Page 11 of The Onyx Covenant (The Lunaterra Chronicles #2)

Chapter Eight

LYRA

T he Hall of Champions steals my breath away the moment we enter. Towering obsidian pillars stretch toward a vaulted ceiling where thousands of crystals dangle like frozen stars, scattering the light from massive iron chandeliers dripping with thick white candles. Their flames dance and flicker, casting long shadows that seem to move with a life of their own across the midnight-blue walls inlaid with silver runes that pulse with ancient fae magic.

A table stretches the length of the hall—ancient ironwood polished to a gleam, the surface so dark it reflects our faces like a still lake at midnight. Silver platters overflow with steaming food, goblets gleam in the candlelight, and the air is heavy with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and freshly baked bread.

I salivate at the smells.

I adjust the sleeve of the new training clothes we were given for dinner—soft leather pants and a fitted tunic in Elios deep blue. Over the top of that is a fitted jacket I carry in my hands for now.

“Stop fidgeting,” Theron murmurs as he pulls out my chair, his breath warm against my ear. “You look like you’re planning an escape.”

“Maybe I am,” I shoot back, sliding into the seat as he takes my jacket and sets it on the back of my chair, which is carved with moon phases.

Theron drops into the chair beside me, his thigh pressing against mine beneath the table. His dark hair falls loose across his brow, framing sharp cheekbones and those storm-silver eyes that always stare at me. Like the rest of us, he’s dressed in the ceremonial training gear, though his is Umbra black, the fabric stretching across broad shoulders that seem to take up too much space beside me.

“That would be ill-advised,” he says, his lips quirking upward. “I’d have to come after you, and we both know I’d catch you.”

I half laugh. “You sound awfully confident for someone who needed my help to win today’s challenge.”

“Is that what happened?” He leans closer, and I catch the scent of pine and winter frost that clings to his skin. “I remember things differently.”

“You would.” I try to ignore the heat that spreads through me at his proximity, focusing instead on the feast laid before us.

Aria slides into the seat beside me, her movements fluid. She’s cleaned up for dinner, but her cheekbone still bears a scratch from training, angry red against her honey-toned skin. Her chestnut hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and her amber eyes sparkle with her grin.

“Holy mother of moons,” she whispers, eyeing the spread of food. “If I die tomorrow, at least my last meal was spectacular. I don’t remember ever seeing so much food.”

“Don’t even joke about dying,” I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one heard.

“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone’s thinking it.” She reaches for a platter piled high with roasted pheasant, the skin crisp and glistening with a honey glaze. “Besides, if we’re going to die, we might as well do it with full bellies and smiles on our faces.”

On her other side, Orion sits with his back ramrod straight, looking out of place in his formal training clothes. His emerald eyes remain fixed on the others at the head of the table.

“You could at least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Aria tells him, nudging his arm with her elbow.

He doesn’t even glance at her. “This isn’t a celebration. It’s another test.”

“Does everything have to be so serious with you? I’m sure this is just them spoiling us before the big event.” She piles food onto his plate regardless of his dour mood.

Orion’s lips twitch, the closest thing to a smile I’ve seen from him. “Pure stubbornness might keep us alive tomorrow.”

She grins triumphantly when he finally picks up his fork.

I turn away, giving them privacy, only to find Theron watching me with an intensity that has my cheeks burning up. He’s already filled his plate, but he hasn’t touched the food.

“What?” I demand, reaching for a small loaf of bread still steaming from the ovens, along with the butter.

His eyes follow my movements with that predatory focus I’m starting to recognize.

“Just wondering if you’ve accepted your fate yet… being stuck with me.”

I narrow my eyes. “You mean being forced into this nightmare because you broke every rule selecting an Omega from the enemy pack? No, I haven’t accepted anything.”

His smile is sharp, dangerous. “Though you can’t deny we work well together. Or have you forgotten how I lifted you up that heart tree to collect the token? The way you climbed me to reach those higher branches.” He’s grinning like a fool.

I laugh at him as I spread butter on my bread, watching it melt into the warm crust. “I told you yesterday and the day before—selecting me was a mistake.”

“We’ll see about that.” He leans closer.

My body buzzes all over at his whispered words.

Before I can respond, Kieran slams his goblet down on the table, sitting next to Theron, drawing everyone’s attention. Dark hair wild around his strong face, a faint shade of growth on his jawline, his smirk bright in the candlelight.

