A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 87

Chapter 87

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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 occur to you to ask your uncles?” he snapped at Jocelyn, his tone edged with fury. “You claim 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 collar. 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 welcome 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.

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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 glare silenced him instantly. “Arthur and Myra carried the weight of this world on their backs. They bled for this land, 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.

At last, 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 place worthy of the Bloodmoon’s last 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’ll come. 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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