Isla's POV
I'm drowning in memories I wish I could forget.
The silver magic doesn't just show me the past—it forces me to live it again. Every sensation, every emotion, every moment of pain like it's happening right now.
I'm five years old, asking Mom why she never hugs me like she hugs Celeste. She looks at me with empty eyes and says, "Because you're not really mine."
I'm eight, and Dad's teaching Celeste to fight while I watch from the doorway. "Can I learn too?" I ask. He doesn't even look at me. "Wolfless girls don't need combat training."
I'm twelve, and Celeste is laughing with her friends about how pathetic I am. When I try to walk past, she trips me. "Oops," she says sweetly. "Didn't see you there. You're so easy to overlook."
I'm fourteen, and Kieran corners me in the school hallway. "You know what you are, Isla?" His ice-blue eyes are cold. "You're nothing. A mistake. A waste of space. No wolf, no future, no point."
The memory shifts, and I'm reliving my sixteenth birthday. I spent it alone in my storage room, listening to Celeste's huge party downstairs. Nobody remembered. Nobody cared.
This is torture, I want to scream. Please, make it stop.
But the magic doesn't stop. It digs deeper, finding every wound, every scar, every moment I was made to feel worthless.
And the worst part? A tiny voice in my head whispers: Maybe they were right. Maybe you are nothing.
"NO!" I scream into the silver void. "I'm not nothing! I'm NOT!"
The magic pauses, like it's listening.
Prove it, a voice whispers—not mine, not anyone I know. The voice of the trial itself. Prove you're more than what they made you believe.
Suddenly, I understand. This isn't just about surviving memories. It's about accepting them without letting them define me.
Every cruel word, every moment of rejection, every time I was hurt—they happened. They shaped me. But they don't control me.
"I survived," I say out loud, my voice growing stronger. "I survived every single day of abuse. I survived being suppressed and broken and told I was worthless. And you know what? I'm still here. Still standing. Still FIGHTING."
The silver magic swirls faster, showing me more memories—but different ones now.
I see myself at seven, secretly feeding stray dogs even though I barely had food for myself. I see myself at ten, helping a younger kid who fell and scraped his knee, cleaning his wound even though nobody ever cleaned mine. I see myself at fifteen, working three jobs to save money for escape, never giving up even when everything felt hopeless.
I see every moment I chose kindness when the world showed me cruelty. Every time I kept going when quitting would've been easier. Every single second I refused to become like the people who hurt me.
"I'm not defined by what was done to me," I say, tears streaming down my face. "I'm defined by what I chose to do despite it. I chose to stay kind. I chose to keep hoping. I chose to survive."
The silver magic explodes outward, and suddenly I'm back in the ceremonial circle, gasping and shaking but alive.
The gathered wolves stare at me in shock.
"Two hours," an Elder breathes. "She lasted two hours in the Trial of Mind."
"Most break in fifteen minutes," another adds, something like respect creeping into his voice.
Elder Morgana's face is tight with anger. She wanted me to fail. Needed me to fail.
But I didn't.
Kieran and Roman rush forward the moment the barrier drops. They reach me at the same time, both trying to support me.
"I'm okay," I lie, even though I'm shaking so hard I can barely stand. "I'm—"
"You're not okay," Roman says gently, his arm around my waist. "That trial would break most adults. You're allowed to not be okay."
"What did you see?" Kieran asks, his face pale. "What memories did it show you?"
I look at him—my former bully, my rejected mate, the boy who just risked his life to save mine. "Everything," I whisper. "Every awful moment. Including every time you hurt me."
Kieran flinches like I've slapped him. "Isla, I—"
"Two trials complete," Morgana interrupts coldly. "One remains. The Trial of Heart."
"No," Roman says firmly. "She needs rest. She needs—"
"The trials must be completed in one session," another Elder says. "Ancient law is clear. To pause is to fail."
"That's barbaric!" Kieran shouts.
"That's tradition," Morgana counters. "If the girl is too weak to complete all three trials, she's too weak to rule."
I want to collapse. Want to cry. Want to run away and never come back.
But I'm so tired of running.
"I'll do it," I hear myself say. "The third trial. Whatever it is, I'll face it."
"Isla, you don't have to prove anything else," Roman says desperately. "You've already shown more strength than—"
"I have to finish this." I pull away from both of them, standing on my own even though my legs shake. "I didn't survive eighteen years of hell just to quit at the finish line."
Pride flashes across both Alphas' faces, mixed with worry.
Elder Morgana steps forward, and for the first time, she looks uncertain. "The Trial of Heart is different from the others. More dangerous."
"How?" I demand.
"Because it doesn't test your blood or your mind." Morgana's eyes bore into mine. "It tests your soul. Your capacity to love, to forgive, to sacrifice. It shows you the three possible futures based on choices you could make, and you must choose which path to walk."
"That doesn't sound so bad," I say cautiously.
"Doesn't it?" Morgana's smile is bitter. "What if all three futures end in tragedy? What if every choice leads to pain? What if there's no right answer, only different kinds of wrong?"