“To all of us making it through today’s trust mission!” he announces, raising his goblet high. “Though some of us”—he winks at Theron and me—“did it with a bit more style by coming in first. May tomorrow’s trials be just as successful!”

Cheers erupt from half of the wolves, though a few others can’t help but smile at Kieran’s infectious enthusiasm. He has that effect on people—making you like him even when you know you shouldn’t.

Rachel, his Omega partner, yanks him back into his seat by the hem of his jacket. “Do you ever shut up?” she asks with a teasing smile.

“Never,” he replies with a wink. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Sure it is,” Theron mutters, but his lips twitch with his own grin.

Kieran leans across Theron, his eyes finding mine. “How’s our little priestess holding up? Not too overwhelmed by my friend’s sunny disposition, I hope?”

“I’ve survived worse,” I reply dryly.

“Have you now?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Care to share details? For research purposes, of course.”

Theron elbows him. “Mind your own business, Stormfang.”

“When has that ever been fun?” Kieran laughs, rubbing his side. “Besides, someone has to make conversation. You two look like you’re plotting murders instead of enjoying a feast.”

“Who says we can’t do both?” I reach for my goblet, and both men laugh. Aria, next to me, watches, smirking. There’s something comforting about having her here with me, as though I’m not alone in this chaotic mess.

Across the table, Selene’s ice-blue gaze narrows to slits. She’s an Umbra wolf and hasn’t touched her food, her pale fingers circling the rim of her goblet as she watches us… watches me.

“Something amusing?” she asks, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Or have you simply forgotten which side you’re on?”

The table falls quiet, all attention shifting between us.

“I know exactly which side I’m on,” I say, meeting her gaze steadily. “My own.”

“How convenient.” She tosses her deep brown hair over one shoulder, the movement deliberately sensual.

“At least she faces her opponents directly,” Theron interjects, his voice deceptively soft. “Instead of hiding behind others and pecking at weaknesses from safety. Like an unintelligent coward.”

Selene’s face flushes an ugly red. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“If you don’t understand, you’re proving his point,” Kieran butts in.

She turns to Erebus, her hulking partner with shoulders like small mountains and a perpetual scowl. “Are you going to let them talk to me like that?”

Before Erebus can respond, Kieran lets out a dramatic sigh. “Calm your damn heels, everyone. We’re trying to eat here!” He pats his stomach. “Some of us have important digestive business to attend to.”

“Is that what you call stuffing your face?” Rachel asks.

“I call it preparing for survival.” He grins, tearing into a turkey leg with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Can’t fight on an empty stomach!”

“Or a full one, either,” she points out.

“Watch me.”

Servers start coming into the room, bringing more platters—steaming vegetables sprinkled with herbs, sweet pastries drizzled with honey, and pitchers of fruit juice and water. I notice there’s no alcohol, which makes sense. The Covenant wants us sharp for tomorrow.

“Is your friend always this… much?” I ask Theron quietly, nodding toward Kieran, who’s now performing an elaborate tale for those around him, complete with sound effects.

Theron’s lips twitch. “Always.” He laughs out loud.

“And yet you keep him around.”

“He grows on you.” He takes a sip from his goblet, eyes never leaving mine over the rim. “Like a fungus you can’t quite get rid of.”

“I heard that!” Kieran calls out. “And I prefer to think of myself as a rare and valuable truffle.”

“Rare, definitely,” Theron replies, chuckling.

As the men continue their banter, I fill my plate with roasted venison and herb-crusted potatoes, my stomach growling despite the tension, and then eat.

Aria leans in close beside me. “See the ice queen across the table?” Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head subtly toward Selene.

I follow her gaze, noting how Selene’s attention remains fixed on Theron, nibbling on her food as she studies him laughing with Kieran. “What about her?”

“Found out something interesting today.” Aria spears a glazed carrot, pretending to be casual. “That’s who Theron was supposed to select as his partner for the Harvest Ritual. Everyone expected it… including her.”

I nearly choke on my food. “All right, that explains the animosity.”

“Mm-hmm. Her father and Theron’s had some kind of arrangement.” She takes a sip from her goblet. “Until Theron went rogue and chose you instead.”

“She might be responsible for my attack, then,” I whisper in her ear.

