A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 173

Chapter 173

Freya’s POV

Finished

The next few days passed in a strange, quiet rhythm. I stayed at Sila’s villa, letting the wound on my arm knit back together.

To me, it was a shallow cut, hardly worth noticing compared to the scars the borderlands had carved into me. But Silas treated it as though I’d been struck down by silver. He had the kitchen overhaul every meal into some carefully balanced, nutrient–dense feast. He insisted on handling the dressing of my wound himself–his large hands surprisingly gentle as they unraveled bandages and pressed clean cloth against my skin. And when it came to work? He dragged every Ironclad Coalition file, every contract, and every envoy into his home office, refusing to step foot away from me.

It was overbearing. Maddening. And yet… warming. My wolf sensed it every time he leaned close, every time his scent brushed mine. He cared. He cared more than I expected him to.

A week later, the scab on my arm was hard and dry. I could move my hand normally again, though Silas still shot me that dangerous alpha glare whenever I reached too far or lifted something heavier than a book.

That was when the WolfComm message arrived. An invitation from the Ashbourne Orphanage, thanking me for my support Jand asking me to attend their performance. The words were written neatly by the staff–except at the bottom, clumsy,

childish letters were scrawled across the paper:

“Auntie Freya, please come watch me on stage. Dreamer.”

Dreamer. The little pup I’d dragged from the waves on the island mission. My throat tightened as I traced the crooked letters with my fingertip.

“You’re going?” Silas’s voice rumbled behind me.

“Of course I’m going.” I looked up at him, my wolf bristling with determination. “I want to see how he’s doing.”

“Then I’ll go too,” he said without hesitation, as if it were law written in stone.

I gave him a look, but he only smiled that infuriatingly calm alpha smile. Wherever I went, he would follow.

The orphanage was buzzing with excitement that weekend, laughter and music spilling from its old stone hall. Children in patched costumes darted about, their wolves too young to stir but their spirits radiant. Donors from the last island charity event filled the front rows, their polished shoes and jeweled cuffs glinting under the stage lights.

Silas walked beside me tall and commanding, drawing glances and hushed whispers even here. My wolf preened at his presence, though I would never admit it aloud.

And then my eyes snagged on two figures I wished I hadn’t seen.

Aurora. Caelum Grafton.

Aurora in her immaculate uniform, head held high. And Caelum stiffened the moment his gaze met mine,

“Freya,” he said, his brows knitting. “What are you doing here?”

Silas’s expression darkened into something lethal. “I always knew you were arrogant, Grafton,” he said, his tone low, smooth, and dangerous. “But I didn’t know you were this stupid. Speak one more insult about Freya, and I’ll tear your tongue from your mouth myself.”

At the end, a boy barely sixteen, his voice still awkwardly changing, stepped forward as host. “Thank you, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunties, for coming today. And thank you for your donations after the island tragedy. We’re so grateful. And today, we’re honored to have Aurora here–our very own pilot of the Bluemoon Airborne Wing. And did you know? She was once a hero who braved the fire five years ago! Please welcome her to the stage!”

Murmurs rippled through the hall. Aurora froze for half a second before she pasted on a smile and walked up under the spotlights.

I’m no hero,” she began, her voice modest, almost humble. “I only did what any decent wolf would do. Faced with a fire, who wouldn’t try to save lives? It was never about bravery. It was simply the right thing to do.”

The hall erupted with applause. Cameras flashed. For a moment, the narrative was hers, every eye drinking in her image.

Then a voice cut through the clapping. Sharp. Cold. A reporter near the front raised his recorder. “Aurora,” he said, “is it true you actually abandoned your comrade in that fire? That you stood by while he burned?”

The hall gasped, air sucked from the room in an instant.

Aurora’s face snapped pale. “That’s a lie,” she spat, her voice suddenly hard. “You accuse me without evidence? I could sue you for slander.”

The reporter lifted a trembling hand. “It isn’t my accusation. Before I came, I received an anonymous message. It said you watched as your fellow soldier burned alive… and you turned away.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. My wolf’s hackles rose, the scent of fear pouring off Aurora, bitter and acrid.

And I stood there, at Silas’s side, watching as the facade Aurora had so carefully constructed began to crack under the weight of truth.