Page 42 of Wolf Proclaimed

A bitter laugh slipped from Gretel's lips, cutting through the silence like a knife. Her body still leaned heavily on Bastian, her energy clearly depleted, but her spirit remained undeterred. "Alpha?" she scoffed. "You gave up that right when you abandoned the girls to their fate and watched helplessly as your husband and the girl's father died."

I winced, the raw pain in Gretel's voice searing me to my core. I was inclined to disagree, to defend our mother, but the flood of forgotten memories gave Gretel's words a sting of truth.

Artemis was next, her usually stoic demeanor cracking under the weight of her returning memories. "We survived despite you, not because of you," she stated, her voice laced with venom.

Despite the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions, I could see Luna flinch at Artemis' words. But our mother was nothing if not resilient. Her gaze hardened, but it was less of a leader demanding obedience and more of a mother pleading for understanding.

My own bitterness welled up in my throat, unexpected and strong. "You want to be alpha again after everything?" I found myself saying, my own voice foreign to my ears. "After you left us alone to deal with all this?" My gesture encompassed the village, the moonlit faces around us filled with confusion and fear.

The bitterness in my voice felt like a betrayal but also like freedom. For so long, we had shouldered our burdens, our fears, and our secrets alone. And now they were out in the open, raw and ragged.

The mutinous response of her daughters seemed to douse Luna's flame, leaving a haunting pallor on her face. The fight that had flared briefly in her eyes was snuffed out, replaced with a tired resignation. Yet, I could tell this was far from over. Her spirit remained undeterred, much like ours. We were turning on her, yes, but she was our mother. This was not a rebellion. This was a cry for help, a call to action.

A sense of foreboding hung in the air, tangible as a thick fog. A fog of forgotten memories and suppressed pain that had exploded to the surface all at once. The past, a chaotic whirlwind, was closing in on us with a force that felt like we were being pulled by an invisible current back toward devastation. The discord was palpable; the four of us, standing there, were once again on the precipice of war. A war that, this time, threatened to surpass the intensity of any we had experienced before.

Amid this chaos, a spark ignited in my mind, a moment of clarity that pierced the foggy confusion. Perhaps it was because the magic that had woven this mess was mine, or perhaps because I'd been the closest to madness before, the precarious edge of sanity a familiar precipice. Either way, for a moment, I saw our path with disturbing clarity, and it was a path smeared with the blood of our bond.

With every sister at each other's throats, the village held its breath, silently watching us unravel. I turned to look at Bastian, my rock in this tumultuous sea of uncertainty. His stormy eyes were a mirror to my own turmoil. He was as lost as the rest of us, and yet, he was trying, scrambling to piece together a solution from the shards of our shattered trust.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my next words, “Bastian,” my voice was a bare whisper, audible only to him, “there is only one way to stop this war from happening all over again—only one sister can remain.”

He stiffened at my words, his stormy eyes widening with a mix of shock and denial. His grip on me tightened, the warmth of his hand seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. “Mira...,” he began, his voice hoarse, a plea hidden beneath his incredulity. I could see the gears turning in his head, the struggle clear on his face. The mere thought of us not being there was unfathomable to him.

I squeezed his hand in return, a small comfort against the truth we were facing. My heart ached as I saw the torment in his eyes. I didn't want to make this choice, but it seemed inevitable. His struggle was a mirror of my internal turmoil. It was a decision that could shatter us all over again, yet the alternative was even worse.

"I don’t know how we got here, Bastian," I said softly, staring into his tormented gaze, "but we have to find a way out. Before I destroy everything we've built—before I destroy us.”

His throat moved as he swallowed, a strenuous effort visible in the tense bob of his Adam's apple. The words he was about to speak seemed to evaporate into the night, leaving behind a silent promise that lingered in the air between us. His hands trembled subtly, each tiny shudder punctuating the silent tension. As the quiet drew out, a thought tugged at my mind. Would we manage to find our path back to unity, or was this the first step toward our inevitable downfall?

Chapter Twenty

Parting Tides, Unfolding Horizons

Mira

The cabin, Gretel's new home, buzzed with palpable and intense energy as I outlined my decision to propose only one of us should rule. My four sisters and I had convened, united in our uncertainty, all eyes focused on me. It was my appeal that brought us here, where the aspiration of harmony served as both the spark of our disagreement and the promise of our potential reconciliation.

I locked gazes with each of them, drawing a deep breath before I began. My voice was softer than I intended, but somehow it filled the room. Every word rang with a resonance that underscored my dream. "I've always wished," I began, my voice slightly wavering, "that our memories of battles and discord could be replaced with those of tranquility and unity."

After I made a bold proposal about our shared past, there was complete silence except for the occasional fire crackling. Everyone intensely scrutinized me with looks of skepticism, confusion, and a slight hint of hope. We were all breathing in anticipation.

Artemis was the first to break the silence. "What happens to our truths then, Mira?" Her voice wavered between suspicion and curiosity. "Do we discard our pain, victories, and defeats?"

I held her gaze, my resolve firm. "No," I countered, my voice steady. "We remember them, but don't let them control us."

The room fell into silence again, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the almost inaudible sounds of our anxious breaths. I could see them exchanging looks, their faces a canvas of complex emotions. The air between us was heavy, loaded with the magnitude of my proposition.

Syriah was the first to break the silence, trembling slightly, "So we just let go? Let go of everything we've fought for, everything we've become?"

Her words hung in the air, a silent plea for guidance. I nodded, acknowledging her fear but reinforcing the truth. "Not let go, Syriah. We remember. But we don't let those memories overshadow our future."

Petra, always the most pragmatic, folded her arms across her chest, contemplating the change this would mean for us all. "It's not about erasing, then. It's about...reframing?"

"Exactly," I affirmed, meeting her gaze, grateful for her clear-headed understanding.

Even the usually stoic Jezebel swallowed hard, her eyes clouded with apprehension. "And if we fail, Mira?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We won't," I asserted, putting as much certainty into my voice as possible. "We will heal. Gretel will heal. And we will all find peace. But I can’t do this myself.” I turned to Gretel, my heart full of hope. “Are you strong enough to cast a spell on us that will scatter us to opposite ends of the earth?

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