But I didn’t release the urn.
My pup. My last fragment of him. My arms locked around it as if loosening my grip would end me.
Malven’s voice thundered through the stairwell, thick with Alpha fury. “Have you lost your senses, Viora? You dare disgrace my parents inside my own den?”
I blinked, swallowed blood, and said nothing.
He stalked closer. “My mother told me everything,” he snarled. “You insulted her. Picked up her tea. Threatened our lives.” His nostrils flared. “Do you find that amusing? Playing the mad Luna?”
I opened my mouth—and pain exploded.
My head snapped sideways. Fire tore down my spine. The taste of iron filled my mouth.
Rivelle’s voice drifted down the steps, sweet and venomous. “Malven… please don’t harm her. She isn’t worth it. She’s just… unstable. You know how fragile she is.”
He turned to her, and the rage vanished instantly—softened into something almost gentle.
“You’re too merciful,” he said quietly. “That’s why she still forgets her place.”
Rivelle sighed. “She’s been strange all day. I tried to understand her, but… she hates me. I can feel it.”
From the couch, Ryke didn’t even pretend concern. His sound-crystals hung loose around his neck, music still humming. He smirked at me.
Entertainment. This was sport.
None of the servants intervened. They gathered at the archway, whispering like restless spirits.
“She’s still holding the urn…”
“She never raised a claw…”
“I heard she went to the sea cliffs alone… with the ashes…”
My heart had turned to ash long before they spoke.
Malven’s gaze finally dropped—to my arms, to the white moon-urn cradled against my chest like a newborn.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Before I could move, he tore it from my grasp.
“No—!”
Too late.
He held it as if it were refuse. Turned it over. Scoffed.
“You carried this through the city? Wailing for strangers?” He shook it lightly, as if expecting sound. “What is this? Another pitiful performance?”
My breath stopped.
“It’s an urn,” he sneered. “Who died this time? Your pride?”
Rivelle laughed softly behind him. Ryke snorted.
Blood dried at my lip. My face burned. I spoke.
“Give it back.”
Malven lifted it higher, mocking. “Why? Who’s inside, hmm? You collecting remains now?”
I didn’t blink.
“It’s Elian,” I said quietly.
Silence fell like a snapped bond.
Malven’s grip stiffened. Rivelle’s smile vanished. Ryke’s gaze dropped. The servants stopped whispering.
One long breath passed. Then…
He let go.
“No—!!!”
The urn struck the floor.
A single, clean crack—then ruin.
Ash. Bone dust. Shattered moon-ceramic.
My pup scattered across the tiles as if he had never been held, never been cherished, never existed.
The scream tore out of me. I collapsed, clawing at the floor, gathering what I could into shaking hands. My nails split. I didn’t feel it. I felt nothing but the hollow where he had been.
Behind me, Malven sighed—as if annoyed by dirt near his boots.
“Stop howling like someone killed you,” he said coldly. “You’re not the victim.”
My hands were black with ash. My breath stuttered. Tears blurred the world.
Then he said, casually, “I got word from the healer this morning. Elian is fine. Alive. Sitting up. Smiling. They even sent images.”
I froze.
Alive?
Impossible.
No. I was there. I held him when the runes went dark. When his chest stilled. When the healer covered him and I couldn’t move.
“You lied,” Malven said, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed me. “You staged his death. Drugged him. Built this farce because you wanted sympathy.”
I lifted my face, shattered. “H-he died… he died in my arms—”
“Enough,” he snapped. “Spare me.”
Rivelle glided to his side. “Maybe she did it to wound me,” she whispered, trembling with false terror. “Maybe she hated me so much she wanted me to feel her pain.” Her eyes flicked to the ashes. “Maybe she wanted me to imagine myself like that… broken. Scattered.”
She gasped, collapsed onto the couch dramatically, shaking like glass.
“Come, sweetheart,” she sobbed, pulling Ryke close. “Let’s go. Mommy can’t breathe around this filth. I don’t want you seeing such darkness.”
Ryke didn’t look afraid. Just obedient. A pup trained early.
Malven wrapped an arm around Rivelle, holding her close. “Don’t waste tears on her,” he murmured. “You’re the only one who matters. Let’s go upstairs. Leave her with her mess.”
I was still on the floor, sweeping my pup into my palms. Ash smeared the stone like a ghost begging to stay.
Then Ryke broke free.
He charged toward me.
His boots came down hard—right onto the ashes.
“Witch!” he screamed. “You made my mommy cry!”
He stomped again.
And my boy scattered even further—to the corners of the den, as if he had never been mine at all.