My stomach drops. "What happens if I can't choose?"
"Then you stay trapped in the trial forever, living and reliving those futures until your mind breaks or your body dies." Morgana waves her hand, and new runes appear—these ones glowing with soft blue light. "Most who enter the Trial of Heart never come out. They're still there, trapped in eternal indecision, their bodies kept alive by magic while their minds live in possibility."
She gestures to three stone statues at the edge of the clearing. Only they're not statues—they're people. Preserved by magic, their eyes open but vacant, living in worlds only they can see.
"Former claimants," Morgana explains. "Each one entered the Trial of Heart. None had the strength to choose."
Horror crawls through me. "You leave them like that?"
"We can't remove them without killing them," another Elder says sadly. "The trial holds them too tightly. All we can do is keep their bodies safe while their minds wander eternity."
Kieran grabs my arm. "Don't do this. There has to be another way."
"There isn't." I meet his ice-blue eyes, then Roman's amber ones. "If I don't complete this trial, the Council will give the crown to someone else. Probably someone corrupt. And everything my parents died for, everything I've suffered for—it'll be for nothing."
"Your life matters more than a crown!" Roman argues.
"My life matters BECAUSE of the crown," I correct. "Those people trapped in the trial? They failed because they were choosing for themselves. But I'm not choosing for me. I'm choosing for everyone my parents wanted to protect. For every wolf who needs a queen who understands what it's like to be powerless."
I step into the circle before either of them can stop me.
The blue light wraps around me immediately, gentle but inescapable.
"Wait!" Kieran's voice sounds distant. "Isla, before you go—I need you to know—"
But his words fade as the magic pulls me under, into a world of blue light and possibility.
Three paths appear before me, each one glowing with different colored light.
A voice echoes through the void: Choose your future, little queen. But choose wisely. Each path holds love and loss, joy and sorrow. The question is: which pain can you live with?
The first path glows gold. When I look at it, images flash: Me, crowned and powerful, ruling alone. No mate, no distractions, complete focus on rebuilding the kingdom. I see myself strong and respected, but lonely. So terribly lonely. Growing old with power but no one to share it with.
The second path glows silver. Images of Roman appear—kind, steady, protective. I see us together, building a life of peace and safety. But in this future, I give up the crown. Choose love over duty. And I watch as another ruler takes the throne and slowly corrupts everything my parents built. I'm happy, but the kingdom suffers.
The third path glows black with ice-blue streaks. Kieran. This future shows us together, the mate bond restored and stronger than ever. But it's complicated, painful. We fight and forgive and hurt each other trying to heal. In this future, we rule together, but the pack never fully trusts him. Never fully forgives his father's crimes. We're powerful but controversial, loved by some and hated by others.
Three futures. Three choices. And none of them perfect.
Choose, the voice commands. Your kingdom waits.
But as I stare at the three paths, something feels wrong.
"No," I say out loud.
The magic pauses, surprised.
"These aren't my only choices," I continue, my voice growing stronger. "You're showing me what you think I should want—power alone, safe love, or complicated redemption. But what if I choose something else entirely?"
There is nothing else, the voice says. These are the only paths fate has laid for you.
"Then I'll make my own path." Power builds inside me—not from the trial, but from my own royal bloodline. "I'm not choosing between love and duty. I'm not choosing between safety and growth. I'm not choosing between being alone or being tied to someone else's choices."
Golden light explodes from my chest—the crown responding to my conviction.
"I choose to rule," I declare. "I choose to rebuild my parents' kingdom. And I choose to do it surrounded by people I trust, whether they're mates or friends or allies. I choose to love if I want and rule alone if I must. I choose CHOICE itself—the freedom to build my future day by day instead of walking a path someone else laid out."
The Trial of Heart magic shatters like glass.
I'm thrown backward, landing hard in the real world, the ceremonial circle cracking beneath me.
Every wolf present—Elders, warriors, pack members—stares at me in absolute shock.
"She broke the trial," an Elder whispers. "Nobody breaks the Trial of Heart. It's impossible."
"Apparently not," Roman says, and there's awe in his voice.
Elder Morgana looks like she's bitten something sour. "The trials are complete. By ancient law, the crown is confirmed."
"All hail Queen Isla!" someone shouts.
"All hail Queen Isla!" others echo, and suddenly the entire clearing is filled with voices, all proclaiming me as their rightful ruler.
I stand up slowly, the crown on my head burning with golden light, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
But then Kieran's phone rings, shattering the celebration.
He answers it, and his face goes white. "What? When? How many?"
"What's wrong?" I ask, my queen-confidence evaporating into fear.
Kieran looks at me with horror in his eyes. "My father. He escaped custody twenty minutes ago. And he's not alone—he freed Celeste and gathered an army of rogues and dark magic users."
My blood runs cold. "Where is he?"
"Heading here," Kieran whispers. "With orders to kill everyone present. He's not just coming for the crown anymore, Isla."
"Then what's he coming for?"
Kieran meets my eyes, and I see my death reflected in his gaze.