Savina’s cub was dead.
And soon after clutching his lifeless body,she herself fell into darkness.
When she finally woke,the first thing she did was travel to the Pack Archive Hall to remove her son’s name from the blood-registry.
The scribe,an old wolf with kind eyes,spoke gently:
“And the sire of the cub?”
Savina’s gaze was cold,her voice sharp.
“He doesn’t have one.”
A wolf like Myron no longer deserved the title of father.
The scribe hesitated,then said nothing more.With a quiet stroke of his blade,he split the boy’s moon-token in half and handed both pieces back to her.
When the act was done,Savina went straight to the Spirit Pyre to cremate her child’s remains.
By dusk,she returned to her den carrying the small bone urn in her arms.
The moment she crossed the threshold,Myron’s furious roar lashed out like a whip.
“Savina!You were supposed to be resting from the trials!What are you doing running about?”
A bitter laugh escaped her lips.
Their cub was gone,yet all he saw was her“running about.”
Too exhausted to argue,she clutched the urn tighter and walked past him.
Something in her hollow eyes made his chest twist in irritation more than pity.
“What are you doing carrying that cursed vessel?”he snarled.“Throw it out.Now.”
He reached for it,but in that instant,Savina’s aura flared—a crimson blaze of fury.
“If you dare touch this urn,”she hissed,her voice trembling with rage,“I swear by the Moon,Myron—I’ll fight you to the death!”
He froze.The feral look in her eyes unsettled even him.
After a long pause,he lowered his arm.
Forget it,he thought.She’s still angry about the alchemy trials.She’ll calm down in a few days.
Straightening,he said evenly,“You did well in the trials.Helene has been reinstated by the Healers’Circle—promoted to Chief Alchemist,in fact.All thanks to your…contribution.”
He continued,oblivious to the tightening of her grip around the urn.
“I’m hosting a feast for her tomorrow night at the manor.You’re still lady of this house—see that it’s prepared.”
From beginning to end,Savina said nothing.
Myron frowned slightly.“Alright,I understand.You’re upset.That’s fine—it’s even endearing once in a while.But keep that face too long,and it’ll turn ugly.”
Then,in a tone meant to appease her,he added,“After Helene’s promotion feast,we’ll go and fetch our cub together,alright?”
His words stabbed into her like knives.
Fetch him?
Alonzo could never be fetched again.
He had died the very night his father chose to protect another.
Savina bit down her grief,forcing a steady voice.
“Alright.I’ll make sure everything is ready.”
Hearing her calm agreement,Myron exhaled in relief.
She’s still the same as before,he thought.
Moments after he left,a raven-stone glowed faintly on her desk.The rune flared—the signal from Dike.A pouch of moon-coins worth two million had been transferred into her vault.
Savina lifted the stone and spoke calmly into the rune mirror.
“I wish to hold the grandest moon-funeral in the Northern Territories.At dawn tomorrow.
I want a hundred mourning carriages to circle the Lestrange manor a hundred times.”
Her voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
“Let the entire Silver Plains know—the Lestranges aren’t hosting a feast tomorrow.They’re holding a funeral.”
“And prepare the brightest skyfire runes you can.At midnight,I want the words A Life for a Life blazing across the heavens.”
When she ended the transmission,a cold smile curved her lips.
Her son was dead.
And Myron and Helene would never again know peace.
That afternoon,Savina returned home with the urn still in her arms.
She then summoned her informants and purchased—through false names—the entire alchemy cave where she had been imprisoned.
By twilight,she had recovered every crystal orb,every recording stone that contained the horrors she and her son had endured.
All the evidence—every ounce of it—now belonged to her.
She placed the death certificate carved on bone,the memory orbs,and all of Helene’s crimes into an iron chest.
Across its lid,she carved a single message:
Myron—from this life onward,we shall never meet again.
At midnight,a dark carriage waited outside the manor.
Savina picked up her son’s urn,took her pack of belongings,and walked out of the Lestrange estate for the final time.
The moon was high,pale,and cold.
The gates closed behind her with a heavy clang.
From that night on,Savina swore—she would never set foot in that cursed den again.
