Private Reunion of Fire

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

​

The freighter's engines cut to a low whine, then nothing. Isola's fingers curled around the strap of her pack until the weave bit skin. Eshan still clung to her – the sharp bite of mountain air, Knight Daral's voice over sparring mats. She'd left before the morning bell, boots half-laced, caf untouched.

Hyperspace had been a cage. She'd paced the narrow corridor until the deck plates knew her tread. Her datapad never left her hands, showing all the messages she'd gotten. I wore your shirt today. It smells like you and engine grease. I keep dreaming your hands on my back. I'm counting stars until you're here.

Her gut twisted. Months apart. Qiilura was so far away from her, and she had no way of knowing if Annie would see her in the same way. Her stomach twisted.

But the last message came to her again.

I need you now, Izzy. Not later. Now.

There truly was no room for doubt. Just want, just love, raw as a fresh cut. She held the only place in Annie's heart, clearly, as she did in hers.

The ramp dropped with a clang. Cold air rolled in, thick with wet earth and fuel. Isola's boots hit grating. Her pulse hammered loud enough to rattle ribs. She stepped forward, pack heavy, heart heavier, into the station's dim roar.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

A l p h a

Isola Delaine


The freighter's ramp hissed and settled, and before the echo could fade, a figure stepped from the mist.

Garruk moved like the earth itself had grown tired of being still—massive shoulders, hair gone silver and coarse, the weight of too many winters in his bones. His eyes, however, were sharp as flint, burning with that quiet knowing that comes from watching generations rise and fall.

He stopped a few paces from her, the wind brushing against his heavy cloak, carrying with it a scent that made his brow lift faintly. Recognition—faint engine oil, Eshan steel, and beneath it, her.

"Mm," he rumbled, almost to himself. "So that's what's kept the Lady pacing at night." His tone wasn't cruel—more amused, heavy with the warmth of one who's seen enough of love's marks to know them from battle scars.

He studied her for a long moment, then inclined his head slightly—not submission, but acknowledgment. "You'd be Isola, then."

His voice was low, gravel wrapped in calm. "She spoke of you. Not often, mind you—our Lady isn't one for idle words—but when the fire dims in her, your name brings the light back. That's rare for her kind of strength."

He gestured toward the treeline, where the sound of something primal echoed through the mist. A growl, low and resonant enough to make the air hum. "Before we go farther, you need to understand what you'll see. She's not as you last knew her. The blood in her—ancient, feral, divine—it runs hot here. Qiilura draws it out."

He began walking, slow, the ground soft beneath his boots. "You'll see her as she was always meant to be. Not Jedi. Not soldier. The heart of the pack. The one the clans follow because the forest itself bends to her voice."

He looked back once, gauging her expression. "She's in her wolfen form now, sparring with Selra. Don't startle, don't run. She'll smell it. Just stand your ground, keep your eyes on her. That'll tell her all she needs to know."

Another low, rumbling growl broke the air—then a clash, thunderous and wet with the earth's breath. Garruk's lips pulled into something between pride and awe.

"She's been homesick," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Not for a place. For the one who tamed her heart."

Then his gaze returned to Isola, steady and kind beneath the steel.

"Ready yourself, girl. The Lady Kaohal doesn't just see those she loves—she feels them in her bones. When she looks your way, she'll know. There's no hiding in her forest."


They broke the treeline, and the clearing opened like a wound in the earth.


The ground was torn and slick with dew, the air alive with the scent of soil and thunder. At its center—her.

Anneliese towered in her wolfen form, a great, radiant creature of sinew and fire. Her fur blazed in shades of copper and ember, every movement alive with molten light. Muscles rippled beneath that burning coat, powerful and lean, carved by years of discipline and divine fury.

Her hackles were raised, teeth bared in a snarl that could split bone from fear alone. Opposite her, Selra—a giant of iron-gray fur and scarred hide—circled low, breath steaming in the cold.


Then the two collided.


Claws met with a sound like thunder cracking stone. Fur and soil burst upward in sprays, the earth itself trembling beneath their weight. Annie's movements were a symphony of control and violence—her form twisting, lunging, striking with terrifying grace. Selra countered, jaws snapping, but Annie ducked beneath the blow, raking claws across her flank in a flash of blood and heat.

She was breathtaking—terrifying, yes—but beautiful. A living embodiment of will and instinct, her eyes glowing molten gold in the dim light.

And then, as Selra faltered, Anneliese turned.

