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    Finished


    Freya’s POV


    When Ken Thorne’s voice thundered across the Stormveil Primal Hall, I felt the weight of generations pressing down on us.


    “Wouldn’t it ur to you to ask your uncles?” he snapped at Jocelyn, his tone edged with fury. “You im you didn’t know whether Freya belonged to the Fifth Branch. Are you telling me that all your uncles and elders are just as blind as you?”


    The air inside the Hall chilled. The carved stone wolves that lined the chamber seemed to watch in silence, their eyes gleaming with judgment.


    At that moment, James Thorne stumbled in, sweat dampening his cor. One of the Primal Hall attendants had called him in a panic, and from the look on his face, he already knew the storm that awaited him.


    He might not have known me well, but he knew of the Fifth Branch–my branch. The Bloodmoon Pack had bled more than any others. My kin had been soldiers, guardians, martyrs. Most had died with steel in their hands and wolves at their throats. What remained of us… was me, standing here now, clutching the urns of


    my parents.


    Ken Thorne didn’t hesitate. He hurled his wolf–carved cane at James with a sharp crack, the wood striking true. “And you dare show your face here? This was your duty, James! You were meant to greet Freya at the gates of the Primal Hall, to wee her and Arthur and Myra’s ashes with the honor they are due. Instead, she was forced to stand outside, barred entry, raising her voice just to be heard!”


    The words struck deeper than any cane. For a moment, my chest ached–not from shame, but from the raw pain of knowing how far my family had fallen in the esteem of our pack.


    James winced, lowering his head as Ken advanced. My great–grandfather–though well into his eighties- still moved with the force of an Alpha in his prime. His boot struck James square in the ribs, sending him stumbling. No one moved to intervene.


    James choked out, “It was Jocelyn–she insisted she’d handle Freya’s return. I warned her told her she belonged to the Fifth–but she assured me she had it in hand.”


    Every gaze in the Hall shifted to Jocelyn Thorne.


    Her lips tightened, but she lifted her chin. “I thought Seventh Uncle had been deceived. The Fifth has been absent from Ashbourne for years. And there were reports three years ago–rumors that Arthur and Myra fell abroad. So why, Freya, are their ashes only returning now? It doesn’t make sense.”


    My wolf snarled inside me, low and furious. I fixed Jocelyn with a stare that could’ve split stone.


    “They fell in battle beyond our borders,” I said, my voice cold. “It took years to recover their remains, years to bring them home across hostilends. Do you know how many of our honored dead never return at all? How many of their ashes lie forgotten in foreign soil? You dare call it ‘strange‘ that I fought tooth and w to bring them back? You speak of sense? You know nothing of sacrifice.”


    Jocelyn’s face drained of color, then red red with humiliation. She couldn’t meet my eyes–not with the entire Stormveil bloodline staring down at her.


    A ., 76%<b>n </b>


    Finished


    Ken Thorne’s voice cracked like a whip. “The three of you–on your knees! You will kneel before the Fifth’s shrine until dawn, and perhaps then you will remember whose blood bought the stones beneath your feet. If not for the warriors of the Bloodmoon, for Arthur, for Myra, for the Iron Fang Recon Unit–this Hall would be ash and ruin, and none of you would dare call yourselves Thorne!”


    James and Lennon exchanged a helpless look. Jocelyn trembled with anger she didn’t dare show. One by one, they dropped to their knees before the shrine of the Fifth Branch.


    Ken’s eyes softened only when they turned to me. “Freya, your parents‘ urns will be guarded here in the Primal Hall until their funeral rites. In three days, the Stormveil Pack will stand to honor them.”


    Abel Thorne’s voice rumbled from the side, cautious. “Grandfather, you’re too old to march in a funeral procession. Let the younger generation see to it. It’s ill–omened for elders to bury the young.”


    Ken’s re silenced him instantly. “Arthur and Myra carried the weight of this world on their backs. They bled for thisnd, so that pups like you could sleep beneath a peaceful moon. If I cannot walk behind their coffins, then I am unworthy of the name Thorne.”


    The chamber fell silent again, reverent.


    Atst, he turned to me, his voice softening. “Child, you’ve returned to Ashbourne. Stay with me at the ancestral grounds. I’ll see that you are given a ce worthy of the Bloodmoon’sst daughter.”


    I shook my head gently. “Thank you, Great–Alpha, but I have matters yet unfinished. I’ve already secured my own den. But… if you wish to see me, I’lle. As often as you like.”


    Ken Thorne’s eyes glistened. He nodded, his wolf still burning bright behind them. “Good. And know this, Freya–this Hall is yours as much as it is mine. If anyone dares to bar you again… strike them down. If blood is spilled, I’ll bear the weight.”


    His cane struck the stone once more, the sound echoing like a heartbeat through the ancestral Hall.


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