The night was silent when the pyres were built.Not a single wolf howled, not a single child cried. It was as if the entire pack held its breath,waiting, mourning in the same heavy silence that pressed against my chest.I stood at the heart of the grounds, Kael’s hand warm and steady in mine, and looked upon thewooden structures raised before us. Each pyre bore a name etched into stone and carved intomemory—Riven, Lyra, Elder Darius, Thorne. And beside them, a smaller mound, where flowershad been laid for Celina’s child.The air was thick with grief and smoke. Torches burned low, their flames licking at the sky, butoffering no warmth. All around me, my pack—their pack, our pack—stood shoulder to shoulder,heads bowed, eyes glistening. The weight of their loss pressed down like a mountain.But it was not just theirs. It was mine too.I stepped forward, Kael’s hand slipping from mine as he let me go, giving me the space to lead.My heart thundered in my chest, my body trembling ben
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