Page 95 of Moonlit Fate

“Choose... the heart’s path…”

Each word was laden with a lifetime of love and wisdom as he looked at me for the final time. I was struck by the intensity of his stare, a plea for me to follow not just duty but the call of my own soul. Then, his eyes, that unique silver so much like my own, closed.

With that, something inside me fractured. Pain erupted from deep within, consuming me whole. Disbelief plagued me even as memories of my father flooded in unbidden. Each recollection—a tender smile, the pride in his eyes after my first shift, his laughechoing through the manor halls—was a sharp reminder of what I’d lost. The finality of his death was a crushing weight on my chest, shattering my world into fragments too jagged to piece back together. I was caught in the abyss of loss and the harsh reality of what lay ahead. The battlefield, once a chaotic canvas of violence, was now a void where the echo of my father’s last breath haunted the silence.

The blood on the ground anchored me to the spot, even as I drifted on the currents of shock and disbelief. I had watched numbly as the gentle rise and fall of my father’s chest ceased, the finality of it rooting me in place. The end of an era.

Atticus lifted Ragnar effortlessly, cradling him with a reverence that revealed his knowledge of the import of this moment. After studying me for a long moment, he turned to carry my father back to the manor.

I trudged on behind Atticus, each step sluggish, forced, as if I moved through a world of molasses. The path we took was familiar, yet every brush of wind, every rustle of leaves, sounded mournful, the forest singing an elegy. Atticus walked ahead of us all, a silent guardian to the shell that had been a fierce and great leader. Seren’s quiet presence at my side was the only sign that I wasn’t alone in my desolation.

The scent of blood mixing with the aroma of the woods was a pungent reminder of the chaos that had unfolded mere hours ago. My new reality began to sink its claws into my soul. My father’s teachings echoed in my ears, guiding me even as I struggled to comprehend a future without his wisdom.

An invisible mantle settled on my shoulders, heavy with expectation. How could I fill the void left by a man whose very presence signified vigor and stability? There was a sudden and undeniable pull inside me, a tether to the pack that would now look to me for guidance.

Alpha Aria. The title was foreign, too grand for the scared girl who walked through the twilight toward the home she could no longer call her own. The title of alpha had always been destined for me. My father had been preparing and mentoring me for the role since I was born. But in all my imagined scenarios, I had never envisioned that he wouldn’t be there to support and counsel me along the way.

My father’s absence was a gaping chasm in my world. I had to bridge it for the sake of those who depended on me.

Atticus paused at the threshold, allowing me to gather the splintered pieces of myself before crossing into the life that awaited me. He didn’t have to speak; his face said all that needed to be said.

“Choose the heart’s path.” My father had said it in a mere whisper, but it echoed in my ears, reverberating through the marrow of my bones. What had he meant? The words refused to be understood, lost in the images of the battle that flashed through my mind. With every recollection, my heart clenched tighter, guilt layering on the pain.

I remembered the glint of the knife at my throat, the terror that had surged through me—not of death, no, but of being torn from Atticus. At the time, there had been no pack, no duty, only the desperate longing to be in his arms, to feel the press of his lips against mine, promising eternity in a fleeting touch.

How selfish I was. How wildly I’d danced on the knife edge of desire, blinded to everything else. Could my heedless heart have cost my father his life? Was it my yearning that had led to this ruin?

With steps heavy as leaden iron, I ascended the staircase to my chamber. The door closed behind me with a click, and I was alone. Isolated in a mausoleum of memories, the scent of my father still lingering, a cruel reminder of what had been stolen from us.

Anguish seized me, a visceral entity clawing its way out of my soul. My savage scream shattered the oppressive silence, a sound that no civilized tongue should ever have to form. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as I collapsed to my knees.

“Father!” I cried. “Why did you leave me?”

Fury filled me, hot and blinding. I lashed out, sending vases crashing to the floor, books torn from their shelves, tapestries that adorned the walls ripped from their hangings. Each object I destroyed was a stand-in for my own failures, for impotence in the face of death’s immutable decree.

I was supposed to be strong, to lead, to protect. But how could I lay claim to leadership when my choices had wrought destruction? My pack needed an alpha, not a broken girl who gave in to her every whim and passion. They deserved better than me.

The world outside my shattered haven was a cold whisper, but in these four walls, the gale raged. Spent, heartbroken, I collapsed onto the floor, the destruction I had wrought surrounding me.

“Father!” I shouted into the air that had once been filled by his laughter, his wisdom. “How do I carry on?”

In the silence that followed, the answer began to weave itself from the tatters of my broken heart. I had to rise. For him, for the pack, for myself. With my whole soul screaming in protest, I pushed away the terrible grief that demanded to be felt. Now was not the time for tears—there would be time enough for that later. For now, I needed to step into my birthright.

A knock fractured the remnants of my grief, jarring me back to reality. I shuffled over to the door and opened it to find Ilaric.

I fell into his arms, sobbing into his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” I tried to pull back and wipe my tears, but he stopped me.

“Shh,” he said. “You don’t have to apologize for your tears. They are the language of the heart, and they speak of your deep love for your father.”

I allowed the dam to break, my tears soaking into his shirt as he led me to the sofa. “I’m all alone,” I said, the words tumbling out. “With so much at stake, without his guidance, how can I lead?”

“You’re not alone,” he said. “Your father’s legacy lives in you. Remember, true strength often comes from embracing vulnerability.”

We stayed there in shared sorrow until my tears ran dry, then Ilaric rose and cupped my face. “Rest now,” he said softly. “When you’re ready, we’ll all be here, waiting to follow our alpha. The greatest leaders are those who have known loss and emerged with empathy and resolve. You have a pack who believes in you. I believe in you.”

Sleep eluded me as I lay there, haunted by the memory of my father’s murder. I questioned whether it was wrong to feel glad that Atticus had sought fierce vengeance, or if I should feel guilty for not having done it myself.

After an hour of moving around the sofa, I decided to get up and start preparations to honor my father and address the pack. I pushed myself off the sofa, each muscle in my body protesting. The room spun slightly, an aftereffect of the bone-deep grief. It was time to face the world below, time to step into my father’s shoes—shoes that seemed too vast for my feet.

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