“Jealousy’s an ugly thing.” Aria shrugs, but her expression is serious. “Watch your back with that one. Wounded pride makes people dangerous.”

That’s when Selene leans forward, practically draping herself across the table.

“I was surprised to see you paired with the priestess, Theron. Especially after what happened between us in the western forest last moon.”

My hand freezes halfway to my mouth, curious as much as everyone else at the table now listening.

Theron’s jaw tightens, but Selene answers before he can.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Her voice drops to a stage whisper. “We were hunting, just the two of us. One thing led to another, and…” She trails off with a suggestive smile. “Let’s just say his mouth is good for more than just giving orders.”

Heat floods my face, but it’s not from embarrassment. It’s from fury. I don’t have any claim on Theron, yet the thought of him with Selene makes me want to leap across the table and claw her eyes out.

“Is your memory really that bad, or do you just enjoy rewriting history?” Theron asks mildly. “What actually happened was you tripped over your own feet and took us both down a ravine. The only thing my mouth did that day was curse when I hit every rock on the way down.”

Kieran bursts out laughing. “That was the time you came back looking like you’d wrestled with a pig in the mud!” He slaps the table. “And you”—he points at Selene—“you claimed a twisted ankle and had three warriors carry you back to camp on a stretcher!”

Even some of the Elios join in the laughter, and Selene’s face contorts with rage.

“Laugh all you want,” she hisses. “We’ll see who’s laughing when the trials are over.”

“Probably still Kieran,” I say, and more laughter erupts.

She huffs, folding her arms over her chest.

Erebus fills his plate with more food, glancing over at her. “You started it, so I can’t help you out. Maybe just enjoy the meal,” he says simply before returning to his plate.

Selene’s mouth drops open in shock, and even I’m surprised. The massive Umbra warrior has barely spoken two words all evening.

“Trouble in paradise?” Kieran stage-whispers, earning a death glare from Selene.

I glance around the table, taking stock of everyone. Most of the Elios are clustered together, speaking in hushed tones while shooting suspicious glances at their Umbra opponents. Some seem to be getting along, heads bent close in conversation, while others look like they’re planning how to murder each other in their sleep.

“They’re all staring at us,” I murmur to Theron.

He follows my gaze around the table. “Let them wonder.”

“You don’t care what they think?”

“Do you?”

The question catches me off guard. Do I care? The Elios have never fully accepted me anyway—too scholarly, the Alpha’s daughter—and the Umbra see me as an outsider, a potential threat. Maybe that’s why being paired with Theron doesn’t feel as wrong as it should.

“I care about surviving,” I finally admit.

His hand finds my knee under the table, and I nearly jump out of my skin at the contact. “Then we’re on the same page.”

I should push his hand away. Instead, I find myself hyperaware of the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my pants and the slight pressure of his fingers.

“Your friend is mooning over Orion again,” Theron says, nodding toward Aria, who keeps stealing glances at Orion.

“She could do worse.”

“She could do better.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Such as?”

His gaze flicks toward Kieran, who’s engaged in animated conversation with his selected Omega, Rachel, and another male from the Umbra pack. “Just an observation.”

I’m not sure what to make of his suggestion. Did Kieran mention being interested in my friend?

Aria turns to me, her cheeks flushed. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

“Definitely you,” I tease. “Especially when you keep staring at Orion like he’s the last piece of chocolate cake.”

She groans, dropping her head into her hands. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to everyone with eyes.”

“Great. Do you think he’s noticed?” she whispers.

I glance at Orion, who’s engaged in what appears to be a serious conversation with Cassius. “I think he’s too busy plotting battle strategies to notice much of anything.”

“Maybe I should throw myself at him. Make it impossible to ignore.”

“Or maybe you should focus on surviving the trials first, then worry about your love life.”

She sighs dramatically. “You’re no fun. What’s the point of possibly facing danger tomorrow if I can’t at least try to kiss the man of my dreams tonight?”

“The point is staying alive,” I say dryly.

“Oh, please.” She reaches for her goblet. “Even you’re not immune to a little pre-battle romance. I’ve seen how you look at Theron when you think no one’s watching.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I hate the guy.”

“Sure you do.” She takes a long drink, then makes a face. “This juice tastes strange. Almost… spicy?”