Every sound seemed to fade—the wind, the forest, even Garruk's steady breath—as those golden eyes locked on Isola through the haze.

Her chest heaved, a deep growl rolling through her throat—neither threat nor warning, but something older, aching, knowing.


Recognition.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

​

The clearing breathed. Isola’s pack slid from her shoulder and hit the mud with a wet thud. She didn’t look down. She was unable to look away. The wolf filled every inch of sight, copper fur blazing like sunrise on steel, shoulders rolling under muscle that could tear a speeder apart. Heat rolled off her in waves, thick as Qiilura’s mist.

A flicker of apprehension sparked low in Isola’s gut. Too big. Too wild. The thought barely formed before the Force slammed into her, no gentle nudge, a flood. Annie’s presence crashed through every wall she’d built on the journey, raw and unmistakable, the same heartbeat she’d felt curled in sheets on Coruscant, the same fire that had warmed her through holo letters all this time.

Her own heart kicked hard, once, twice. A gasp tore free. Tears slipped hot down her cheeks, salt on her lips. She didn’t wipe them away, but stepped forward.

Mud sucked at her boots. Another step. The wolf’s golden eyes tracked her, unblinking, chest heaving from the fight. Blood flecked the fur along one flank, dark against ember. Still beautiful. Still... hers.

Isola’s hand lifted, slow, pale fingers trembling. The gap shrank. Warmth hit first, rolling off the great body like a furnace. Then the scent, earth and copper and something deeper, wild, beastly, but threaded with the faint trace of something else that clung to every memory of Annie’s skin. Something uniquely her, that she knew so intimately.

Her palm settled against the side of the wolf’s face, fur coarse and alive, pulsing under her touch. Heat soaked into bone. The Force hummed between them, bright and fierce, a bond they’d never named but had grown anyway, letter by letter, night by night.

Isola’s breath shook out of her, ragged. She looked up, met those molten eyes. And her voice came, barely a whisper, lost in the grove’s hush.

"Annie..."

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

L o n g i n g F u f i l l e d

Isola Delaine


Annie's wolf form still trembled with the aftershocks of the fight, chest heaving, fur streaked with mud and blood. Her pack circled close, muscles coiled, eyes alert but respectful, every one of them sensing the tension in their leader. The echoes of Selra's attack still vibrated faintly in the ground, but Annie's gaze had already found Isola. She had felt the touch, the warmth pressed to her face, and it sent a shock through her molten core.

Yet she could not afford weakness—not yet. With a low, rumbling growl, she turned slightly, teeth bared, ears twitching—sharp, commanding, but not cruel. The growl spoke to her pack as much as to the clearing: give us space. Let the bond she was allowing herself remain unbroken, undisturbed, sacred. Her body remained taut, every muscle coiled like high-strength Cortosis weave, hiding the fatigue threatening to spill out in raw shudders.

The pack instantly widened the circle, low growls fading into the distance. The air pulsed around her, thick with heat and tension, copper fur glinting wet in the dim light.

Then, with a visceral shudder, she began collapsing from wolf to human. Limbs folded, bones compressed with soft, almost musical cracks. Heat rippled outward in waves, fur retracting into her skin. She landed heavily, naked, mud and sweat clinging to her coiled, compressed form. Tribal ink snaked from her left thigh to her lower breast, dark against the pale sheen of sweat and dew.

Her green eyes locked on Isola, luminous, feral, and fierce: I needed you… but I'm too tired to speak. Her chest heaved violently, a tremor running through every muscle, yet she held herself upright, jaw tight, refusing to show the full weight of her exhaustion.

Her lips parted, just once, a ragged, raw exhale:


"Isola…"


Garruk moved closer, steady as ever, sliding one arm beneath her to support the coiled, high-tension body. His cloak draped across her shoulders, a silent shield of respect. "Our lady will need rest," he murmured, gravelly but calm. "Her tent is nearby—over there." He gestured, never taking her eyes off Annie. "I'll remain close. If she stirs, or needs anything… or you, I'll be near."

Annie leaned slightly into his support, green eyes unwavering, still fixed on Isola. Her lips quivered again, a single shudder escaping as sweat and heat radiated off her skin. She was fully human, naked, fierce, compressed and coiled, yet the moment of connection—the one she had allowed Isola to claim—was the only thing keeping her upright. The pack had stepped back, the forest held its breath, and every muscle in her body hummed with restrained fire and molten longing.

