Torn Between Destinies-Chapter 35 - Thirty Five

The night was quiet, almost too quiet for Thornridge.

I stood on the hill just behind the packhouse, where the grass bent gently under the breeze. The moon shone bright above me, not quite full but close. Stars dotted the sky like scattered whispers, soft and endless. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling the weight of the past settle deep in my bones.

This was my last night here.

Tomorrow, we would leave.

I had said my goodbyes. I had hugged Alera, kissed the forehead of every pup I had trained, and listened to old warriors murmur stories of my father and his strength. I had smiled when I needed to. I had promised to write. Promised to return, maybe one day. Promises that tasted like ash in my mouth, even when they were true.

But now it was just me. Me, the stars, and the land that had raised me.

I crouched down and pressed my palm to the dirt. It was warm, as if the earth still remembered my footsteps from years ago. This land had held every version of me—child, warrior, Luna, mother.

And it had taken from me too.

It had taken my father. My innocence. My belief that mates never falter. That packs never turn against their own.

I closed my eyes.

"Thank you," I whispered. "For what you gave. For what you took."

The wind answered in silence.

I heard soft steps behind me. I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to.

"You always come here before big moments," Darius said quietly.

"I know."

He came closer, then knelt beside me. His hand found mine, our fingers tangling the way they used to when we were young and scared of everything.

"I remember standing right here the night before my first border patrol," I said. "I was shaking. My wolf was still too wild. My hands too soft. I thought I’d fail."

"You didn’t."

"No. But I lost a piece of myself that night. The girl who thought everything could be fixed with the right words."

Darius sighed. "I miss her sometimes."

I looked at him. "Do you?"

He didn’t hesitate. "Yes. But I love the woman more."

We sat there in silence. The kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

Below us, the pack was mostly asleep. A few lights still flickered in the windows—people up too late, maybe writing goodbye letters, maybe crying into their pillows. I’d done the same once.

"I didn’t think it would feel this hard," I whispered.

"Leaving?"

"Yeah."

Darius’s voice was soft. "It’s not just a place. It’s your whole story."

"I keep wondering if we’re doing the right thing."

He turned to me. "Luciana. We are."

"But we’re taking others with us. What if they regret it?"

"We’re giving them choice. That’s more than we were given."

I nodded. "Still... this land shaped us."

"It also nearly broke us."

He was right. But truth never made the goodbye easier.

I thought of my mother. Of Aira kneeling in this very grass, braiding my hair before training. Her voice soft, telling me stories of the human world she left behind. I thought of Nefang, my father, standing tall at every ceremony, watching me like he saw my future in every step I took.

They were gone now. But the land had kept their shadows. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

I lay back against the grass, staring at the stars.

Darius followed, his shoulder touching mine.

"Do you remember the first time we kissed?" I asked suddenly.

He laughed softly. "Here. Right under that tree."

I smiled. "You were so nervous."

"You bit my lip."

"You leaned in too fast."

We both laughed, the sound quiet and broken, but real.

"I thought love would be simple," I said.

"It’s not."

"No. But it’s strong."

He looked at me then, and in his eyes, I saw everything—our pain, our joy, the child we made, the future we chose. I didn’t look away.

"I’m scared," I admitted.

"So am I," he replied.

That comforted me more than any promise.

A howl broke the stillness. Then another. A soft chorus that spread through the trees like the wind itself had joined in. A song of farewell.

"They’re honoring us," Darius said.

"No, they’re mourning."

"Both."

I sat up again, brushing grass from my dress. "Do you think Kelan will lead well?"

"Yes. And if he stumbles, the pack will help him rise."

We had spent weeks training him. Teaching him every border rule, every ritual. Every way to hold a pack together when it threatened to fall apart.

Still, handing over the title felt like leaving a part of my soul behind.

I stood, brushing my hands off on my cloak. "I want to walk one last time."

"Alone?" he asked.

I nodded.

He didn’t fight me. "Don’t stay too long."

"I won’t."

As I walked, the trees greeted me like old friends. I ran my fingers along the bark. I let my eyes memorize the curves of the paths. Every rock, every bend. I had raced through these woods. Howled under these canopies. Shifted and bled and danced in the moonlight.

I found the training field. The same one where I had fought beside packmates and lovers. The place where I had failed. And risen. Again and again.

I whispered goodbye to it, too.

Then I walked to the stream. The one behind the Luna quarters, where Erya had been born in the heat of summer.

I knelt, touching the water.

"May she forget the pain of this place," I murmured. "And remember only the peace."

The stars watched silently.

When I returned, the fire outside the packhouse had burned low. A few wolves sat near it, eyes red but heads held high. Tahlia waved at me. She had packed her things already. The twins, Dara and Malen, nodded in respect.

They were ready.

Darius stood holding Erya. She blinked up at me with sleepy eyes and a tiny yawn.

I took her from his arms. She fit against me so perfectly, as if my arms were made to carry her.

"She’s warm," I whispered.

"She always is," he replied.

Together, we walked back toward our quarters, one last time.

Inside, the room felt too clean. Too untouched. As if we had already left.

I laid Erya down and stood at the window. The moon hung just above the trees now. Higher than before. Brighter.

"It’s time," I whispered.

Darius stood behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist.

"Yes. It is."

I leaned back into him. Felt his breath on my neck. We stayed like that for a long time.

Our last night.

Our first step.

Tomorrow, we would go—not just to leave something behind, but to build something new. A home. A place untouched by old pain. A land where our daughter could grow without fear, without heavy names on her back.

We wouldn’t have a title there. No Alpha. No Luna.

Just Darius. Just Luciana.

Just us.

And that was enough.