Aria's POV
I'm drowning in fire, and no one can hear me scream.
At least, that's what it feels like when I finally claw my way back to consciousness. My eyes flutter open, and even that small movement sends pain shooting through my entire body. Everything hurts—my chest, my head, my bones, my skin, even my teeth. It's like someone filled my veins with broken glass and poison.
"Aria! Oh thank the Moon Goddess, you're awake!"
Mira's face appears above me, her cheeks wet with tears. She grabs my hand and squeezes so tight it would hurt if I could feel anything past the agony already consuming me.
"How long?" My voice comes out as a croak, barely louder than a whisper.
"Three days." Mira wipes her eyes frantically. "You've been unconscious for three days. We thought—I thought—" Her voice breaks. "Please, you need to eat something. Drink water. Anything."
Three days. I've been dying for three days.
I try to sit up, but my body won't cooperate. I'm too weak, too broken. My chest is wrapped in tight bandages that smell like healing herbs, but they're not helping. Nothing can help what's wrong with me.
The rejection isn't just a broken heart. It's a curse eating me alive from the inside out.
"Where am I?" I manage to ask, though I already know. The smell of blood and medicine, the rough blanket beneath me, the sounds of groaning wolves in other beds—this is the healing den where they bring the dying.
"You collapsed at the ceremony," Mira says softly, helping me take a tiny sip of water. "They brought you here. Aria, the healers say..." She can't finish the sentence.
"Say what?"
"They say you won't survive another week. The rejection was too brutal. Your body is shutting down."
I should feel scared. I should cry or fight or rage against the unfairness of it all. But I feel nothing except the hollow emptiness where my wolf used to be.
Luna? I call out in my mind, reaching for my wolf the way I've done since I was thirteen.
Silence.
Luna, please. Are you there?
Nothing. Not even a whisper.
My wolf is gone. The rejection killed her, and now it's killing me too.
"I brought you soup," Mira says desperately, holding up a wooden bowl. "Just a few bites, please. You have to keep your strength up."
"Why?" The word slips out before I can stop it. "Why should I keep fighting, Mira? There's nothing left to fight for."
"Don't say that!" Mira's voice cracks. "You have me. You have—"
"I have you," I interrupt gently. "One friend in a world that hates me. A world where the Moon Goddess herself paired me with a man who would rather watch me die than give me a chance."
Mira opens her mouth to argue, but we both hear it then—whispers from across the healing den. The other omegas who work here think I can't hear them, or maybe they just don't care.
"Poor thing won't last the week."
"Did you see the rejection? It was brutal."
"Alpha Caspian showed no mercy. But can you blame him? Her family killed his father."
That last whisper drives a spike through my chest worse than any physical pain.
"My family was innocent," I try to say, but it comes out too quiet for anyone except Mira to hear.
"I know," Mira whispers, squeezing my hand. "I know the truth, Aria. Your parents were good people. Your grandmother was a healer. They never practiced dark magic."
But knowing the truth doesn't matter when the whole world believes a lie.
More whispers drift over:
"I heard the black marks spreading across her skin during the rejection. Like cracks in porcelain."
"Death marks. That's what happens when an Alpha rejects a mate so completely. The bond doesn't just break—it shatters everything."
"She's cursed. Just like her family."
I want to scream at them. I want to tell them my parents spent their lives helping people, that my grandmother delivered half the babies in our territory, that the Emberly family never hurt anyone. But what's the point? Dead girls don't get to defend their honor.
"Aria, please." Mira holds the soup spoon to my lips. "One bite."
I force myself to take it, even though it tastes like ash in my mouth. Even though swallowing feels like swallowing knives. Mira deserves that much—she's stayed by my side when everyone else abandoned me.
"That's good," Mira encourages, tears still streaming down her face. "A few more bites, okay? You need to get stronger."
But we both know I'm not getting stronger. I'm fading like smoke in the wind.
As Mira feeds me another spoonful, I notice something strange. My chest—where the worst pain centers—feels different. Not better, but different. Like something is moving beneath my skin. When I glance down at the bandages, I could swear I see a faint glow, like embers buried in ash.
"Did you see that?" I whisper.
"See what?"
Before I can answer, the door to the healing den slams open. Everyone goes silent as heavy boots march across the floor.
I don't need to look to know who it is. The temperature in the room drops. The other omegas immediately bow their heads.
Elder Thaddeus Ironclaw stands at the foot of my bed, flanked by two guards in black armor. He's a terrifying old man with iron-gray hair and eyes like frozen steel. He's been Caspian's advisor since before I was born, and he's always hated my family.
"Aria Emberly," he announces in a voice that makes my blood run cold. "By decree of Alpha Caspian Blackthorn, you are hereby banished from the Crimson Wilds territory."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"What?" Mira jumps to her feet. "She can barely stand! She's dying! You can't—"
"The Alpha's word is law," Thaddeus cuts her off. "The Emberly bloodline has brought nothing but shame and darkness to this pack. You have until sunrise to gather your belongings and leave our lands. If you are found within our borders after dawn breaks, you will be executed."
"She'll die out there!" Mira shouts. "The only place she can go is the Burning Wastes, and nobody survives—"
"Then I suggest she makes peace with the Moon Goddess." Thaddeus's smile is cruel. "You have six hours, Miss Emberly. I suggest you don't waste them."
He turns and leaves, his guards following behind.
The moment they're gone, Mira collapses beside my bed, sobbing. "No, no, no. This can't be happening. Aria, we'll run away together. We'll—"
"No." I force the word out, even though speaking feels like dying. "You have a life here. A job. A future. I won't let you throw that away for me."
"I don't care about—"
"Mira." I squeeze her hand with what little strength I have. "Please. Let me do this alone."
She cries harder, but she doesn't argue. She knows as well as I do that there's no fighting an Alpha's decree.
Six hours. I have six hours before I'm forced into the Burning Wastes—the volcanic wasteland where rejected mates go to die. Where the heat is so intense it melts flesh from bones. Where ancient magic sleeps and nothing living survives.
I should be terrified.
But as I lie there, feeling the strange warmth pulsing beneath my bandages, feeling that ember-glow getting stronger with each passing minute, I realize something.
I'm not afraid of dying anymore.
I'm afraid of what might be waking up inside me.
Because that glow beneath my skin? It's not fading.
It's growing.
And for the first time in three days, I hear a voice. Not my wolf—something older, deeper, made of fire and fury:
You are not dying, daughter of phoenixes. You are being reborn