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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝑺𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑫.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The bedroom door to Morrow's room swings open on creaking hinges, and yet, all Elowen can do is stare at the were-wyng, his body growing cold in sheets that once belonged to them. The image burns itself into her vision, engraving itself in every painted shadow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's dead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His soul vanished from this earth.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Gone.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She collapses to her knees, unable to think straight as she heaves in pure agony. The invisible string that connects her to him snaps into two, severing a second heartbeat that always pounded in the echoes of her soul.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎If only she could turn back time.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎If only she could be the one to protect him from the blight like he'd always protected her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This... this hurts like a sword to her heart, plunging into her organs over and over and over again.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A pair of worn hands clasps onto her shoulder, turning her body away from the scene of Morrow towards something else, anything else.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn kneels next to her, his silver eyes wide and alert. His lips move, although Elowen can't comprehend the sound. Does she even want to? No amount of pity or condolences will mend the ache expanding inside of her chest. It's growing like a giant monster, consuming every fibre and vein and twisting them into something nauseating.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎How could this happen to Morrow? Why does this world have to be so cruel that it can take lives without letting them have the chance to experience them in full? When her inner creature searches down their bond, there's no wolf there to respond. There's only the fraying edge of a tether that once was, a silence that's deafening.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn takes her cheeks in his hands, tilting her gaze upwards and forcing her to stare at him. She doesn't want to see the ancient. He's a reminder of the evils roaming Aelethia, because it seems he's tied to everything. He knows about the blight, about the fall of Reovell, and her mother. He never came back to Solara when she wanted her child to know her father. Perhaps he even knew how he could spare his life.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's so many wrongs, and for a moment, she thought that mating with Morrow would be something right.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Instead, look where that got her. The thought opens the chasm in her chest wider, so wide that her ribs begin to throb.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Elowen?" Thorn murmurs. "Are you listening to me?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I can't..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Let's get out of this fucking room, okay? Cordea's out there. Go and talk to her."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No," the answer comes out in a hiss as she tears herself from Thorn's grasp. She stands up to her feet, her balance wobbling from side to side.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn keeps his distance now, but her dismissal doesn't shut up his voice. "I'm not good at being sympathetic for shit like this, but it happens. In the end, we all die, and sometimes, there's nothing you can do about it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But there is.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There always is.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎My always.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Heat swells within her blood, rising from the chasm of sorrows dug deep within her chest. It's born from her lungs, swelling into the air she breathes. Somewhere in the distance, she hears a violin playing a song written by a man who found solace in his eternal partner, their song. Come on, sparrow, his voice sings to the melody. I know you can play it too. Morrow did everything in his power to reverse the curses slain to this earth, but he just never got the chance to finish on the promises he made to his pack.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Can she?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's silver hues find the horizon of Tabrien. The forests appear so luscious as dawn rolls over the foothills. In the distance, smoke wafts from crimson tents, artillery and camps for terran soldiers. This world's horrors delve so much deeper than just a terran quarrel, but she's ready to have it all avalanche upon her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She'll kill. She'll eradicate. She'll do it all in the name of Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her fists clench tight, and the lands quake beneath the palace. Heat soars through her limbs, sizzling into an awakening of new blood. Elowen will build a new path alongside his footsteps, doing what he vowed to do until his last breath.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Protect the pack.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Elowen," Thorn warns as the palace groans underneath their feet. The pain that consumes her keeps growing, a thrum that's becoming a roar. "You don't know what you're capable of doing."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shakes Thorn's hand away, snapping her head towards him. In the reflection of his glazed silver eyes, she catches her own emanating with ancient light glowing like a firefly in the darkness. The hum within her blood continues to rise until it all unravels in her unleash.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's what he would want, isn't it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎For once, the ancient man is at a loss for words.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She tears from him, storming onto the balcony and whisking herself into the air with a deadly flap of white wings. The wind surrounds her, the gusts answering to her call as gales push her towards the terran camp. The ground continues to shake, the sound of crumbling stones and snapping wooden limbs echoing off the hilltops. The heat of her ancient's magic reaches her fingertips like velvety honey, a sight so beautiful, and yet, a knife of destruction. It awakens from a deep slumber, and gods, isn't it melodious?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Power ricochets through her bones, sparking electricity as it zips through her skin. There's only one thought at the forefront of her mind as the hole in her heart expands tenfold.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This is the final wish of the alpha, and she's determined to fulfil it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She soars towards the terran camp, gliding through the jet stream until she spies that gaudy canvas structure standing in the centre of it all. Knights in glistening iron wander around orange fires, protecting the poor excuse of the high lord that remains inside. This will be the last day that Alistiar Carrin breathes in this world, for she'll rid it of anything and anyone that dares come between her and her province.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No one will come between her, Morrow, and their pack again.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Above her head, the moon the were worship remains nearly full, only a night away until the cataclysm of war comes for Tabrien. Somehow, those terrans have kept to their word. First, she kills the high lord. Next, she frees her mate's best friend.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Then, perhaps she'll do what no one believes she can. She'll rid Aelethia of the blight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Within the air, she summons a bolt of lightning, harnessing her powers as it continues to rise from the depths of her. She spears the electricity, holding the hot bolt within her fingers, before lifting it above her head like a spear. Thunder booms behind her, an alarm that alerts the terrans as iron arrows shoot in her direction. They all burn before they can pierce her white wings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's time for the armageddon of the terrans to commence.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She throws the bolt straight for the edge of Alistair's tent, waves of rippling fire coursing through the streets of the encampment. Iron-clad knights sprint from the scorching debris, doing everything in their favour not to burn to her magic.