Freya’s POV


    Jocelyn Thorne’s voice cut through the air, smooth yetced with venom.


    “Since Uncle James isn’t here today, I’ll handle this matter in his stead.”


    8-


    76%


    +8 Pearls


    Her lips curled into a smirk as her gaze settled on me. “Freya… this is the Stormveil Primal Hall. Not just anyone can im a ce here. Even if you truly had ties to the Stormveil Pack’s Fifth Branch, don’t even dream of cing your parents‘ ashes among our honored dead, much less erecting their memorials. You’d best turn around and leave.”


    My grip on the ashwood urn tightened, my face cold. “On what authority?”


    A snideugh cut across her words. Martong, her ever–present shadow, leaned in mockingly. “On the authority that Jocelyn is the heiress of Stormveil’s First Branch. If she tells you to crawl out of Ashbourne on your knees, the enforcers will see to it. You really think you can defy her?”


    My jaw set. “So the First Branch believes it can trample thews of the Stormveil Pack?”


    Martong sneered, her voice dripping with arrogance. “When Jocelyn wields that authority, no one dares to oppose it. And don’t forget–she doesn’t stand alone. Behind her is Ss Whitmor of the Irond Coalition. Jocelyn and Ss grew up side by side. Who canpete with that bond? With just a word from her, Ss could make sure you’re cast out of Ashbourne–hell, out of the entire continent!”


    “Is that so?” My voice was steady, sharp as a de. “Then I would like to see if Ss Whitmor truly means to drive me out of my homnd.”


    At that, Martong faltered, her eyes flicking with sudden recognition–yesterday, she had seen me with Ss at the restaurant.


    “You think your… acquaintance with himpares to Jocelyn’s?” she sneered again, recovering quickly. “They’re not just childhood friends. Jocelyn is-


    “Enough, Martong,” Jocelyn snapped, silencing her with a re. She turned back to me, her gaze cold, her wolf aura rolling off her in waves. “Freya, even if you had some sort of connection with Ss, it gives you no right to meddle in Stormveil affairs. This is the Primal Hall of our pack. I’ll make it perfectly clear: you’re not stepping inside.”


    I narrowed my eyes. “And what gives you the right to bar me?”


    Her chin lifted with confidence. “My will is enough. If I say you cannot enter, then the Hall’s sentinels will not let you take a single step beyond that threshold.”


    I looked past her to the guards stationed at the gates. Their postures were rigid, their eyes fixed, waiting for hermand.


    “So even if I am Thorne blood–Fifth Branch born–I am denied entry?”


    “Even if you were,” Jocelyn spat, her voice full of old spite, “if I forbid you, you will not cross that threshold. Yesterday, you humiliated me before Ss. Today, I’ll see to it you pay.”


    76%


    +8 Pearls


    Her arrogance seared the air between us. My heart thudded with cold fury, but my voice remained steady, the echo of my ancestors in every word.


    “Stormveil’sw was not built on your whims. The pack’s creed has always been clear: honor your bloodline, stand with your kin, in strength and in hardship alike. Yet here you stand, denying your own kin the right to honor their dead. What wolf would call that loyalty?”


    Jocelyn’s face twisted, color draining as my words struck. She hadn’t expected me to know the Stormveil creed–let alone speak it aloud.


    “My word isw here,” she snarled, snapping her fingers at the guards. “Remove her. I won’t have the stench of a pretender tainting the Primal Hall.”


    The enforcers hesitated only a moment before stepping forward. “Miss Thorne,” one said gruffly, “whatever the case, you should leave.”


    I stood rooted, both hands cradling the urn, my eyes fixed on the towering doors of the hall. The storm of voices around me blurred. All I could see was the threshold barred to me, the ce where my father, Arthur Thorne, and my mother, Myra, should rest among our kin.


    If their spirits were watching, what would they think of a daughter unable to carry them home?


    “Out, now!” Martong jeered, joined by theughter of other pack heirs trailing behind Jocelyn. Their cruel delight rang in my ears. Jocelyn’s eyes gleamed, savoring every flicker of humiliation she thought she’d inflicted.


    “Hurry it up!” Jocelyn barked. “Our great–grandfather’s spirit is honored in the Hall today. Disturb him with your trespass, and no one here will shield you from the consequences!”


    The guards moved in closer. One, eager to impress Jocelyn, reached out, hand raised as though to strike.


    My wolf stirred within me, rising in a low, simmering growl. In a single motion, I drove my boot upward, kicking him back with a thud that cracked the stillness. He hit the ground hard, gasping, shock etched across


    his face.


    The courtyard fell silent.


    “You dare-” the man choked, scrambling back up. Rage twisted his features as he swung at me, fist heavy with brute force.


    I sidestepped, swift as a shadow, and drove him down again, pinning him beneath my heel. His body hit the stone, the breath knocked from him. I pressed him to the ground, my foot locked on his spine, one hand steady on the urn I carried.


    The others faltered, uncertainty shing across their faces. He was their strongest fighter–and I had felled him without spilling a drop of ash.


    I lifted my head, voice ringing out into the air, loud enough for the spirits themselves to hear.


    “Elders of the Stormveil Pack, hear me! I, Freya Thorne of the Fifth Branch, stand before your Hall this day. I bring with me the ashes of my father, Arthur Thorne, and my mother, Myra, to join their kin. I call upon the bloodline, upon the honor of our pack. Open these doors, and let me in!”


    My words carried on the wind, fierce and unyielding. My wolf blood surged with the weight of legacy, with