"Death should have stayed silent.
But in Damien's palace, the dead don't rest—they whisper, they linger, and they choose who will carry their last breath.
Tonight, Soraya wakes to a pain that isn't her own.
A forest she never walked.
A death she never witnessed.
A Luna she never met—standing before her, alive in spirit and hungry for a vessel.
And when the dead queen reaches for her, Soraya learns the truth:
She was never just the Alpha King's little sister.
She is the gate between realms.
The bearer of a soul that refuses to die.
And her scream will shake the entire kingdom."
Soraya didn't remember falling asleep. She didn't remember drifting.
Only the steady ache pulsing behind her eyes—sharp, rhythmic, and too familiar.
The room was silent except for the faint crackle of the wall torches. Damien's palace was colder at night. Not cold like Winterfall—cold in a way that seeped into her ribs and settled there like something watching her.
She hadn't eaten much from the plate the maid threw at her.
She didn't have the strength.
Or the appetite.
The Luna's body lay across the room, untouched, unmoving. Soraya tried not to look, but grief has a way of pulling your gaze even when you fight it.
Soraya drew her knees to her chest, sitting on the cold marble floor. Her head slowly dipped down—
—and that was when the pain hit.
A splitting, skull-ripping, bone-deep pain that made her gasp.
Her eyes flew open—
But she wasn't in the room anymore.
She wasn't on the palace floor.
She wasn't even in her body.
She stood in a snow-drenched forest beneath a full moon that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Shadows moved.
Breath fogged.
And before her—
Cordelia. Alive.
Not the preserved corpse.
Cordelia—the Luna.
The strongest witch-wolf that ever lived.
She watched her brother aim.
Miss.
Struggle with the wolf.
She saw the wolf's speed, its strength, its desperation.
She felt the pang of its fear as if it echoed through her own ribs.
And she watched the blade sink into her chest.
Cordelia's chest.
Soraya screamed—
"STOP!"
But the forest didn't hear her.
Cordelia collapsed, turning into her human self.
And then—
A pull.
Something grabbed her by the spine, snatching her out of the forest, ripping her backward like she was being pulled through water—
She gasped—
—and opened her eyes back in the chamber.
Her body jerked violently. Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she pressed her hand against it, terrified it might burst out. Her breaths staggered, uneven.
But the pain wasn't done with her.
Cordelia's body on the bed glowed faintly.
Not bright—just a soft golden shimmer, like candlelight at the edge of dying.
"Wh—why is it doing that…?" Soraya whispered.
A soft crackling filled the air.
Golden dust—thin, delicate, barely visible—lifted from Cordelia's still chest and drifted upward.
And then downward.
Toward Soraya.
"No—no—stop—please—"
Her body arched as the golden wisps hit her chest. The impact wasn't violent. It was… familiar. Like something that already belonged to her but had been missing for too long.
Soraya's hands slammed against the floor, back lifting off the marble, breath ripped from her lungs.
Outside the palace, thunder rolled—sharp, sudden, violent. A window cracked down the middle. Somewhere far below, torches flickered out. Wolves winced as the pressure shifted in the air.
And deep beneath the palace, in the underground dungeon where the witches had been imprisoned for years—
One whispered, voice trembling:
"She has awakened."
Another breathed:
"The… the true Queen… she's here."
Back in the chamber, Soraya squeezed her eyes shut, shaking.
When she opened them again—
Cordelia was standing.
Not her body.
Her spirit.
Translucent. Beautiful. Terrifying.
"Y-you're… you're dead…"
Cordelia tilted her head, lips curling into a small, eerie smile.
"He won't kill you," she whispered. "He'll break you. Slowly. But you can handle that… right, sister?"
"S-sister?"
Cordelia didn't answer.
She drifted forward—
"It's time," she said softly.
"For me to cross to the other side."
She lifted her glowing hand—
"W-wait—stop—!"
Cordelia pressed her palm against Soraya's chest.
Soraya screamed.
Her back arched.
The floor cracked beneath her.
Magic poured through her veins like wildfire, burning, tearing, rewriting something inside her.
Cordelia's soul pushed harder—
And then—
It entered her.
Passed straight through her.
Used her as the gateway between realms.
Soraya screamed so loudly the entire palace heard it.
Guards dropped their weapons.
Servants flinched.
Even the frozen winds howled in response.
And far across the palace—
Damien stopped walking.
Why?
Why did hearing her scream like that make him feel bad?
He didn't know.
He hated that he didn't know.
He hated that he cared.