I take a sip from my own goblet, only tasting the slight bitterness beneath the sweetness of berries. “Tastes the same to me.”

Aria shrugs and returns to her food.

Voices grow louder, laughter more raucous as everyone enjoys the feast and seems to be getting along more. At the far end of the table, Maddox from the Umbra pack suddenly stands, swaying slightly before staggering toward the door, hand pressed to his mouth. Others are arguing loudly.

Theron’s hand slides higher on my thigh, and I nearly knock over my goblet in surprise.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, trying to push his hand away.

He catches my fingers, intertwining them with his own beneath the table. “What I’ve wanted to do since they shackled us together.”

Something in his voice makes me look up, and I’m startled by what I see. The carefully controlled mask he always wears has slipped, revealing an intensity that steals my breath. His pupils are dilated, nearly swallowing the gray of his irises.

“You’re acting weird,” I tell him.

“I’m acting honest.” His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “There’s a difference.”

“Honesty doesn’t usually involve groping under the table.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features. Without the perpetual scowl, he’s devastatingly handsome.

“You have no idea what honesty between us would look like, Lyra.”

The way he says my name—like he’s tasting it—makes my stomach flip.

“Why don’t you enlighten me?”

It’s a challenge, one I immediately regret when he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“Honesty would be me telling you that I dream about tasting every inch of your skin,” he murmurs, his voice so low that only I can hear. “That I want to bend you over this table, tear those pants down your legs, and fuck you until you forget there was ever a time you hated me.”

I jerk back, my face on fire, my pulse hammering in my throat. “Theron!”

His eyes are dark, predatory. “Honesty would be admitting that I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you in the woods.”

“Stop it,” I whisper, but there’s no conviction in my voice. My body is betraying me, responding to his words with a rush of heat and want.

“I can just imagine how wet you are right now for me,” he whispers in my ear, and my thighs clench involuntarily. “How much you want me to make good on every filthy promise.”

“You’re insane.” But am I any better? All I can think about is climbing into his lap right here, with everyone watching.

“I’m not the one with my pulse racing and my scent screaming that I want to be fucked.”

Gods, what is wrong with me? This is Theron Shadowmane—the enemy. Yet I can’t deny that the pull between us grows stronger now more than ever before.

“I need a minute,” I mutter, pushing away from the table. I need distance, need to clear my head.

Theron’s gaze follows me as I retreat, dark with promise. “Don’t go too far, priestess. The manacle won’t allow it.”

In the corridor outside, I lean against the cool stone wall, trying to calm my racing heart. What’s happening to me? To Theron?

Movement down the hallway catches my attention. In an alcove partially hidden by heavy curtains, two figures are locked in a passionate embrace. I’m about to look away when I recognize Orion’s distinctive strawberry-blond hair. He has Nadia from our pack pressed against the wall, his mouth devouring hers as her legs wrap around his waist.

My stomach drops. Poor Aria. The crush she’s been nursing is clearly not going to end well.

I duck into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my reflection. My eyes look strange—too bright, pupils too wide. I need to calm down and not lose my head.

When I return to the hall, the chaos has escalated. Someone has overturned a platter of food, and Nero is dancing on the table, howling at the ceiling while others cheer him on. Two wolves in partial shift chase each other around the far end of the hall, knocking over a side table with a tremendous crash.

I spot Aria at the far end of the room near the curtains, deep in conversation with Kieran. Their heads are bent close together, and his hand rests lightly on her waist in a gesture that’s definitely not casual.

I weave through the madness, approaching them. “Hey there.” I try for casual but sound strained.

Aria jumps slightly, but her smile is unrepentant. “You think only you can have fun with the enemy?” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I notice her pupils are as dilated as mine were when I checked in the bathroom mirror.

“You know I have no issues with that,” I say, glancing between them. “But be careful. Something weird is going on.”

“Weird how?” Kieran asks, his hand still on Aria’s waist, tugging her closer to him in a protective manner.

I gesture around at the deteriorating scene. “Look at everyone. It’s like they’ve lost their minds.”

“Or found them,” he suggests with a lazy grin. “Maybe we’re all finally being honest about what we want.”

“Since when is honesty such a disaster?” I ask, watching as Tavian and Zephyr’s argument devolves into a fistfight, silver goblets and plates crashing to the floor around them.

