I turned eighteen under a clear sky.
Redwood’s sky.
We’d returned four days before, Stormwake’s farewell howls still echoing in my bones.
Parting had been…harder than I’d expected.
Maris had hugged me longer than strictly necessary and murmured, “Don’t let my son brood himself into stupidity.”
Rian had pressed a small carved stone into my palm with a wink. “For when you need to whack sense into alphas or gods,” he’d said.
Gamma Halen had clapped Eren on the shoulder and told him if he ever got tired of Redwood, Stormwake could use another worrier.
Brenna had cried openly and sworn to steal at least three recipes from Maris’s kitchens before we left.
Tiernan had ridden beside me the entire way back, a quiet, steady weight.
Now, as the full moon crested the treeline, silvering the packhouse roof and the field beyond, I stood barefoot in the grass, heart pounding.
The air was cool, almost cold, but my skin tingled with heat.
Wolves gathered in a wide circle—omegas, warriors, pups, elders. Elyra and Rhys at the front. Kellan beside them. Nana still and sharp-eyed at the omega line. Brenna and Eren just behind me.
Stormwake had sent a small delegation for the ceremony—Rian, Maris, and one of the stonekeepers—standing quietly near the east.
The Moon Ceremony wasn’t just about me.
Every pup who came of age that season stood in that circle.
But the weight of eyes said this year was…different.
Ashra pressed close, fur bristling under my skin.
*Ready?* she asked.
“No,” I whispered. “But also yes.”
She huffed. *Good answer.*
Tiernan stood at the circle’s edge, opposite Elyra and Rhys, a guest alpha in another’s territory.
His gaze never left me.
The bond hummed, hot and bright.
Elyra stepped forward, the moonlight catching in her silver hair.
“Tonight,” she said, voice ringing clear and potent, “we stand under the Moon’s eye to honor those who come of age. To recognize them as full wolves. Full pack. Full…selves.”
She held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary.
“Kaia Thorn,” she said, “step into the center.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I walked.
Past warriors who’d once sneered.
Past omegas who’d bandaged my scrapes.
Past pups whose eyes shone with awe and fear and something softer.
The grass was cool under my feet.
The moonlight painted my skin with pale silver.
Ashra vibrated, eager.
At the center, I stopped.
Elyra and Rhys approached together.
“Usually,” Elyra said quietly, just for me to hear, “this is where we name you by your rank. Warrior. Healer. Hunter. Omega. Elemental. Luna. But you…wear more than one skin.”
“I’m aware,” I muttered.
Her lips twitched.
Rhys’s gaze was steady.
Less cold than it had been eight years ago.
More…cautious.
Respectful.
“I was wrong,” he said bluntly. “When I shoved you into the omegas. When I called you worthless. When I let my fear of old magic blind me to the girl in front of me.”
The words stunned the air.
My throat worked.
“I know ‘sorry’ is…small,” he went on. “For eight years of neglect. For the hurt we allowed. For the scars we caused with our silence. But it is what I have. And my promise that this pack will not treat the next Kaia Thorn the way we treated you.”
Tears stung behind my eyes.
I swallowed them.
“I don’t forgive you,” I said, echoing what I’d told Elyra. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
“I don’t expect it,” he said.
“But,” I added, because the truth had shifted since then, “I…believe you. That you mean it. That you’re trying. That…matters.”
Elyra’s eyes shone.
Rhys’s shoulders eased fractionally.
Elyra lifted her voice, shifting back to the ceremonial tone.
“Kaia Thorn,” she said, loud enough for the circle, “what name do you claim for yourself? Not the one we gave you at birth. The one you choose now.”
I had thought about this.
In Stormwake, on mountain ledges.
In Redwood’s kitchen, stirring soup.
In the ravine, with lightning under my skin.
Old Ashra had tried to frame it as storms vs packs.
As freedom vs chain.
As old ways vs new.
She was wrong.
I knew that now.
