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Something was coming. But so werethey.

Celestial Pines had chosen its side.

And this time,chaoswas fightingwiththem.

37

JACE

The forest didn’t whisper that night, it roared.

The ground trembled with the weight of approaching fury, like the earth itself had drawn breath and was holding it, waiting for blood.

Jace stood at the clearing’s edge, shoulders squared beneath the weight of war.

His wolves—hispeople—flanked him, their eyes glowing in the dark, jaws tight, spells laced across their armor and skin. The coven stood behind them, flanked by enchanted sigils glowing along the treeline, a kaleidoscope of protection and defiance. Lyra’s chaotic energy pulsed beneath his ribs like a second heartbeat.

He’d never felt more alive.

Or more sure.

“We hold the line here,” he said, his voice carrying across the clearing, low and commanding. “This is our land. Our home. And they don’t get it. Not today.”

Logan cracked his knuckles beside him. “Hell of a night for a reckoning.”

Jace’s eyes narrowed toward the black veil rising beyond the trees.

“It’s time.”

A howl split the air—high, sharp,wrong. It came from the other side of the veil, just before Ezra’s rogues breached the treeline. Half-shifted forms, glowing eyes, tangled furs. Some ran on two legs, others on four. And leading them, with that same smug smile carved onto his too-pretty face, was Ezra.

His pack poured into the clearing like poison.

And Jace, he met them head-on.

With a primal roar, he shifted mid-stride, bones snapping clean as his wolf form surged forward—midnight dark and massive. The first rogue that lunged was met with teeth and fury, his neck broken with a single twist of Jace’s jaw. Around him, the clash broke out in chaos—wolves tearing through wolves, magic flaring from coven witches, townsfolk holding the line with weapons and will.

A cry rose behind them.

Lyra’s voice.

Strong. Commanding. Ethereal.

“By root and ash, by thorn and flame—forest spirits, rise and claim!”

The earth cracked beneath her.

From the Whispering Woods camemovement—not just wind, but shapes. Old ones. Spirits in bark and bone, antlers and moss. The forest answered her call, stepping into the clearing with eyes like starlight and breath like stormwind.

The rogues faltered.

Jace didn’t.

He broke through the enemy line like a shadow, tearing toward Ezra, who stood grinning on a rise just ahead, sword in one hand, dark magic coiled in the other.

“About time,” Ezra sneered. “You always did like to make an entrance.”

Jace shifted back into his human form mid-leap, landing hard with a sword drawn from the ether. He had put on his enchanted battle garb that reappeared on him when he shifted back instead of being left in tatters and him naked. His scabbard was there too. “You always did like running your mouth.”