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Elowen’s chest rose and fell in uneven bursts behind the gag, tears streaming freely down her face as everything around her spiraled into something she couldn’t make sense of anymore.

The pain in her wrists, the pressure against her throat, the cold surface of the board beneath her—it all faded into the background compared to the sheer weight of what was unfolding in front of her.

The elders, who moments ago had held absolute authority, were now on their knees. The room that had once felt controlled and structured now felt unpredictable, almost dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with blades or claws.

Grand Alpha Sylas remained bowed, but his voice rose, strained with something deeper than authority now. “I am tired,” he said, each word carrying the weight of years. “Tired of sacrificing my blood again and again. This cycle needs to end.”

The figure standing in Lysara’s body did not move immediately. When she did, it was slow, deliberate, like every motion carried purpose far beyond human understanding.

Her white eyes fixed on Sylas, and when she spoke, her voice echoed with layered tones that did not belong to a single person.

“You speak of exhaustion,” Lunaris Deity said, her tone sharp, almost incredulous. “Yet you forget the bargain your ancestors begged for. You forget the price you willingly accepted when you sought my power.”

Sylas clenched his fists, but he did not rise. “We upheld our end,” he argued, his voice lower now, but no less intense. “We fought. We bled. We built this empire with the strength you granted us.”

“And won your war,” Lunaris cut in, her voice rising slightly. “A war you could not have won without me.”

Mother Elvya leaned forward on her knees, her head bowed deeply. “We do not deny that,” she said, her voice trembling with urgency. “We are grateful. But we have lost enough. Please… take this yoke from us. Let this end.”

Lunaris turned her head slowly toward her, and though her expression barely changed, the shift in the air was immediate, heavy with disapproval. “Lost enough?” she repeated, almost softly. “You speak of loss as though it belongs only to you.”

Her gaze swept across the hall, her voice growing sharper with every word. “You slaughtered millions. You burned through entire generations of humans without hesitation. Mothers, children—did you spare them? Did you pause to consider fairness when their blood soaked your hands?”

No one answered.

“Did you not use their blood to cleanse your own sins?” she continued, her tone now laced with fury. “Did you not build your power on their destruction?”

Sylas lifted his head slightly, his jaw tightening. “That is why we wish to make a sacrifice now,” he said. “To end the bloodshed. To balance what has been done.”

Lunaris let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Balance?” she echoed. “You think offering one life erases what you’ve done?”

Her gaze shifted then, finally landing on Elowen.

The moment stretched.

Recognition flickered across her face, followed by something darker, something almost mocking. Then she laughed again, louder this time, the sound echoing unnaturally through the hall.

“A human,” she said, amusement dripping from her voice. “You intend to sacrifice a human… again?”

The elders remained silent.

“Where is your shame?” Lunaris demanded, her expression hardening. “How many times will you stoop this low? Crawling back to the same solution with your tails tucked between your legs!?”

Mother Elvya bowed even lower, her hands pressed against the floor. “Have mercy,” she whispered. “Please.”

Lunaris’s eyes flashed. “Mercy?” she repeated. “No.”

The single word struck like a blow.

“I will wipe your kind from existence,” she continued, her voice calm now, but far more terrifying for it. “I will give your lands to the humans you tried to erase. Let them rebuild on your ashes. Let them take what you stole.”

The elders began to plead in earnest now, their voices overlapping, desperate and strained, but the brothers remained where they were, watching in tense silence.

Elowen’s heart pounded violently in her chest as she turned her head as much as she could, trying to follow everything at once. Nothing made sense. Nothing felt real.

Then Lunaris moved again.

This time, she approached Elowen directly.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the air shifting with her presence until it felt almost impossible to breathe. She stopped at the edge of the board, her white eyes scanning Elowen’s face before drifting down to her shoulder.

To the scar.

Her lips curved again, and another laugh slipped from her, quieter this time, but filled with something far more unsettling.

“Oh,” she murmured. “You poor, foolish creatures.”

Her gaze flicked briefly toward the elders. “You have already doomed yourselves,” she said. “With your own hands.”

Before Elowen could react, Lunaris reached down and gripped her chin, forcing her head upward. The touch was firm, unyielding, and carried a strange warmth that contrasted sharply with everything else in the room.

The gag was pulled free in one swift motion.

Air rushed into Elowen’s lungs as she gasped, her throat raw, her body trembling uncontrollably.

Lunaris leaned closer, her lips near Elowen’s ear, her voice dropping to something quieter, more intimate. “Do you wish to say something?” she asked.

For a second, Elowen couldn’t speak.

Her mind raced, her heart pounding, fear clawing at every part of her—but through all of it, one thought pushed forward.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Don’t kill them all.”

Lunaris didn’t respond immediately.

Elowen swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. “Ellion… he’s kind,” she added weakly. “He’s not like the others.”

There was a pause.

Then Lunaris smiled.

“Very well,” she said.

The grip on Elowen’s chin loosened, and she stepped back, turning her attention toward the brothers for the first time.

They straightened slightly in their seats, tension snapping through the air as they instinctively prepared themselves, though none of them moved.

“You cannot harm her,” Lunaris declared, her voice carrying through the hall with absolute authority. “Not one of you.”

Her gaze swept over them, sharp and final. “She is the reason I will spare you.”

A flicker of relief, confusion, and tension moved through the room all at once.

“But,” she added, her tone shifting again, “this is your final mercy.”

The words hung heavy, ominous.

“And mercy,” she continued slowly, “is never given without purpose.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied them. “So tell me… who among you will receive it?”

No one answered.

No one dared.

The question lingered, unanswered, as the air grew thick with anticipation.

Then—

Another flash.

Bright and sudden. Blinding.

The light swallowed the room for a split second before vanishing just as quickly.

When it cleared, Lysara’s body collapsed to the floor, limp and unmoving, the glow beneath her skin gone completely.

The presence that had filled the room was gone.