“I am Kaia Thorn,” I said, voice steady. “Daughter of Mira Stormhand and Darin Thornarrow. Omega-raised. Warrior-trained. Stormbound. Not a weapon. Not a curse. Not your leash. I am pack. I am storm. I am both.”
A murmur rippled.
Elyra’s lips curved.
“Spoken like someone who has yelled at gods,” she said softly.
“Frequently,” I said.
She glanced past me, toward Tiernan.
“Tonight,” she said, voice lifting again, “as Kaia comes of age, she also stands at a crossroads of packs. Redwood. Stormwake. Old ways. New. She has the right, under the Goddess’s law, to choose her path. Her rank. Her mate. Without coercion.”
Her gaze flicked pointedly to several alphas around the circle.
Varek shifted uncomfortably.
Nyla smirked.
Somewhere near the back, I heard Brenna whisper, “Get ‘em, Luna.”
Elyra stepped back.
Rhys did too.
The circle held its breath.
My heart hammered.
Ashra pressed forward.
*Our turn,* she said.
*Our turn,* I echoed.
I closed my eyes.
The moon’s light pressed against my eyelids.
Ashra surged.
Not in a full shift.
Something in-between.
Our awareness…slid.
The world fell away.
*
We stood in a place that was not-place.
A field of silver grass under a too-bright moon.
No ravine.
No stones.
Just open sky and a cold, clean light that seeped into my bones.
A woman stood there.
She was…
Hard to look at.
Her features shifted—old, young, dark, pale, sharp, soft.
Her hair was moonlight and night and streaks of storm-cloud.
Her eyes were…every color and none, layered with galaxies.
The Moon Goddess.
I knew her without introduction.
Ashra-my-wolf bristled.
Old Ashra coiled somewhere behind us, faint, like a shadow at the edge of a campfire.
“Finally,” the Goddess said. “We meet properly.”
I swallowed.
“Could’ve done without all the foreplay,” I muttered. “Hall fires. Ravines. Dreams.”
She smiled faintly. “You are…direct,” she said. “I like that.”
Anger bubbled.
“You like many things,” I snapped. “Elementals for your wars. Alphas for your games. Wolves like Callen to dangle as warnings. You liked my parents’ loyalty enough to let them die for your Luna. You liked binding old gods under stones and letting their whispers leak. I’m not impressed.”
Ashra hummed approvingly. *Tell her.*
The Goddess’s eyes darkened.
“I did not kill your parents,” she said quietly. “Wolves did. Wolves and choices and fear.”
“You made the system,” I shot back. “You made alphas. Betas. Omegas. You made bonds that override sense. You set up a game where any wolf who doesn’t fit gets crushed.”
She inclined her head. “Yes,” she said. “I did.”
The admission startled me.
“I made many things,” she went on. “Before you. Before moons. Before storms. I made order from chaos. Packs from loners. Bonds where there was once only blood and teeth. I did it because alone, wolves *died*. Together, they survived.”
“And then what?” I demanded. “You got bored? Decided to see what would happen if you threw in old gods and elementals and ‘gifts’ that made our lives harder?”
She sighed.
“Your anger is valid,” she said. “Your pain is real. I have watched my wolves make a mess of what I gave them for as long as I can remember. Some days, I want to burn it all and start again. Most days, I restrain myself. Because I also see…love. Sacrifice. Pups laughing. Friends standing in front of storms for each other.”
She gestured.
Images flickered in the air—my parents, laughing in the snow; Brenna shoving me behind her in the kitchen; Tiernan diving for Rina at the ravine; Maris punching an old alpha in the face; Rian singing to calm a frightened pup; Lyra hesitating, then lowering a towel.
“These are not my doing,” she said. “Not entirely. They are yours. Wolves’. In the spaces between my rules.”
“You still gave the rules,” I said. “You still set the board.”
“Yes,” she said. “And I am not here to…beg your forgiveness. Or demand your gratitude. I am here because you stand in a place I did not…foresee.”
She tilted her head, regarding me.
