Page 30 of Wolf Proclaimed

The air in the room seemed too thin, making breathing hard. I stared at Jezebel, struggling to digest her words.

"When you and Averi were very young," Jezebel continued, "he planned to kill you both. Luna found out and rescued Gretel to save all of you from death. That's when Gretel turned Averi into a healer fairy, and Luna took you in, raising you as her own—as a sister to Syria, Artemis, Petra, and me."

My chest tightened, the pain of the revelation hitting me like a physical blow. I'd lived with Luna, and she'd protected me. She had shown me love and raised me as her own. And Gretel sacrificed so much, even her chance at motherhood, to ensure my survival. My life suddenly felt like a labyrinth of lies and truths intertwined and complex.

I looked at Gretel, my gaze steady. I felt a rush of gratitude towards her and Luna and a newfound determination. "I want to remember everything," I said, my voice unsteady. "Please, Gretel. Do the spell."

With my plea hanging in the air, I expected immediate protest from my sisters, their protective instincts flaring against the risks involved. But it was Bastian, who until now had been a silent observer, who spoke first.

"I think we all need a break," he stated, stepping forward. His gaze swept over us, and the corner of his mouth pulled tight. "This is a lot to process."

My sisters looked at him, their expressions ranging from surprise to relief. Bastian's statement was undoubtedly logical. It allowed time for us to digest what was revealed and what could happen. His pragmatism was a soothing balm amidst the storm of revelations.

"You're right," Luna conceded her voice husky, the emotional strain of the day apparent. "Let's take some time."

Looking at each of my sisters, I nodded, gratitude for their understanding swelling in my chest. I turned to Bastian, steeling myself for what I needed to say next.

"Bastian," I began, my voice softer than I intended, "can you take me back to your territory? I... I need some distance from all of this. Time to think."

His blue eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I saw surprise flicker across his features before he nodded, a tight smile pulling at his lips. "Of course, Mira. Whenever you're ready."

In the silence that followed, I found comfort. Despite the whirlwind of emotions and revelations, there was a strange serenity in the decision to take a step back, to breathe and process. I felt a glimmer of hope that, maybe, we were on the path toward reconciliation and peace.

My sisters exchanged glances, a silent agreement passing between them. Petra voiced their consent first, her eyes warm and understanding. "We think that's a wise decision, Mira. You deserve time to process everything."

Artemis and Syria echoed her sentiment, their voices soft and sincere. "We'll be here when you're ready," Artemis assured me, gently squeezing my hand. Syria added, "Take care, Mira."

Even Jezebel, ever the stoic one, offered a slight nod of agreement. "Time and distance might help," she murmured, her usually sharp gaze softened with understanding.

Gretel stepped forward, pulling me into a tight embrace. "We'll be waiting, Mira. Remember that we're family, no matter what."

Finally, Luna pulled me into a hug. The warmth in her gaze was overwhelming, and for a moment, I was a child again, yearning for her comforting presence. "Go, Mira," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "We love you."

Their collective understanding their support buoyed my spirits. With a last glance at my family, I turned toward Bastian, ready to return home. "Let's go," I said, more confident than I felt.

Without another word, Bastian and I left the cave. The trek down Magic Mountain was filled with the solemn quiet of the evening, the whispers of the forest our only companions. Each step I took felt like a small victory toward understanding and acceptance. As the twilight gave way to the night, I found myself looking forward to the solitude, the peace that would hopefully bring clarity to the chaos that was my life.

Bastian

As we arrived at my pack's territory, we both felt relieved. We had been away from home for a few days, facing challenging situations that pushed us to our limits. Mira's eyes brightened when she saw our stone cabin among the trees. Though it was a modest dwelling, it belonged to us.

Her memory was a strange thing, a convoluted mess of fragments. But as we approached the cabin, something changed in her. The way she navigated through the village, as if she remembered every tree and every path, was a sight to behold.

"Mira," I called, pausing as we approached our cabin. She turned to me, her eyes mirroring the warmth I felt inside.

"I remember, Bastian," she said, her voice a mere whisper. The words hung in the air, marking the beginning of a journey toward reclaiming her past.

The ensuing days were a whirl of reminiscences and discovery. Mira seemed to be regaining her memories of the pack. Blushing, she remembered her trysts with Dmitri and Theon and even laughed when recounting her first encounters with some of her friends. It was like a veil had been lifted, allowing her to peer into the past.

Our cabin became a refuge where we could discuss everything that had transpired. The revelations about her family, the complicated relationships, and the tragic history were a lot for anyone to process. Yet Mira faced it all with courage that made me admire her even more.

We talked about Luna and Gretel and how their lives had been intertwined with hers. She spoke of them with profound sadness and a hint of yearning. I hoped her sisters, along with Luna and Gretel, could find peace again on Magic Mountain. There was a time when they had lived there in harmony before the Great War took their father, husband, and lover, shattering their world. The hope they could reclaim that peace was a potent force, a beacon guiding our conversations.

As the days turned into nights and we found comfort in our secluded world, I noticed a peculiar change in Mira. One afternoon, I spotted her wandering through the village. She visited shops that sold herbs and dried flowers, her curiosity piqued by the assortment of fragrances and textures. There was a familiarity in her actions, a peculiar comfort in how she handled the herbs and combined them back at our kitchen like she'd done it a million times before.

I observed her from the doorway, and my brow furrowed in concern. "Mira, what are you doing?" I asked, my voice echoing softly against the cabin walls.

She looked up at me. Her hands paused over a mix of herbs. "I...I'm not sure," she admitted, looking around the kitchen confusedly. Her eyes met mine, reflecting my uncertainty.

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