Then Garruk shifted, his hold steady but gentle, supporting her trembling, coiled body. Only a few steps, but each one made her whole form quake with fatigue, every muscle still wound tight from the transformation. Mud clung to her skin, sweat slicked her body, tribal ink glinting dark against pale flesh.

He guided her carefully to Isola, draping the fur blanket around her shoulders as a shield, letting her naked form remain exposed to the touch and gaze of the one she had longed for. Annie's head pressed into Isola's body, chest heaving, green eyes fluttering closed for a fraction of a second, before opening again, molten, feral, and burning with unspoken need.

Her lips trembled as she whispered, ragged, intimate, the exhaustion and desire woven together in each word:

"Looks like I'm ready for you now… By the Maker, I've missed you… so fething much."

Her body trembled against Isola, every coil of muscle, every shiver of heat and fatigue, confessing what she could not yet speak aloud. Garruk remained just behind, his presence silent, steady, allowing the moment to belong entirely to Annie and the one she had waited for.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

​

Isola felt the shift as fur melted into skin, warm and slick with sweat. Annie folded inward, bones cracking softly, naked and shaking. Green eyes still burned into hers.
Garruk stepped close. He slid his cloak from his shoulders and draped it around Annie, covering her without hiding her from Isola's sight. He guided her forward, slow steps through the churned earth, until Annie was a breath away.

Isola didn't hesitate, and reached out. She took Annie's weight from Garruk, arms sliding under her, one behind the back, one beneath the knees, and she lifted. Epicanthix strength made it simple. Annie weighed less than a rucksack after a week on the trail. The cloak stayed loose around her shoulders, mud streaking the wool.

Boots sank as Isola carried her. The pack watched in silence. Garruk stayed a pace behind, a quiet shadow. The tent flap brushed past. Inside smelled of smoke and damp canvas. She lowered Annie onto the low bed of furs, careful not to jar her.

Isola knelt beside her love whom she had yearned for so dearly for so long. Their eyes locked. The green was deeper than she remembered, ringed with exhaustion but still sharp as ever. Her chest tightened with the ache of every mile between Eshan and here. Her voice came out rough, but she couldn't manage with words.

"I..."

She cupped the back of Annie's neck, fingers threading damp red hair, and leaned in. Their lips met, slow and deep, tasting of salt and earth and every letter sent across the stars.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

F i r e

Isola Delaine


The world fell away the moment their lips met.


It wasn't gentle — it was a collision of everything they'd been forced to bury. Years of discipline, silence, and longing shattered in that single, breathless instant.

Anneliese's hands found Isola's face, then her hair, gripping as if the universe itself might try to tear them apart again. The kiss burned — wild, consuming, a storm of love and fury and relief. Every pulse of it reminded her she was alive, reminded her who she was for.

When they finally broke for air, Annie's breath trembled against Isola's mouth. Her voice was wrecked, ragged, thick with tears she could no longer hold back.

"Stars… I never stopped burning for you."

Her forehead pressed to Isola's, tears slipping freely now, her words barely a whisper.

"Even when I was gone. Even when I forgot what it meant to be home. You were still there — in the heat under my ribs. I thought I'd learned to live without it, but—"

She shook her head, laughing softly through a sob.

"You walk in, and it's all fire again."

Her hands traced Isola's jaw with aching reverence, thumb brushing a trail down to her lips.

"I missed you," she breathed, every word shaking. "So much it hurt to breathe."

Then she kissed her again — slower, steadier, not to claim but to remember. The fire never died. It had only waited for this moment to breathe again.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

​

The kiss broke like a dam giving way. Isola’s hands found Annie’s face, fingers sliding into damp hair, gripping tight as every buried month poured out between them. Annie’s mouth tasted of salt and smoke and the war they had both survived.

They parted gasping. Annie’s words scraped raw against her lips. Isola felt them settle heavy under her ribs, the same fire that had kept her awake on Eshan.

Her forehead pressed to Annie’s. A hand wrapped around the back of her neck, thumb brushing the pulse that hammered there. Tears slipped quiet down Isola’s cheeks, warm and unstoppable.

"I.. I thought, maybe, we were drifting," she muttered, voice cracking. "Th-thought... I’d lose you for good."

Annie’s body sagged in her arms, every muscle trembling with spent strength. Isola felt the fatigue like it was her own, a bone-deep ache that made her chest hurt. She sniffled, wiped her face with the heel of her hand.

