The battlefield froze.
A wave of light swept over the Shadowlands, shattering the Bloodstone in Silas's hands. The cursed wolves fell to their knees, the darkness ripped from their souls.
Silas screamed—then vanished into black smoke.
The alpha held Aria tightly, his body glowing like dying embers.
She looked up, panicked. "No. No—don't do this."
"I told you… if I broke the curse, I wouldn't survive."
"No!" she clutched him. "You promised. You said you'd come back."
He touched her cheek with a shaking hand. "Then I'll find a way."
He closed his eyes.
And faded into silver dust.
The battlefield was silent.
Ash floated down like snowflakes over the bodies of the fallen. Wolves knelt in mourning, their howls echoing through the shattered valley.
But Aria didn't move.
She was still cradling the last of his light in her arms, his warmth fading from her skin, his heartbeat no longer echoing in her mark.
Her mate. Her Alpha.
Gone.
The air was still thick with the magic that had saved them. Her power had bloomed, but it had cost her everything.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to destroy every star that had ever dared to shine above her, every god who wrote this fate.
But instead—she stood.
Because he died believing she was strong enough to lead.
And now, she would become the Alpha he knew she could be.
Even if it killed her.