’ll be arriving later, hundreds, thousands maybe. They’ve been waiting for you.”

I inhale and feel like the moon itself is sitting warm in my chest. “They were waiting for me?”

“They were waiting for you,” Velwyn repeats. “We kept watch. The rogues. The runaways. They kept the stories alive. And when the wards sang, they came. You are their home.”

My throat tightens until my vision blurs. There’s pressure in my chest like some enormous and tender thing is trying to push itself out. “What if I’m not...” I start. Lunaryn sighs theatrically. "Don’t be stupid. You are a fucking force of nature." But my thoughts are stuck on the weight that being an “alpha” brings.

Before I can spiral, Tarin takes my hand and squeezes. “You don’t have to do this alone, Alpha. We’re with you.”

It’s ridiculous how much that simple thing someone actually standing in the room with me, means. The keep hums around us like a cat, satisfied to be alive.

By midday the grounds are stirring. There are wagons, tents, and ragged wolves with grime baked into their smiles. There are soldiers with old uniforms and new hopes. They arrive in trickles then waves, their faces breaking into tears when they see the banners, fists hitting chests, the word Seralyn being spoken like a prayer.

And then the thing happened I didn’t know I needed. Commander Hartfell, a broad shouldered man with scars that tell stories, approaches and kneels without my asking. “Alpha,” he says, his voice string and steady. “We are at your command.”

A radio of fists on chests ripples across the crowd, loyalty made audible. I stand there in awe. Someone placed trust in me without consent and I’m terrified and honored, in that order.

Tarin tugs on my sleeve, her eyes bright with mischief. “You should link them.”

Linking is the word that feels both ancient and modern. The priestesses are here. They are holy women in simple robes who hum like cathedral bells. They set up an altar in the clearing with silver bowls. Their chants thread into the air. Tarin squeezes my hand and whispers, “Are you ready?”

I stare at the sky, then at the faces. They are hungry, scared and hopeful. Lunaryn purrs softly. "We must do this. They will follow our light and our command. We will need an army Dee. The Bloodhowl Pack will come. So will others once they find out who you truly are."

I kneel and put my hands in the priestess’ bowls. The water is cold and alive. I say the words. The priestesses’ voices rise, weaving the old language until the air pricks like a hundred needles. Something snaps inside me like a lock turning. A thread laces out from my chest and wraps through the crowd like a silver net. Emotions pour in, pride, fear, hunger, gratitude, so many that I stagger. It’s not like being pulled. It’s like being branded mentally.

The people howl, the sound of a thousand wolves recognizing a heartbeat. They slam their fists to their chests in unison. They call the name I never thought to reclaim. “Seralyn!” they shout, again and again, until the name becomes a bell that could drive away storms.

I shift, my white fur like glistening snow, and the howl that leaves me is older than memory. The pack howls back, a thousand voice chorus. I am dizzy with the extent of it. Lunaryn laughs, it's delighted and feral.

Later, in the great hall after the link, when the newcomers have beds and baths and I’ve promised someone food and another person a place in the guard, Velwyn corners me with a list and says, “We have ten thousand strong out back now that have pledged. We’re calling them rogues but they will be your soldiers.”

Ten thousand. My mouth goes dry. Lunaryn purrs delightfully: "We have an army, babe. Looks tremendous on paper and even better in person."

It’s heavy. It’s everything. The keep, once a hollow shell, is humming with life. The rooms are filled with laughter, sobs, and training noises. The courtyard smells like bread and sweat and hope.

That night I stand on the battlements with Tarin and Velwyn by my side. The moon is a bright coin in the sky. Below us the wards glow faint silver at the treeline. Someone has laid out a long table and a fire and the keep is celebrating a little, because why not? Their Queen is home.

Tarin leans against me and says, “You did that. You brought them home.”

I breathe and feel it like a new weight in my hands, not a burden, not entirely, but a responsibility wired into my bones. Lunaryn curls at the base of my skull and murmurs, "We begin. Let them come. We will take their worst and carve them into something better."

I close my eyes and whisper into the night, “Then let’s start.”