"You okay? Tell me what you need."

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

B o u n d

Isola Delaine


The kiss hit like thunder — sharp, clean, final.

For a breath, Anneliese stood motionless, tasting the salt on Isola's lips, the air thick with smoke and memory. Then she moved — slow, deliberate — her hands finding Isola's face, thumbs brushing damp skin, as if to make sure she was real.

"Drifting?" she murmured, voice roughened by restraint. "No, Izzy… you are the air I breathe. The only thing that could take you from me now is death itself."

Her forehead rested against hers, eyes shut. The tremor in her chest wasn't weakness — it was release. The kind of breaking that mends what distance tried to hollow out. She exhaled, long and shivering, then drew Isola down into her arms.

The furs met her back, the heat of the tent closing in. She pulled her close until breath met breath, until the space between heartbeats was gone. Her fingers threaded into her hair, her lips found hers again — slower this time, certain. The air filled with the scent of her own skin — sweat, salt, musk, earth, wildflower — the scent of what Qiilura had made of her.

Anneliese let the night take them. Let the world fade until there was nothing left but pulse and warmth and the quiet hum of life shared.


————-


When dawn came, she was already awake.

Light slipped through the tent flap, catching the curve of Isola's back beside her. The furs had fallen low, and the morning air was cool on her skin. Annie lay still, watching the gold spread across the floor, then across the body of the woman she loved.

Her leg stretched from beneath the furs, heat still rising from her skin. She traced her own thigh with her fingertips — slow, thoughtful — following the inked lines that spiraled up her leg and across her hip. The tribal patterns glimmered faintly where the light touched them, alive with quiet fire.

She let her hand rest there, feeling the warmth under her palm, the steady rhythm of her own pulse.

Qiilura's air still clung to her — the sweat, the soil, the wild scent of open plains. Months of wind and solitude had stripped her bare, carved her down to truth. She had learned how to lead, how to listen, how to fight without rage. But this — this quiet beside Isola — this was what anchored her.

We walked separate paths because we thought we had to, she thought, fingertips now drifting from her thigh to the curve of Isola's shoulder. But what's the point of strength if not to share it?

Her lips parted, and she breathed out words in her native tongue — low and trembling like the ember of an old prayer


"Ai'shyra ven drath kael'ith sha maren… ven thra'sha, naen na ve'ta."
(It was as a fire shut up in my bones, and I grew weary; I can no longer bear it.)


The words lingered in the air, raw and unhidden.

She leaned in, her breath brushing against Isola's ear, and pressed a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. Her green eyes searched her face — intent, unwavering — drinking in every quiet line, every sign of peace.

Her voice fell to a whisper.


"Isola…"


A breath. A heartbeat.

Spoiler: Click Here

Marry me.

The morning light bent across them, soft and golden, wrapping the tent in warmth. Anneliese stayed there — palm against the steady beat beneath her fingertips, gaze fixed on the woman beside her — until her heart finally settled, still and sure, as if the world itself had answered her.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

​

Isola drifted up from sleep with the words still warm against her ear, the touch of her lips leaving something gentle and long lasting against her shoulder. Those two simple words struck her in the deepest parts of her soul.They settled low in her belly, soft as the furs tangled around their legs, heavy as the ring of light on the canvas wall.

She opened her eyes. Annie lay half-curled toward her. Morning slid across the ink on Annie’s thigh, turning the black lines to liquid bronze. The air carried last night’s smoke and the faint green bite of crushed leaves that clung to Annie’s skin.

Her own hand moved without asking. Fingers found Annie’s, slid between them, laced tight. The pulse under Annie’s wrist beat steady against her thumb, quick but sure. Isola felt it echo in her own chest, the way it always had, even across starfields. Her grey eyes didn't leave the gaze or her lover's emerald.

"Yes," she said, voice rough with sleep and wonder. She said it again, clearer, tasting the word like new caf. "Yes, Annie. I will. I'll marry you."

As she spoke, she gasped at the words themselves, her heart jumping as she realised what had just happened. She shifted closer. Skin met skin, warm and sleep-soft, the small hollow at Annie’s throat fitting under Isola’s lips. She breathed her in, earth, sweat, the faint sweetness of wildflower crushed under bare feet. Her leg hooked over Annie’s, ankle brushing the inked spiral that climbed her hip. The contact sent a slow roll of heat through her, familiar and brand-new all at once.

