*Leo*

The witches are gone. The last rustle of their tattered cloaks disappears beyond the eastern ridge, ushered by two lines of wolves who don’t blink as they pass. Moonbeam Valley holds its breath as a profound silence settles over them—not one of fear or tension, but something sacred: peace.

I stand next to a dark bay stallion, offered to me by one of our warriors. The mid-day sun filters through the trees in golden shafts, lighting up the mist like fire. Roxy is near the edge of the clearing, talking softly with her parents, her actual parents, who look at her like they’ve been holding their breath for twenty-one...