The first omen came with the wind.
It was a cold, trembling gust that slithered through the forest like a living thing — rustling the leaves, stirring the ashes of old fires, and whispering names that no mortal tongue could pronounce. The pack stirred uneasily as the night air thickened, heavy with divine scent — wild lilies and thunder.
Damian stood at the center of the clearing, gaze lifted to the horizon where the sky pulsed faintly, as if something behind it struggled to break through. His wolf bristled. It had been days since Aria's awakening, and the heavens had been silent.
Too silent.
Eli approached, his steps careful. "Alpha," he said quietly. "The scouts report something strange to the north. The stars... they're moving."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Moving?"
"They're forming a pattern. A circle. And within it—light."
The words twisted like knives in the air. Damian didn't need to ask what it meant. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones — the gods had finally stirred.
He looked toward the tent where Aria rested. "Prepare the pack," he ordered. "We move before dawn."
Eli hesitated. "And if it's already too late?"
Damian turned to him, eyes flashing gold. "Then we fight before the sun remembers our names."
---
Inside the tent, Aria dreamt of wings.
They weren't hers — not anymore — but she could still feel their phantom weight, heavy and burning against her back. The feathers were made of starlight, sharp enough to cut, soft enough to mourn. Voices whispered through her dreams, not words but judgment — the echo of divine law wrapping around her like a chain.
Return what was taken, they said.
Return what should never have lived.
She woke with a gasp.
The tent was dark, save for a faint flicker of moonlight spilling through the seams. Her breath clouded in the cold air. Every shadow seemed to move, every whisper of the forest brushing against her skin like a warning. Then she felt it — a pull in her chest, slow and aching, like something calling her name from beyond the veil.
"Aria."
Damian's voice broke the silence. He stepped into the tent, shadows coiling around him, eyes burning faintly gold. "You felt it too."
She nodded. "They're coming."
His hand found hers, strong, grounding. "Then we meet them on our feet."
---
By the time the first light of dawn touched the treetops, the pack was ready.
Wolves lined the clearing in disciplined silence, their eyes gleaming silver in the half-light. The air hummed — part fear, part reverence. Aria stood beside Damian, cloaked in black, her hair braided with thin cords of silver thread. She looked both fragile and untouchable, like a mortal wearing the skin of something greater.
Above them, the sky was alive.
The clouds twisted in unnatural patterns, gold light bleeding through their edges. The wind carried voices — soft at first, then sharper, rising in strange harmonies. Damian drew his blade. Aria didn't move.
Then the sky split.
Not like thunder — but like glass.
From the fracture poured light. It took shape as figures — tall, faceless, radiant. Six of them. They hovered above the clearing, their presence bending the air, warping reality itself. Where their feet would have touched the ground, grass withered to ash.
The pack fell to their knees. Even the earth seemed to tremble.
One of the beings stepped forward. Its voice was both male and female, its tone the sound of rain on stone.
"Damian Vale. Son of the Crescent Bloodline. You have defied divine order."
Damian didn't bow. His sword gleamed in the half-light. "Order?" he spat. "You call what she did order?"
The being's face turned — if it could be called a face. "The mortal girl is bound by covenant. She carries what does not belong to her."
Aria stepped forward then, the wind swirling around her. Her eyes burned silver. "I carry what you tried to destroy."
A ripple of disquiet passed through the divine ranks. Their light dimmed for an instant.
"You presume much," said another, its voice sharp as lightning. "You speak with a power stolen, not earned."
"Maybe," Aria replied softly. "But it's mine now."
The ground shuddered.
Lightning arced across the clearing, striking between them. The wolves flinched; trees caught fire and died in seconds. Damian didn't move. His wolf snarled, claws half-shifted. His body ached for violence, but his mind stayed on her.
They were outmatched — impossibly so. But something about Aria's calm unsettled even the divine.
"You think you can stand against us?" the first being hissed.
Aria's voice was quiet. "No. I think I can end you."
---
The first strike came from the sky.
A spear of pure light plunged toward them, blinding and absolute. Damian moved before thought, grabbing Aria and pulling her to the ground as the world exploded in white. The shockwave flattened the clearing, hurling bodies, snapping trees. When the light faded, a crater smoldered where they'd stood seconds before.
Damian rose, coughing blood, his body burned and torn. He turned — and froze.
Aria was standing again.
The mark on her chest pulsed brighter than before, flooding her veins with liquid fire. Her eyes glowed, not silver now but gold — the color of divine rebellion. The very air bent around her, trembling as if the world itself feared her next breath.
"You wanted your power back," she whispered. "Come take it."
The next moment was chaos.
Wolves lunged. Light flared. Shadows clashed against radiance in a storm of unholy brilliance. Damian fought like a beast unleashed, his claws tearing through divine mist, his blood singing with ancient rage. Every strike burned his skin, every breath tasted of ash, but he didn't stop.
Because through it all — through the impossible glare, the screams, the breaking of the earth — he could feel her.
Aria wasn't fighting like a goddess. She was fighting like a woman who had already lost everything and refused to lose again.
---
The last divine fell to its knees, its form flickering between light and dust. Aria stood over it, her chest heaving, her aura crackling with violent beauty. Her voice was almost a whisper when she spoke.
"Tell her," she said. "Tell the Moon Goddess I'm not her creation anymore."
The being's glow dimmed. "You... cannot escape her."
Aria's expression softened, almost pitying. "Watch me."
With a motion like exhaling, she released her power — a pulse of energy that swept through the clearing, scattering the divine remnants like dust on the wind. The light vanished. The world stilled.
Only silence remained.
---
When the storm was over, Damian found her kneeling in the ashes, trembling. The glow had faded. Her mark dimmed to a faint shimmer. He approached slowly, afraid to touch her — not because she was dangerous, but because she looked so human again.
"Aria."
Her eyes lifted to his. "It's done."
He knelt beside her, taking her face in his bloodied hands. "No. It's just begun."
A weak smile touched her lips. "Always the optimist."
"Always yours," he said softly.
She laughed, barely a breath. "You shouldn't be. I've started a war."
Damian looked up at the broken sky, where faint cracks of gold still glowed like scars. "Then we'll end it together."
---
Later, when the fires were out and the wounded tended, Aria stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the sunrise struggle through smoke. The air smelled of burnt cedar and wet earth. She could still hear the echoes of divine song in the wind — but now, beneath it, another sound stirred.
Freedom.
Fragile. Wild. Terrifying.
She didn't know what she had become. Not mortal. Not divine. Something between — something dangerous. But as Damian's shadow joined hers, his hand brushing hers, she found that for the first time in her life, she didn't need to know.
Because she chose this.
She chose him.
And that, she realized, was the one thing no god could ever take away.
---