Annie’s hair spilled across the furs, red strands catching gold. Isola threaded her fingers through it, nails scraping gently at the scalp, feeling the shiver that answered. She pressed her forehead to Annie’s, noses brushing, breath shared in the small space between.

She kissed her. Not the frantic clash of the night before, but slow and deliberate, lips parting just enough to taste the salt still lingering at the corner of Annie’s mouth. Her tongue traced the seam, gentle and asking.

Hands framed Annie’s face. Thumbs stroked the faint hollows under her eyes, the places exhaustion had painted faint shadows. Isola pulled back a fraction, enough to see the green deepen, pupils blown wide in the low light.

"I’m yours," she whispered against Annie’s lips, as tears spilled from her own eyes. "Always was. From the moment I met you."

She sank back into the kiss, deeper this time, bodies aligning under the furs. The tent held them close, dawn wrapping gold around their tangled limbs, the world outside reduced to the hush of breath and the steady drum of two hearts learning the same rhyt hm again.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

D e s i r e

Isola Delaine


Anneliese's chest heaved, a laugh spilling from her lips as she pressed closer, nose to nose with Isola. Her hands gripped the curve of her lover's shoulders, tracing, memorizing, trembling.

Anneliese remembered meeting Isola… in the gardens on Tython. Her and Roman had just ended it after months of knowing where it was going… but the finality of it. She was raw, hurting — but from the moment the two saw each other…. It was like a live wire, electric, hot and heavy from the very beginning… and the ember? It never faded or grew cold, it always burned hotter.

"No," she breathed, voice fierce, urgent. "I can’t do an engagement. No waiting. I—I need to marry you. Now. Tonight. Under the stars, under the moon. I can't… I can't wait another moment."

She rolled, dragging Isola with her, letting their bodies press together, skin against skin, every heartbeat screaming the same truth.

"Garruk!" she called, loud enough to carry through the stillness.

The oldest Gurlanin captain stepped inside, senses immediately taking in everything: the heat, the scent, the undeniable truth. His eyes flicked between them, and he made a small, measured grunt.

"If this is the Lady Kaohals choice," he said, voice low and gravelly, carrying years of authority and experience, "then it will be so. But you must understand… being mate to the Alpha is not a simple matter. They are subject tribal law as she is — and it carries weight far beyond words. You will need to comprehend fully what this means and be ready if blood falls for blood."

Anneliese's gaze sharpened, green fire flashing, and she gave him a pointed glare. Garruk's lips twitched into the faintest grimace, and he inclined his head, murmuring, "My apologies, Lady. I only wish to extend the same protection and diligence to the one you have chosen to love and serve you as I have served you."

Isola felt the weight of his stare, the seriousness in his tone, and nodded, understanding the gravity of the moment. Garruk gave a final, approving look to Anneliese, then excused himself with a rough, "We will speak after. Understood?"

With that, the tent felt theirs alone, the dawn spilling gold across the furs, leaving nothing but the heat, the tangled limbs, and the shared certainty of a bond far larger than either had ever imagined.

Knowing the tent was theirs again, Anneliese leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, breath mingling, pulse in perfect rhythm. She brushed a strand of hair from Isola's face, eyes soft and shining with laughter.

"You don't need to worry," she murmured, voice warm. "He's just a grump. I know your strength, Isola. Nothing—nothing—will take this day from us. This is the best day of my life, and I… I can't wait to be Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine."

Her lips found hers with a contagious smile as they locked lips.

This day, would be the best of her life.

She just knew it.

 

[Isola Delaine]

Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

​

Isola lay on her back, one arm crooked under Annie's neck, the other resting across the slow rise of her ribs. The furs carried smoke and sweat and the faint green bite of crushed leaves. Dawn slid through the flap in thin gold bars, catching the dust that still hung in the air.

Annie's laugh still echoed inside her chest. She turned her face, nose brushing damp red hair. The words came back clear. Tonight. Under the moon. No waiting. Just them. Her fingers tightened on warm skin.

Garruk's voice cut the quiet. She lifted her head. He stood in the opening, eyes flicking over tangled limbs, the mess of furs. He grunted once, low and respectful. Isola met his stare. Mate to the Alpha. Blood for blood. She nodded. She had already bled for less.

Izzy's hand found hers beneath the furs and she squeezed gently. The tent shrank to the space between their palms. She pressed her lips to Annie's temple, tasted salt.