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎For some reason, she expects to hear a voice behind her telling her to stop. That's how it usually goes when she tries to fly away, doesn't it? But no one comes to her aid. It's only her and her magic.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Amidst the burning flames, Elowen swoops down towards the entrance of the maroon tent. Terrans raise their iron swords at her, but she pushes them back with gales of light magic, tipping them into a trance. With a flick of her wrist, the breeze opens up the tent flap as she enters inside. She's alive with raw power that hasn't been seen in years, and the sight alone is enough to send fear into the minds of her predators.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's met with a fury of guards, each one of them dressed in that nauseating iron her wyng detests. Around her lies stashes of iron weapons, as well as supplies meant for a king. Still, her light-filled eyes only search for the man that dares enter her province to amalgamate it to Brecia.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And there he stands. Alistair Carrin. Dressed in a fluffy crimson robe with an ugly bedhead and rough beard. Elowen must've disturbed his beauty rest—but still awake enough to already be tending to his smoke.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The high lord seems frightened at first at the raw energy of light pouring from Elowen's silver eyes, but laughs when he recognizes the woman barging into his abode. "Oh, now this is amusing."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She'll kill him. She will. There's no vessel in her body that upholds a fleck of sympathy for this man. But first, she needs answers so she can deliver justice for what he's done. He invaded her homeland with their cannons and weaponry, killing the ones she loved as a child. Now, he threatens to do the same to Tabrien.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where is he?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Alistair's oil slick eyes narrow in on her. "Be more specific."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn. The beta. Where is he?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To this, the high lord releases another chilling heckle. "Where's the respect? You come in here at this goddamn hour in the morning, demanding that I give you my prized prisoner? I am highly aware that this mutt is the one that took you from the auctions without proper payment. If I can't have you, then let me have him."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Tongues of heat lick at her fingertips, aching to unleash and burn this asshole to the ground, along with his entire army.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Is obliterating Reovell not enough?" Elowen clenches her fists, holding back the sudden burst of ancient magic that she spent years trying to find. "You took my home away from me, and just when I've found it, you try to get away with it again?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The wyng were never held in high esteem," Alistair sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You hoarded the resources stored inside those Reovellian mountains, treasures beyond counting, and yet you refused to share. The wyng couldn't be persuaded, so I was left with no choice but to seize what should have been mine by right."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That's because in the wrong hands, your hands, those riches become our poison."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And I agree," he reaches over, finding an iron-headed spear. "Iron is forever vile to the wyng, just as silver is vile to the were."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't have patience for this," Elowen grits, stepping ever closer to the terran man. "Give me back the beta, and maybe, I'll let you go."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And by 'maybe', she won't. If she lets him free, he'll only wreak havoc elsewhere.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Alistair tilts his head towards the glow radiating from her. "You say that as if I'm your prisoner, which is quite comical, really. I'm not intimidated by some weak fae magic. Like that alpha, I too, know the mystics of the witches."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Your witch's spells won't do anything against this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In a fit of rash decisions, she unleashes the ancient's magic from her bloodstream, a storm within the maroon canvas tent. Metal armour flies in cyclones through the air, ripping through the fabric shelter and decimating it to shreds. Supplies fly in fits of fire, burning to ashes before the high lord's gaze—his sword, his shield, his tunics, his jewels, his underwear—gone. His guards and knights flee for shelter from the massacre she's about to unfold, because nobody dares get between her and those she's sworn to protect.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Afterall, she is the luna of Tabrien now.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Flames lap at the edges of the tent that once stood, smoke swallowing up the fresh air that once surrounded them. All that remains is the high lord, untouched, still nursing a cigarette and standing in his fluffy night robe. Only now, his face pales at what he'd witnessed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Take that as a warning," she orders, her voice a boom of thunder. "Where is he?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Alistair drops his smoke, a bead of sweat dripping from his temple. He certainly didn't suspect this powerful of magic to come from her, but the hum beneath her skin continues to brew into something she can't hold back.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"This must be a trick," he stammers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're only as strong as your army and iron, and where are they all now?" she gestures to the rubble of the tent, the shouts of men either hindered by her gales of magic or fleeing in cowardice. "Show me Ronyn, and this all ends."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"One day, I'll still take Tabrien," he spits out. "The were will worship me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Where is Ronyn?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Instead of answering, Alistair mutters an indistinct incantation under his breath, tracing a rune etched into his bicep. Before Elowen can shoot a bolt of lightning to his heart, he vanishes into thin air, out of her grasp.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎All she's left with is the destruction of the terran camp and no Ronyn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Elowen!" A voice barks from behind her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She whips around. Through the flames, two wolves and a man appear in dangerous silhouettes. She recognizes the wolves as Arion and Cordea, with Thorn riding upon Arion's back. Thorn swings himself from the wolf's back, charging straight up to where she stands, her powers illuminating her location like a beacon.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn takes her by the shoulders, his own silver eyes flaring up with an equal ancient's magic. "What the hell are you thinking?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm trying to get Ronyn back!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And did it fucking work?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No, but what did they want her to do? Go back to the palace and cry for the man she lost? The ache in her chest will only keep expanding unless she lets herself fly and try to fix every brokenness ridden to her pack.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn sighs, his breath heavy and drained. "You had me worried," he mutters, almost inaudible. "You don't know how to control your ancient's magic yet, and I bet Alistair is already coming up with theories on what to do with you when you meet again."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You know I'll win," she rouses. "He ran away like a wimp."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's a wimp ridden with unpredictable witches' spells," he sneers. "He probably took Ronyn with him back to Brecia."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A growl cuts the short as Arion shifts back into his human form. Cordea growls too, sniffing the air furiously through the smoke and flame.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We found Ronyn's scent," Arion admits, "and we need to follow it now before we lose it."