“Honesty has always been dangerous,” Aria says, surprisingly serious despite her flushed cheeks. “It’s why we hide behind pack loyalties and ancient feuds instead of admitting what we really feel.”

Kieran’s eyes linger on her face. “And what do you really feel, my Aria warrior?”

Something in his tone makes me feel like an intruder. “I should get back,” I state, though neither seems to notice as I slip away.

I turn toward our table and freeze. Selene has taken my vacant seat, her body pressed against Theron’s side, one hand on his chest as she whispers in his ear. Something primal and possessive roars to life inside me, drowning out all rational thought.

I’m already striding across the room, fingers tracing the hilt of my blade. The only coherent thought in my head is… Mine. He is mine.

Just as I reach the table, a deafening horn blast cuts through the chaos. Many freeze, though others continue their revelry, too far gone to care. At the entrance, two figures in midnight-black robes stand silhouetted against the doorway.

Tarek and Melian.

“Return to your seats!” Tarek commands, his voice echoing with power. When only half the room complies, he slams his staff against the stone floor. The sound resonates like thunder, and a pulse of energy sweeps through the hall, forcing even the most wild-eyed among us to momentarily still.

I shove Selene out of my seat, reclaiming my place beside Theron.

“Touch him again, and you’ll lose that hand,” I whisper as she retreats, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “My, my. The priestess isn’t a kitten after all.”

Theron watches the exchange, his hand on my thigh again, possessive and warm.

“I like seeing you jealous.”

“Sit down, all of you!” Tarek’s voice booms again. Most comply, though Nero must be physically hauled from the tabletop by Erebus, and Zephyr continues cursing at Tavian from across the room.

Tarek paces before us. The lines of his face seem carved from stone. Melian stands eerily still beside him, her ageless face revealing nothing.

“Tonight was your final truth test,” Tarek announces, his voice cutting through the strained silence. “And you have all failed spectacularly.”

“I knew this was a test!” Orion bellows a bit too loudly. He’s returned to the table, though his hair is mussed and his lips swollen.

“The feast was laced with veritroot,” Melian explains. “A substance that strips away pretense and reveals one’s true desires and nature.”

Veritroot . The name crashes through my foggy mind. A rare herb that grows only in the deepest caves of the mountain. Priest-healers use it in sacred ceremonies to induce visions and union with the divine. But in larger doses…

“You drugged us?” Aria’s voice rises in outrage. “Without our consent?”

“You consented when you accepted your place in the Harvest Ritual,” Tarek replies coldly.

“This is bullshit!” someone calls out. “You can’t just?—”

“We can, and we did,” Melian interrupts. “Your actions tonight reveal how you truly feel toward your partners and your competitors. Consider carefully what your behavior says about you.”

My cheeks burn as I recall Theron’s whispered words, my own possessive rage. Even now, I feel it deep in my veins, pulsing, escalating.

“Some of you gravitated toward your assigned partners, strengthening bonds that will serve you well in the trials to come,” Tarek continues. “Others showed fractures that will need to be addressed. And still others”—his gaze lands on Orion—“demonstrated a complete lack of commitment to your team.”

Orion looks away, jaw tight.

Tarek steps forward, his gaze sweeping over the wolves. “You’ve feasted. You’ve been tested. And now, the Harvest Ritual trials will commence.”

Everyone starts talking at once, groaning, and protesting.

I freeze. Beside me, Theron’s hand tightens on my thigh. When I glance at him, his brow furrows.

“Tonight?” Zephyr shouts, still bleeding from his fight with Tavian. “You can’t be serious!”

“Not in this state,” Nero protests. “You’ve drugged us!”

Aria grabs my wrist. “This isn’t happening,” she whispers. “We’re not ready.”

“Exactly in this state,” Tarek iterates. “While your inhibitions are lowered, sort out the differences with your partner fast because you will need each other. Otherwise, consider yourself already failed.”

Theron leans close. “Stay calm. We can do this.” The steadiness in his voice surprises me.

“This is crazy,” Nero mutters, loud enough for me to hear.

“Preparedness is a luxury you will rarely have in battle or leadership,” Tarek replies. “The strongest wolves adapt.”

“Pair up with your Omegas,” Melian instructs. “You will travel as a team to the Darkbone Peaks.”