"Mrs. and Mrs. Anneliese and Isola Kaohal-Delaine," she murmured, voice rough with sleep and promise and anticipation. The name fit like a blade in its sheath.

Her mind drifted to Tython. The gardens. She had been so hollow then, a shell stitched together by duty and grief. Captain Delaine dead. The Jedi Master gone. Every mentor a grave marker. She moved through days because stopping meant feeling the weight. She had not felt like a person, just a list of losses.

Then Annie. Screaming in the training field, fists bloody, eyes wild with fresh hurt. Isola had walked over without thinking. One look and something cracked open. Annie burned, bright, fierce, alive. The darkness inside Isola flinched from the heat. She had not known she could still want until that moment.

Now the same fire lay curled against her side, breathing slow. Isola traced a freckle on Annie's shoulder, thumb brushing the small scar beneath it. That hollow place was now gone. Filled. Overflowing, even.

She closed her eyes, resting her chin on the bare shoulder of her love, and smiled.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Isola Delaine

​

The world outside was still caught in the pale hush of dawn—pine smoke drifting through cold air, the soft crackle of dying embers. Inside, warmth lingered. The scent of skin and firewood clung to the furs, to the slow rise and fall of breath as Anneliese and Isola lay tangled together. The glow of their vows still burned between them—newly bound, newly whole.

Anneliese's fingers traced idle circles along Isola's hip, a small smile tugging at her mouth, when the tent flap stirred.

Garruk's shadow filled the opening—broad, scarred, and commanding as ever. Selra followed, sharp-eyed and poised, her silver hair unbound in haste.


The change in the air was immediate.


Garruk lowered his head respectfully.

"Forgive the intrusion, Lady Kaohal. We would not disturb you unless the matter pressed."

Anneliese didn't move, though the calm in her voice shifted—firmer, poised.

"You are never unwelcome, Garruk. Speak freely."

Selra stepped forward, her tone clipped but grave.

"Word has come from the north. Hrold Varik of the Draaven Peaks has declared open Right of Challenge, Alpha."


Anneliese's fingers stilled against the blanket.


Selra continued, the weight of each word deliberate.

"He calls you untested. Says your strength lies only in the pity of those who follow you. That you rule through words, not fang."

Garruk's jaw worked, eyes darkening.

"He means to divide the packs. He's gathered old loyalties—warriors of the mountain clans. And among them… an elder Alpha. One who remembers the first uniting beneath the Elder Tree."

Anneliese rose then, unhurried. She gathered one of the fur throws around her shoulders and stood tall before them—no longer the warmth of a lover, but the steady center of the storm.

"Then we will answer as our forebears did. With strength, yes—but guided by purpose."

Her eyes moved between her generals, voice low and sure.

"We do not fight for dominance. We fight for remembrance. The clans have forgotten the songs beneath the Elder Tree, that was once our gathering place, our living bond. We were not many tribes, one people. The Draaven have forgotten this. I mean to remind them."

Selra bowed her head, a flicker of pride breaking through her sternness.

"The pack will be ready, Alpha. Before first light."

Garruk lingered, his tone softer, lined with memory.

"If the elder who stands with Varik can be reached, I'll speak to him. I'd sooner stand beside him than spill his blood."

Anneliese inclined her head.

"Do so. Let truth find him before the blade does. But if he stands with Varik when the moon rises—he will fall beside him."

The two generals bowed, fists crossed to their chests before slipping silently out into the cold.


The quiet returned, heavy but alive.


Anneliese turned to Isola. The softness in her features had not returned—but something deeper replaced it. That solemn kind of love that knew its cost and bore it anyway.

"The Right of Challenge is sacred," her voice quieter now, saying it soft, as if teaching something that could not be read, only lived, though every syllable held weight. "It cannot be refused. I must face him under the moon—alone."

She reached for Isola's hand, holding it firmly between her own.

"You will stand beside my generals and bear witness as my mate. But under no circumstances—" her gaze locked with Isola's, steady, unflinching "—are you to intervene. No matter what you see. No matter what you feel."


The air between them trembled.


"If I fall, you do not cross that line. Do you understand? The law binds even us. Should you break it… the pack would tear itself apart."

Her voice softened, but her eyes did not.

"This is what it means to lead. To bleed so that others need not. To face the night alone and make peace with it."

She leaned close, pressing her forehead to Isola's, the heat of her breath a promise and a plea all at once.

"Promise me, iz'thara ( my beloved / my hearts fire ), no matter what comes—you stay."