Chapter 68
(Raiden’s POV)
The final unity challenge begins with a ceremonial acknowledgment of pack bonds, a tradition steeped in symbolism.
The gathered packs watch from the grand arena, their eyes sharp, their judgment palpable. As Siena and I stand together before the council of judges, the weight of their stares presses down on me, yet it’s not their scrutiny that unsettles me most.
It’s her.
Siena stands beside me, her posture straight, her chin held high, her amber eyes steady as they sweep across the crowd. Even after everything, she commands respect effortlessly. She doesn’t need to demand it—it’s given freely, drawn to her like moths to a flame.
Once, I might have attributed that to her beauty, or dismissed it as mere luck. But now, as I watch her, I see it for what it truly is.
It’s her strength. Her resilience. It’s the way she’s carried herself through years of rejection, of whispers, of being overlooked and dismissed—not just by others but by me.
The realization twists something deep in my chest.
I glance down at the speech in my hand, the one I carefully crafted to highlight Silverfang’s dominance, to frame us as the strongest, most capable pack in the region. The words suddenly feel hollow, meaningless compared to the genuine passion Siena exudes even in silence.
When it's my turn to speak, I force myself to deliver the lines, my voice steady, my tone commanding.
"For generations, the northern territories have stood as pillars of strength in our world," I announce, scanning the faces before me. "Today, we strengthen those pillars through unity and common purpose."
The crowd listens, nodding in approval, but the words feel empty in my mouth.
These aren't my words—they're carefully crafted phrases from the council's speechwriters, designed to present the illusion of partnership while obscuring the reality of our strained negotiations.
"Together, we will face the threats that loom on our borders," I continue, each syllable perfect and empty. "Our combined resources will ensure prosperity for all our citizens. This is the dawn of a new era."
I step back, the requisite applause washing over me like a wave I can't feel. My gaze finds Siena's for just a moment, and something passes between us—a flicker of understanding, perhaps. She knows these aren't my words. She always could see through me.
And then it's Siena's turn.
She steps forward, shoulders squared, the silver emblem of Windhowl catching the light as she moves. The crowd hushes in anticipation.
"My father once told me," she begins, her voice clear and confident, "that a pack is not defined by its territory, but by the bonds between its members. Windhowl has been tested—by nature, by circumstance, by those who doubted our resilience."
Her eyes briefly meet mine before continuing to sweep the gathered crowd.
"We have lost. We have grieved. We have rebuilt," she says, each word carrying the weight of truth. "When the mountain storms destroyed our eastern settlements, you didn't just rebuild houses—you strengthened them. When the trading routes were blocked, you didn't just find new paths—you forged better ones."
A murmur of agreement ripples through the audience. I watch as she connects with them in a way I never could, despite years of training in rhetoric and public speaking.
The sincerity in her voice pierces through the diplomatic veneer of the event. This isn't a performance for her—it's a declaration of beliefs she actually holds.
"Windhowl will bring to this alliance our innovation, our determination, and our unwavering loyalty," she says, her voice rising with conviction. "And we expect the same in return. Not just in written agreements, but in actions. In trust. In respect."
That last word lands between us like a challenge. The crowd erupts in approval, many rising to their feet.
Even members of my own delegation are nodding, captivated by her authenticity.
As the applause thunders around us, I realize what makes her so different from me—she leads from a place of truth, while I've been taught to lead from a place of strategy.
And in this moment, watching her command the room without a single rehearsed line, I'm not sure which approach is truly stronger.
For years, I told myself she wasn’t enough. That she wasn’t strong enough, smart enough, worthy enough to stand by my side. But now, as I watch her command the attention of an entire arena, I feel the full force of my own blindness.
When she finishes, the applause is thunderous. My chest tightens as I realize that her words—not mine—are what will linger in the minds of the judges.
Then come the questions.
One of the judges—a stern-faced woman with piercing gray eyes—addresses us directly. “Given the persistent rumors of estrangement between you two, how can we trust in your ability to lead together? Unity starts at the top, after all.”
The question is a dagger, its point aimed directly at the weakest part of our partnership. I feel the tension ripple through the crowd, the silence that follows heavy with anticipation.
Siena stiffens beside me, her shoulders straightening as if bracing for impact.
Before I can think, before I can weigh the consequences, I step forward.
“The Luna’s strength complements where I lack,” I say, my voice steady but louder than I intended.
The statement hangs in the air for a moment, surprising even me.
The judge raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting more. I take a breath, steadying myself, and continue.
“Our journey hasn’t been conventional,” I admit, my voice softening slightly. “But her contributions to our pack are invaluable. She has carried burdens I didn’t see, fought battles I didn’t acknowledge. And despite my failures, she has never stopped fighting for our people. For all of us.”
The words feel raw, unpolished, but they’re the most honest I’ve spoken in years. I don’t look at her as I say them—I can’t.
When I finally glance her way, her amber eyes are wide with shock. For a moment, she looks as though she doesn’t know what to say.
The crowd murmurs, their whispers carrying a mix of surprise and approval. The judge nods once, satisfied with my answer, and moves on to the next question.
But I can’t shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted.
The unity dance, a tradition meant to symbolize the harmony between Alpha and Luna.
It’s a test of synchronization, of trust, of connection.
As the music begins, I hold out my hand to Siena. She hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, before placing her hand in mine. Her touch is light, almost hesitant, and I can feel the tension in her fingers.
We step into position, her hand resting on my shoulder, mine settling on her waist. The contact sends a jolt through me, sharp and electric, and I can tell by the slight hitch in her breath that she feels it too.
We move together, our steps perfectly synchronized despite the years of distance between us. Muscle memory takes over, guiding us through the familiar patterns of the dance.
But then, something changes.
As my hand tightens slightly on her waist, the bond between us—the one that has been fraying for so long—suddenly flares to life. It’s faint, like the flicker of a dying flame, but it’s there.
And with it comes the memories.
They hit me like a tidal wave, overwhelming and inescapable.
I see her as she was the first time we met—her smile bright, her laughter soft and musical.
I see the joy in her eyes on our mating day, the way she looked at me like I was the center of her world. I see the moments of connection, the times when she reached for me, when she tried to bridge the distance I created.
And then I see the pain.
Her tears, her quiet heartbreak. The nights she spent alone while I turned away. The weight she carried in silence, the strength it took for her to keep fighting even when I gave her every reason to give up.
The memories stagger me, and I falter, missing a step. Siena stumbles too, her grip tightening on my shoulder as she gasps softly.
“What was that?” she whispers, her voice trembling.
I don’t have an answer. I can’t explain what just happened—why the bond, so close to breaking, suddenly surged with such intensity.
I glance at her, and I see the same shock and confusion mirrored in her eyes. She’s shaken, just as much as I am.
The music continues, and we force ourselves back into rhythm, our movements more mechanical now. But the moment lingers, heavy and unspoken, hanging between us like a fragile thread.
When the dance ends, the applause is deafening, but I barely hear it. My mind is racing, my chest tight with emotions I can’t name.
As we step apart, I catch sight of Lila in the crowd, her expression cold, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
My wolf growls softly, its unease growing stronger.
For years, I silenced that instinct, ignored the warning signs, dismissed the subtle manipulations. But now, as I watch Lila’s gaze flick between Siena and me, a terrible suspicion begins to take root.
What if I’ve been wrong?
Not just about Siena, but about everything.
Lila.
The thought is like a crack in a dam, and I can feel the flood coming.