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 once they discovered their high lord abandoned them at the hill of the Tabrien capital. Shortly after Elowen's escapades of magic, the rest of the were army and fae soldiers invaded the camp, arresting the terrans that failed to flee their base. She let Oleander and Ember tend to that. It seems Alistiar didn't think too far in advanced, leaving behind so many supplies and fortunately, their prized prisoner.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow would've loved to see this catastrophe unfold, as it seems he's always caught in the middle of them.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎By now, Arion shifts back into his wolf form, him and Cordea prowling through the maze of the camp until they find an ill-constructed tent. To think that they left Ronyn here for weeks, and a pang of guilt enters Elowen's heart knowing that they should've saved him sooner. It's a tent built on a muddied floor with holes penetrating the canvas, yet one guarded with barbed silver and iron wire. Neither of the wolves desire to touch the contraption, and neither does Elowen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn bare-hands the metal blockade and hucks it away from the entrance. Both Arion and Cordea's wolves have tails eagerly wagging, a sign that their friend must be in there.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They let Elowen enter in first. Through the holes in the ceiling letting in the first glimpses of morning light, her eyes lock on the man laying in the soil dressed in nothing more than dirty trousers. He's skeletal, nothing like the brawny Ronyn that she had come to know. Silver shackles imprison him, sicken him, weaken him. His once glowing complexion remains an ill ghost painted in whorls and swirls of his tattoos, as well as a few forced runes cut into his skin right above his beltline, the same ones Alistair used to transport himself. His hazel eyes remain closed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ronyn," she cries, running to his side.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She kneels down before him, settling his head against her chest as a sob wrecks from her throat. He's so ridden in soil that the grime sinks beneath her nails, and he smells of piss and rot. He's unrecognisable, and yet, this is the one that Morrow forfeited a life for. Within his chest, his heart still beats. Although shallow, his lungs still breathe. She won't let that decision go to waste.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She scratches behind his ear, and a soft growl echoes from his chest.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Arion and Cordea's wolves join her, all with Cordea growling bitterly at the nearness of the silver. Welts swell around Ronyn's wrists from the metal, his blood naturally despising it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn breaks the chains with a simple snap of his own ancient's magic, alleviating the beta from the pain. None of them can understand the hell that he'd succumbed to during his imprisonment, and it's impossible to know if the same man will be returning to them.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Oh fuck, he's in rough shape." Thorn picks up Ronyn's frail body in his hold, nodding his head at the trio. "We need to get him back to the palace now. We don't have much time."

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elowen has UNLEASHED her fury for the first time, and i absolutely love it. also, ronyn has finally returned back to the story which i'm super excited about. only, he has to return to a world without morrow in it because... yeah, that happened.

i'm sorry if the last short chapter scared you all into thinking the book was over. it's not! and for that, i apologize. there's still more elowen adventures to come.

thanks for all the comments and theories about what's gonna happen next! glad you're all along for the ride!

ivy <3