“You are not the first elemental,” she said. “Not the first to tell Ashra ‘no.’ Not the first to yell at me. But you are the first to do all that and then offer something other than ‘burn it’ or ‘bury it.’”
I blinked. “Offer…what?”
“A third path,” she said. “Both/and. Storm and pack. Freedom and belonging. Choice and bond.”
She smiled, the expression bittersweet.
“It is…harder,” she said. “Messier. It requires trust from wolves who have been hurt. Humility from alphas who have never bowed. Patience from old gods who want blood.”
Her gaze flicked to the darkness where Ashra-the-god lurked.
A low chuckle rolled.
*She’s not wrong,* the old storm said lazily.
The Goddess ignored her.
“I cannot *make* wolves take this path,” she said. “Even I have limits. I can nudge. I can whisper. I can bind. But I cannot override *choice* without unraveling everything I built.”
“Then why are you here?” I asked. “If you can’t decide for me.”
“Because you asked,” she said simply. “You yelled. In the hall. In the ravine. On the mountain. You said, ‘I refuse your false choices.’ You said, ‘I will not be your weapon or your chain.’”
She stepped closer.
“If you choose Stormwake,” she said, “I will not smite you. If you choose Redwood, I will not sulk. If you choose both, I will not tear you in half. I will…watch. And adjust. And see if your path holds.”
Suspicion prickled.
“That’s…very magnanimous,” I said. “For a goddess whose worship has been unquestioned for centuries.”
Her lips twitched. “Do you think I do this often?” she asked. “Come down into dreams to talk to angry teenagers?”
“Yes,” I said.
She laughed, startled.
“More often than you’d think,” she admitted. “You’re all very loud.”
Ashra snickered.
The Goddess sobered.
“I am here,” she said, “because I am…tired. Of the same stories. Of storms and stones and shattered packs. I am…curious. To see if you can do better. If wolves can…grow. If *I* can.”
She held out a hand.
Not as command.
As…offer.
“What do you want, Kaia Thorn?” she asked quietly. “Not what your pack wants. Not what your mate wants. Not what old gods or old wolves tell you is noble. *You*.”
The question landed in my chest like a stone.
What did I want?
The air smelled of grass and moonlight.
Of pine and smoke and soup.
Faces swam behind my eyes.
Brenna, grinning, threatening to punch anyone who harmed me.
Eren, steady, anxious, loyal.
Nana, sharp, loving.
Lyra, brittle, starting to soften.
Elyra, tired, trying.
Rhys, remorseful, shifting.
Maris, fierce, wise.
Rian, amused, kind.
Stormwake wolves, laughing in the snow.
Redwood wolves, howling in the trees.
Tiernan.
Always Tiernan.
His hand on mine on the stone.
His laugh.
His stubborn promises.
His restraint.
His desire.
His honesty.
I wanted…them.
All of them.
I wanted to run through Redwood’s forest and Stormwake’s mountains.
I wanted to teach pups and argue with alphas.
I wanted to stand in rituals and stir soup.
I wanted to curl up with Brenna in the omega bunks and fall asleep to the sound of a storm outside Stormwake’s windows.
I wanted to kiss Tiernan under both moons.
I wanted to be *me*, without cutting off pieces to fit anyone’s mold.
Greedy.
Impossible.
The Goddess watched my face.
“Say it,” she murmured.
“I want…both,” I whispered. “I want…all of it. My packs. My friends. My mate. My storm. I don’t want to choose a half-life. I want a whole one. Even if it’s messy.”
Silence stretched.
Then she smiled.
Bright.
Ferocious.
“Good,” she said. “About time.”
Old Ashra cackled from the shadows. *Told you,* she crowed. *The pups are getting interesting.*
The Goddess rolled her eyes. “Stay in your hole,” she said.
“Make me,” Ashra shot back.
They bickered.
Like…siblings.
Or old enemies turned reluctant allies.
It was bizarre.
And weirdly reassuring.
The Goddess’s gaze returned to me.
