บททั้งหมดของ The Exiled Luna : บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

Thorold’s POVThe path Mia carved into the world didn’t appear on any map.No witches spoke of it. No seers dared name it. Even the Hollow avoided mention of what lay beyond the Weeping Range, where sunlight never quite touched and the trees bent in silence.But I could feel it.In my blood.It hummed in my bones like a compass that pointed only one way: home, and yet not.The Shadowlands.Where forgotten wolves drifted between what was once holy and what had long since become corrupted.Where Mia waited.I traveled alone.Kael had offered to come. So had Lira. Even Ryker had sent word, urging caution. But I knew this was something I had to do without an army.Mia wasn’t just a threat.She was part of me.And some truths could only be confronted alone.I crossed through the Ashveil Mountains under moonlight, descended past the gorge where no birds sang. The deeper I went, the heavier the air became—thick with old spells, regret, and something far worse:Expectancy.By the third day, e

Thorold’s POVThe room they gave me was carved into the mountain itself, walls veined with glowing darkstone, the air damp with magic that didn’t sleep. It wasn’t a prison—there were no chains, no locks, no guards outside the door.But it felt like one.I couldn’t shake the weight on my chest. Not fear. Not even guilt.Expectation.From Mia. From the world. From the blood in my veins that had begun to hum again the moment we touched.It was loud now. Almost like it wanted me to answer.To surrender.I sat cross-legged on the cold floor, palms flat against the stone, trying to calm the wolf in me that paced like a caged beast.But then… the door opened.She didn’t knock.She never did.Mia stepped inside like a whisper slipping through a crack in the wall. She wore something darker tonight—shimmering black robes that shimmered like ink in candlelight. Her bare feet made no sound as she crossed the floor.“You’re awake,” she said softly.“I don’t sleep easily in places that pulse with s

Thorold’s POV I burned the scroll. Not because I feared it. But because I didn’t want it to be real. "Remember us." Not a threat. Not a warning. A plea. One I didn’t understand. One I couldn’t ignore. At dawn, the wind blew colder. Zara called a meeting in the great hall. Stormfang’s inner council gathered quickly—commanders, scouts, rune masters, and a few witches loyal to the old ways. Ryker stood near the hearth, silent but watchful. The moment I entered, every conversation stopped. I felt the stares. Not suspicious. Not yet. But cautious. Zara spoke first. “Mia struck the Hollow and pulled back without blood. That alone makes it clear—she’s waiting.” “Waiting for what?” one of the commanders asked. “A retaliation?” “No,” I said. “She’s waiting for doubt. For hesitation. For someone here to crack.” A silence followed. One that felt heavier than it should. Zara turned to me. “Explain.” I walked to the table. “She sent a messenger last night.

Zara’s POV Stormfang has been attacked before. By rogues. By jealous alphas. Once, even by a dying king trying to steal its secrets. But nothing like this. The enemy outside our gates was not just claw and fang. It was rot. Magic born of betrayal. It was family, warped by pain and turned into a weapon. And that made it so much worse. Ryker stood beside me as we sealed the inner walls, his hands slick with blood, not his own. Smoke rose over the eastern ridge, casting shadows across the stone like ghosts watching from the forest. Below us, warriors rushed through the training grounds, dragging barricades into place, activating glyphs that hadn’t been used in generations. Witches knelt in circles, chanting protection spells, and healers prepared for the wave of wounded they knew was coming. I looked toward the main gates. Still holding. But they wouldn’t much longer. “She’s buying time,” Ryker said. “For what?” “For herself. For Thorold. For both to burn.” We had cleare

Thorold’s POV I had forgotten what laughter sounded like — real laughter. Not the kind that hides wounds or buys time between battles, but the kind that spills from a wolf’s chest effortlessly, without purpose, just because the sun is warm and the air no longer smells like death. I stood at the edge of the clearing near Stormfang’s lake, watching pups splash in the shallows, their fur soaked and wild, their howls sounding more like songs than calls to arms. This was the pack I had only heard about in stories. Now, I was a part of it. It had been weeks since Mia disappeared into the forest with what remained of her army. No more shadow-wolves. No more traitors. No more blood in the halls. Just quiet. And peace. We didn’t trust this peace completely. But we allowed it in because we were tired and needed to believe that survival could mean more than just the absence of war. I sat in the grass with Kael and Lira, our game of cards forgotten as a group of young warriors tossed a m