Semua Bab His Luna Returned—So I Left With His Baby”: Bab 101 - Bab 110

The drone didn’t fire.It didn’t have to.It only had to be seen.***“Move,” Mae snapped. “Now. Before it finishes its scan.”Nyra was already shouting orders, voice cutting through the cramped hut.“Pack what you can carry in ten breaths. Leave what you can’t. We’re ghosts in one minute or we’re targets.”Rae swore, snatching up her knives and Kieran’s spare magazines in the same motion.Daire’s eyes never left the little hovering machine.“El,” he said. “Hush.”She was already pulling.Silver folded in tight, aura drawing in like a held breath. The drone’s red dot flickered once, then steadied again—less confident but not blind.“Too late to fool it,” Kieran rasped from the cot. “It’s already got heat signatures.”“And it’ll be sending coordinates,” Kieran’s Lunaris guardian added. “They’ll know this exact spot in minutes.”Mae flicked her fingers at the hut walls, old wards flaring weakly, like a tired heartbeat.“Get him on his feet,” she said. “We’re not leaving him here as a br

For a heartbeat, Elowen thought she could still walk back out.The door was open. The air beyond it smelled like trees and Daire and ordinary fear.Then the runes woke up.***Lines of Lunaris script flared along the threshold—sigils she recognized in shape but not in sequence, braided with sharper, foreign strokes. The shimmer thickened into a pane of invisible glass shot through with silver.Elowen’s instincts snapped like a whip.“Stop,” she commanded, voice edged in Lunaris authority, pushing the word into the runes the way Mae had taught her.They flickered.They did not obey.Instead, the script brightened, threads of light coiling tighter, latching onto the signature of her blood like it had been waiting for her to speak.“Shit,” she breathed. “It’s keyed to me.”Of course it was.Someone had taken Lunaris bedrock—her own bloodline’s language—and twisted it into a lock only she could close around herself.Behind her, Daire slammed into the unseen barrier.The air cracked.His b

Daire didn’t ask for time.He extended his hand.***The silver blade was colder than it looked.He took it from Soryn’s fingers, the metal humming faintly against his skin—recognizing Lunaris authority, rejecting his.“Palm,” Soryn said.He turned his hand over.For a brief, treacherous second, pride whispered that this was madness. That bowing to a foreign House, binding himself to another’s law, was one more cage.Elowen in a tunnel, wrists in chains, killed that whisper.He drew the blade across his palm.Pain flared, bright and clean. Blood welled up, hot against the cold silver.The wards in the hall tightened, attention sharpening.“Kneel,” Soryn said.He dropped to one knee, bleeding hand held up between them.“Repeat,” she said, voice taking on a cadence older than any Tribunal oath. “I, Daire of Nightmoor, called Vhaloren, bind my strength to the protection of Elowen a’Lunaris.”He swallowed copper.“I, Daire of Nightmoor, called Vhaloren,” he said, “bind my strength to the

They put a chain on her before they opened the door. Not for security. For optics. *** The shackles on Elowen’s wrists were clipped to a thin length of silver that looped to a ring at her waist—just enough slack for her to walk, not enough to lift her hands free The metal hummed with a low, constant drain. “Don’t trip,” the escort on her right murmured. “They’ll play it in slow motion.” She didn’t answer. The doors to the High Howl Tribunal hall swung inward. Light hit her like a slap. Tiered rows of benches rose in a steep crescent, packed with wolves in tailored suits and polished crests—pack elites, covenant delegates, buyers who’d come to watch a high‑value case. Cameras nested like carrion birds along the walls; tiny red recording runes blinked from every angle. At the far end of the room, the Senior Tribunal bench curved in a high arc—judges seated in a row, robes dark, faces composed. The presiding judge, a grey‑muzzled wolf with thin lips and sharp eyes, sat

For a moment, the hall seemed to like the sound of it.Custody.Such a clean word for theft.***The presiding judge steepled his fingers. “Ms. Dravenne,” he said, “you understand the gravity of what you request.”“Of course,” Calista replied. “I don’t seek to punish Elowen. Only to shield the heir from the chaos already swirling around her. Nightmoor is fractured. Lunaris is compromised. The Tribunal is burdened. Someone must put the child’s welfare first.”Elowen’s stomach rolled.Custody. Welfare. All the soft edges they wrapped around the moment a pen stripped someone’s right to say no.“The court will consider your request,” the judge said. “Custody matters fall squarely within our purview.”Of course they did.Rule Three: evaluation equals detention.Rule Four, unspoken: custody is just detention with a prettier label.“Before we entertain such a drastic shift,” Crowe said smoothly, “we should perhaps close the loop on the underlying asset status. Once we clarify Elowen’s legal