“You understand,” she said, “that wanting both means work. Constant navigation. Storms. Hurt. You will disappoint wolves. You will make mistakes. They will blame you for things that were never yours to fix. You may feel pulled until you snap.”
“I already do,” I said.
She nodded. “Then you are ahead of the curve,” she said. “But you will also have…richness. Love. Depth. Not because I grant it. Because you *build* it.”
She stepped back.
“Whatever you choose when you wake,” she said, “I will not strike you. I will not bless you. I will simply…watch. And, perhaps, learn.”
“That’s…all?” I asked, half-disbelieving. “No thunder. No lightning. No grand pronouncements.”
She smiled. “Do you *want* thunder?” she asked.
“No,” I said quickly.
“Then no,” she said. “You’ve had enough storms.”
Old Ashra huffed. *Speak for yourself.*
The Goddess’s form shimmered.
Faded.
“Remember,” she said, voice thinning. “My rules are old. Not God. You can…bend them. Break them. Rewrite them. I will not promise no consequences. But I will not stop you from trying.”
The dream-grass dissolved under my feet.
The moon blurred.
The last thing I heard before waking was old Ashra’s amused murmur.
*Little storm,* she said. *I can’t wait to see what you do.*
*
I came back to myself in the center of the pack circle, on my knees, hands dug into the grass.
My lungs burned.
My heart pounded.
The moon shone cold and bright overhead.
Wolves watched.
Tiernan had taken a step forward, eyes wild, held back by Kellan’s hand on his arm.
Elyra and Rhys stood frozen.
“Kaia?” Brenna whispered, voice shaking.
I blew out a shaky breath.
“I’m fine,” I croaked.
Ashra hummed, pleased. *We are more than fine,* she said. *We are chosen. By ourselves.*
I pushed to my feet.
Every eye followed.
Silence stretched.
I looked at Elyra.
At Rhys.
At Maris.
At Rian.
At Nyla, Varek, Sera, Kellan, Nana.
At Brenna and Eren.
At Tiernan.
Always Tiernan.
His eyes burned.
The bond thrummed, a question in my chest.
I inhaled.
Exhaled.
Chose.
“I’m not leaving,” I said, voice steady. “Not Redwood. Not Stormwake. Not my wolves. Not my storm.”
Murmurs rippled.
“I will not be chained to one place,” I went on, louder. “Or one role. I am Kaia Thorn. Stormcaller of Redwood and Stormwake. Teacher of pups. Pain in alphas’ asses. Mate to an idiot who walks into fires. Friend to omegas. Bridge between stones.”
Brenna choked on a laugh-sob.
Eren made a strangled noise of agreement.
Nana snorted. “Pain indeed,” she muttered.
Maris’s mouth curved in a fierce smile.
Nyla whooped. “Yes!” she hollered. “Finally, some entertainment.”
Varek looked like he was having a small stroke.
Elyra’s eyes filled.
Rhys exhaled, a tension leaving his shoulders I hadn’t realized he’d carried.
Tiernan took a step forward, slipping Kellan’s hold.
“Kaia,” he said softly.
I met his gaze.
“I choose you,” I said.
His breath hitched.
I held up a hand.
“And,” I added. “I choose me. My packs. My storm. You don’t get one without the others. Can you live with that?”
His eyes shone.
“Yes,” he said, voice rough. “Happily. Annoyingly. Gratefully.”
Tears stung.
I blinked them away.
Elyra lifted her voice, slipping into the ceremonial tone again, though the emotion in it cracked through.
“Under the Moon’s eye,” she said, “Kaia Thorn has declared her path. We, as her packs, as her alphas, as her…witnesses…accept. We bind not her *freedom*, but our *promise* to respect her choice. To work with her. To not use her as weapon or leash.”
Rhys’s voice followed, strong. “Redwood Shadow hears. Redwood Shadow agrees.”
Tiernan stepped forward, aura flaring.
“Stormwake hears,” he said. “Stormwake agrees.”
Maris’s voice added a low, fierce, “And if they don’t, they’ll answer to me.”