Murmurs ripple through the room. The Darkbone Peaks. Jagged mountains beyond both territories said to be haunted by the spirits of wolves who died in the ancient wars. Parts of the forests are also occupied by territorial trolls. Few who venture there return.

Aria’s face drains of color. “Shit!” she whispers, hand squeezing mine so tightly it hurts. “All those horrid stories we’ve heard about the place.”

I swallow hard, fear crystallizing in my gut. Theron’s gaze meets mine. We’re in this together now, whether I like it or not.

“Getting to the Darkbone Peaks is a transition to your trial,” Tarek explains. “You will face the elements, wild beasts… and perhaps even each other.”

His gaze sweeps across the room meaningfully.

“Some of you already contemplate how you might eliminate your competition,” Melian explains. “That is your right. The Harvest Ritual has always been as much about survival as leadership. But remember, your actions here will echo through your reign—should you survive to claim it.”

“But know this,” Tarek adds. “Once you reach the Bloodmoon Field at the heart of the Darkbone Peaks, the main Harvest commences. Then, the first pair to complete it will rule the Onyx Covenant for the next decade.”

I shift uncomfortably, my thoughts spiraling into dangerous territory. If Theron and I win, his pack will claim victory, but with my presence on his team, the influence of the Elios wolves won’t be ignored. But it will still be weak, as I doubt Theron’s father will not be involved. He wants me nowhere near the Onyx Covenant if the Umbra wolves win again.

My throat tightens as the weight of it all presses down on me. How am I even thinking about winning when I’m the weakest link on his team? I’m not a warrior like the others, and staying alive feels like a victory in itself. Yet… I can’t ignore what’s right in front of me. I have a dangerous, impossible chance to shift the outcome. If I hold back, if I let Theron stumble, Aria and Orion could take the lead. They could secure the win and ensure that the Elios pack controls the Onyx Covenant’s positions.

I swallow hard, my heart pounding as the weight of that decision coils tighter around me.

“One final warning,” Melian’s voice drops. “Your partner is the only one you can truly trust. They will have your back when no one else will. Remember this when the shadows grow long and the path seems uncertain.”

With those ominous words, they turn to leave, but Cassius stands.

“Wait! Just like that? No equipment, no weapons?”

Tarek pauses in the doorway. “You have the clothes on your back, the wolf in your blood, and whatever weapons you managed to conceal.” His smile is knowing.

He’s not wrong. My dagger is strapped to my waist beneath my tunic, and I’d bet my life every person in this room is similarly armed.

“May the moons guide your path. Meet us outside to commence,” Melian intones. Then they’re gone, leaving us in stunned silence that lasts approximately three heartbeats before the room erupts into chaos.

“This is a death sentence!” someone shouts.

“It’s a test of our resourcefulness,” another argues.

“It’s fucking lunacy,” someone else declares, but he’s already moving to gather what little he can from the table—a knife, a cloth napkin, anything useful.

Beside me, Theron is completely still. Then he turns to me, more focused.

“We need to move outside and start,” he says. “Now, while everyone’s still arguing.”

“What’s the rush?”

“First to leave, first to arrive.” He stands, and I quickly follow him. “Besides, do you really want to be here when the alliances start forming? When they remember how much they hate each other—and us?”

He has a point.

I turn to Aria beside me, leaning in to whisper, “We’re leaving now. You coming?”

Aria nods without hesitation and nudges Orion. Theron does the same with Kieran.

The six of us edge toward the side exit fast, trying not to draw attention. I catch movement from the corner of my eye—Selene watching us. Her ice-blue eyes narrow dangerously as she tugs on Erebus’s arm, whispering urgently.

“Move faster,” I mutter, nudging Theron. I take one last look at the chaos behind us. Half the room is still arguing, while others frantically gather supplies.

Theron’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and reassuring against the sudden chill that sweeps through me.

The Harvest Ritual has begun.

Fear and excitement war in my belly. I don’t know if I’m being stupid for trusting Theron, don’t know if we’ll survive what’s coming…

But as we plunge outside together, one thought burns brighter than the rest—whatever happens in the Darkbone Peaks, I’m no longer just the priestess in training, watching from the sidelines. For the first time in my life, I’ve stepped into the heart of the conflict, and there’s no turning back.

For better or worse, I’ve chosen my path. And may the twin moons watch over us through the darkness that lies ahead.