Chapter 347 Third Person’s POV
The council chamber of the neutral grounds was steeped in tension, every stone carrying the weight of centuries of bloodshed between the East and the West. Torches guttered along the walls, their flames flickering in the draft, casting sharp shadows across the long oak table where two Alphas sat facing one another.
Lucien of the East, his posture sharp as a drawn blade, eyes burning with the cold restraint of a wolf barely holding back his fury. Aedric Stormbane of the West, his jaw locked, shoulders broad, and aura heavy as a thunderstorm. Between them, Professor Maeryn stood like the spine of the moon itself-old, unyielding, and strangely calm.
She spread her hands over the maps and parchments scattered on the table. “Enough blood has been shed,” she said, her voice carrying authority that silenced even the lowest growls in the chamber. “If this war continues, both your Packs will be weakened until the rogues circle like vultures and tear you apart. Neither East nor West will survive alone. The only path forward is peace.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
Lucien’s hand twitched at his side, but his gaze never left Aedric’s. “And what do you propose, Professor? That I forget the wolves we’ve buried? The cities burned?”
“And what do you propose I forget?” Aedric shot back, his voice sharp as broken glass. “The warriors who bled on eastern soil, the brothers I carried to their graves?”
Maeryn did not flinch. “I propose that you both remember them—not to continue the slaughter in their names, but to end it. Let their sacrifices mean something.”
The silence stretched until Lucien leaned forward, his claws scraping faintly against the table’s edge. “The East will cede the Eastern outlands by the river. A buffer zone. Stormbane may have it. But in return, the West will swear before the Goddess not to march against us again.”
The chamber erupted.
Eastern wolves growled in outrage, voices rising in a chorus of protest. “The riverlands are ours!” “They’ve taken too much already!” “How can we trust them?”
Across the table, Western wolves slammed their fists, snarling that it was not enough, that no true Alpha would accept such a pitiful compromise.
But Maeryn’s voice cut through the uproar like steel. “Silence! The first step is always the hardest. Concessions must be made-for survival, for the generations to come. If you cannot see that, you are not worthy of the packs you claim to lead.”
Lucien’s gaze swept across his packmates, his wolf aura flaring in a silent command for obedience. “You question me?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You dare to defy the Alpha when I tell you this will keep your pups alive? When I tell you this will end the funerals?”
The dissent faltered beneath the weight of his fury, though mutters still simmered.
On the other side, Aedric rose to his feet, his aura pressing heavy against the chamber. “Enough.” His voice
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shook the walls. “You call me weak for seeking peace? Then you are fools. I have fought enough wars to know victory is nothing but ashes when you bury your sons in it. If you cannot follow me into peace, then you do not deserve to follow me into battle either.”
Even the most hardened of his warriors lowered their eyes. For the first time, Aedric did not look like a conqueror demanding loyalty—he looked like a leader should, bearing the weight of his people’s future on his shoulders.
Aria sat further down the table, her heart caught between both worlds. She rose slowly, drawing every gaze to her. Her voice was calm, but the white wolf within her pulsed through every word.
“I fought for the West for three years,” she said. “I led battles against the North and South. I stained my hands with blood because I believed it was survival. But survival bought with endless war is no survival at all. The Goddess spared me for this moment-not to fight, but to unite.”
Her words carried more than conviction. They carried memory, pain, and the sharp edge of truth. She turned toward Lucien’s side of the chamber, meeting the doubtful stares of the Eastern wolves. “I understand your fear. You think they will betray us. But war has already taken everything from us-mates, children, homes. Do you want to give it more? Or will you trust that the moon still shines on us all?”
Then she faced the Western side, her voice sharpening. “And you—my brothers and sisters of the West. You fear you are giving too much. But I gave you my life once. Three years of it. Will you tell me it was worthless? Will you spit on what I sacrificed by rejecting the only chance for peace?”
The chamber quieted, the weight of her presence pressing into their bones.
Maeryn’s eyes glowed faintly as she stepped forward. “The agreement is simple. Ten years of peace. Ten years where no wolf of East or West draws a blade against the other. Ten years where pups are raised beneath the same moon, without learning to hate their neighbors. Ten years where trust may grow.”
A long silence followed.
Lucien’s jaw tightened, then he inclined his head once. “The East agrees.”
Aedric’s eyes met Aria’s across the table. Something inside him warred-resentment, longing, regret-but at last he nodded. “The West agrees.”
The chamber exhaled in a collective release, though not all were content. Whispers of doubt still wound through the gathered wolves. But the foundations had been set, fragile as they were.
Outside the chamber, as the moon climbed the sky, Aria found herself beside Lucien. His hand brushed hers, rough, warm, steady.
“You spoke well,” he murmured.
“I only spoke the truth.” She glanced up at the stars, the same stars that hung over East and West alike. “But truth alone won’t hold the peace. We’ll have to fight for it.”
Lucien’s lips curved in something between a smile and a snarl. “Then let them come. This time, we fight not for conquest-but to protect what we’ve built.”
Behind them, Maeryn lingered in the shadows of the chamber, her old eyes heavy with both relief and dread. The first stone had been laid for peace, but she knew how fragile stones could be.
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Still, for the first time in years, the moonlight seemed less like a blade, and more like a promise.