Laughter rippled.
The tension broke.
Howls rose.
Redwood’s.
Stormwake’s.
Others’.
They wove together under the clear, bright moon.
I threw back my head and joined them.
Ashra howled with me, her voice threading with Kade’s, with the echoes of old Ashra’s laughter, with the Moon’s watching light.
For the first time, it didn’t feel like I was screaming into an uncaring sky.
It felt like…answering.
When the last note faded, Tiernan stepped into the circle.
He moved slowly, giving me time to flinch.
I didn’t.
He stopped in front of me, close enough that his heat brushed my skin.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi,” I said, absurdly breathless.
“In front of our packs,” he murmured, “under the Moon, with two very opinionated deities listening…may I kiss you?”
Heat flared up my neck.
“Yes,” I said.
He did.
It was softer than on the mountain.
Less urgent.
More…grounded.
His hands framed my face.
Mine fisted in his shirt.
The circle around us whooped and wolf-whistled and howled.
Brenna yelled something obscene about “get a den.”
Nana snorted.
Maris laughed.
Elyra smiled through tears.
Rhys looked like he’d bitten into a lemon and found it…tolerable.
The Moon shone.
The earth hummed.
Old Ashra snickered.
The Goddess…watched.
And I—
Kaia Thorn, stormcaller, omega-raised, warrior-trained, elementally entangled, newly adult, perpetually stubborn—
finally felt like I was standing in a life *I* had chosen.
Not a perfect one.
Not an easy one.
But mine.
Ours.
Both.
---
### Epilogue: Ash and Lightning
Months later, standing on a ridge between Redwood’s forest and Stormwake’s mountains, watching pups from both packs race in the snow under a careful eye of mixed warriors and omegas, I realized the old Ashra had been right about one thing.
It was never going to be simple.
We fought.
We argued.
Rhys and Tiernan nearly came to blows over border patrol responsibilities.
Elyra and Maris traded barbed compliments about Luna duties.
Nyla wrote letters full of gleeful chaos updates from Frostfang.
Varek sent lists of complaints and occasional reluctant praise.
Sera visited, sometimes standing at the ravine’s edge, calling down to the echo of her cousin, telling him stories until tears froze on her cheeks.
Callen never quite answered.
But sometimes, when the wind blew just right, I thought I heard a faint, grudging chuckle.
The old Ashra muttered provocations from her hole.
The Moon Goddess sighed from her sky.
Ashra-my-wolf ran with Kade under both moons, reveling in the new paths we carved.
Brenna started an unofficial “Elementals & Misfits Anonymous” group in the omega wing, where pups and adults with strange surges could talk without judgment.
Eren became Gamma in full, his worry channeled into fierce loyalty.
Lyra stopped snapping towels and started snapping at alphas when they dismissed omega concerns.
Nana retired three times and un-retired four.
Tiernan split his time between mountains and trees, between storms and shadows, between our packs and our bed.
Our bed.
Ours.
We weren’t perfect.
We were messy.
We were loud.
We were *ourselves*.
One evening, as thunder rolled over the mountains and rain pattered in the forest, I stood barefoot on that ridge, toes sinking into damp moss, Ashra humming under my skin.
Tiernan came up beside me, slipping an arm around my waist.
“Penny for your stormy thoughts,” he murmured, nuzzling my neck.
“I was thinking,” I said, leaning into him, “that for someone who didn’t want the Goddess’s games, you’ve certainly played along.”
He chuckled into my skin. “I didn’t want *her* games,” he said. “Ours? These? I’ll play them as long as you’ll let me.”
I smiled, turning my face up to kiss him, rain cool on our cheeks, lightning flickering in the distance.
“Good,” I said. “Because I have ideas.”
He groaned. “Of course you do.”
Ashra laughed, wild and bright.
Old Ashra rumbled amusement from the deep.
The Moon watched.
The earth hummed.
And somewhere, in the spaces between old rules and new choices, between storms and packs, between ash and lightning, a new story wrote itself.
Ours.