CHAPTER 367: THE FINAL FAREWELL (THE END)

Everything had changed. Everyone had changed.

Loss did that to people. Time didn’t heal wounds like these—not really. Not the kind of pain that settled deep into the bones and stayed there. Everyone carried their own weight, quietly, until the end.

Riona entered the funeral hall clad in black, her arm linked with Thorin’s. He stood beside her not just as a companion, but as her chosen partner now, official and unwavering. Behind them walked Florian, taller than her now, though still radiating the same quiet intensity.

None of them cried. Not outwardly. But Riona felt the heaviness inside her, like her heart was carrying a stone.

Her emotions were tangled and sharp-edged. She had spent years hating King Valentin. That hatred had been her foundation. But something had cracked the moment he’d defied Elder Alfred to let her escape.

And now, after hearing the truth from Lady Maris, that hatred had nowhere left to anchor itself.

Grief was not what she expected. It didn’t feel like sadness. It felt like confusion. Like standing in the middle of a battlefield after the war was over, not sure who you’d become in the aftermath.

Her hands were slick with sweat, despite the frigid air outside. The world was snow-covered, pale and silent, but the hall stood untouched, a solemn island amid the white.

Mourners in black streamed through the palace gates, their dark clothes stark against the snow. They moved slowly, reverently, swallowed by the hush that blanketed the courtyard.

Inside, Lisbeth and Lady Maris were already in place. They stood side by side at the head of the hall, hands clasped tightly—one holding on to each other, the other clutching delicate white handkerchiefs. Neither woman shed a tear.

Riona saw it for what it was: restraint, not absence of emotion. Lisbeth held herself with cold grace, the image of control. But Riona recognized it because she wore the same mask.

They were two sides of the same coin. Built from the same material. Raised to be strong, to carry pain without complaint.

They had both been taught to hide what hurt.

All members of the Imperial family were expected to attend each day of the funeral. And on each of those days, not a single tear was shed. Their grief was a quiet, dignified thing—bound in silence, held behind composed faces.

Until the final day came. Until the moment the casket was sealed.

That was when Lisbeth broke.

For six days, she had been a queen—stoic, unyielding, every inch the ruler her people needed. But now, standing before her father’s final resting place, the weight of it all pressed too heavily on her chest.

Just this once, she pleaded silently, let me mourn not as a queen, but as a daughter.

And with that, everyone’s composure finally broke.

Lady Maris dropped to her knees beside her daughter, wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders, whispering quiet words of comfort. Riona blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that blurred her vision, but it was no use.

Lisbeth’s closest friends, standing nearby, wept openly now. They had held it in for so long, but seeing her—so strong, so proud—brought to her knees in grief was too much to bear.

Even the elders of the Nightshade Coven, centuries old and battle-worn, turned away to wipe at their eyes. The unshakable Nightwarden faltered, their posture no longer so rigid.

Sir Kai tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling as if trying to anchor himself, refusing to let the tears fall, even as his eyes shimmered with unshed sorrow.

***

With Lisbeth finally receiving the fatherly love she had long craved—if only at the very end—her hostility toward Riona had quietly faded. The shift had been unfolding for some time, but Riona, caught up in crises and responsibilities, hadn’t truly noticed.

Now, in the stillness and solemnity of mourning, the change was undeniable.

They weren’t friends. Not yet. But they had reached neutral ground—a place of quiet understanding, a possible beginning, if either of them chose to take that step.

But they didn’t. Not out of resentment, and not because they didn’t care. They simply had other priorities—burdens heavier than the effort it took to build something new.

And that, in its own way, was enough—for now.

***

"You should get married," Florian said gently, taking Riona’s hands in his. "Be Wintertooth’s Luna."

The words were tender. And if anyone else had said them, she might have smiled. If it had been a sincere request from Florian, she would’ve agreed without a second thought. But something about the way he said it felt too final. Like a farewell wrapped in warmth.

She shook her head, her lips tightening. "We’ll go back to how things were," she said softly, though she knew the lie in her own words.

"Riona..."

"I know." Her voice cracked, and she shut her eyes, but the tears escaped anyway. She looked at her brother through a film of grief and disbelief. "I know... but still..."

She bowed her head, resting her forehead against his hand. Her voice came out small and broken. "I don’t want to lose you again."

He gently pulled her into his arms, enveloping her completely. He wasn’t that timid little bat anymore—the one who used to hide behind her skirts. He was taller now, stronger, and more certain. But knowing that didn’t make it easier to let go.

"You won’t," Florian whispered, his voice steady against the storm in her. "I promise. I’m not running this time. I’m going to chase my freedom, my dream. But you’ll always be my home, Riona. You’re my sister. My protector. My only family. I’m never leaving you."

Even back then, when he had tried to push her away—when Ol’gaz’s influence clouded his mind—he had never meant to abandon her. It had been an act of desperation, not rejection. A misguided attempt to shield her, no matter the cost. Even if it broke them both.

Riona clutched Florian’s shirt, her fingers twisting the fabric as if holding on could stop time. She buried her face against his chest, breathing him in—this warmth, this moment. Deep down, she knew it was a farewell. Maybe not forever, but a farewell all the same.

The realization ached. But she also knew—truly knew—that she couldn’t hold on to the boy he used to be. Florian wasn’t her shadow anymore. He was stepping into his own light. And if she loved him, she had to let him go.

"I’ll miss you," she whispered, her voice trembling with the effort to stay strong.

Florian rested his chin lightly on her head, his own arms tightening around her. "Me too," he said, soft but certain. "I’ll miss you too."

***

The next day, Florian left Eira.

Riona, too, made her choice. She and the remaining werewolves would return to Wintertooth. She had come to realize where she truly belonged. The werewolves were her family—her place, her people.

Thorin’s constant teasing about a wedding was only a distant thought; there would be no promises made now. Maybe in a few months. Maybe a few years. When the scars had faded and the wounds healed.

The Nightshade Coven, too, made their decisions. For those who wished to fade into the shadows of anonymity, they could. The title of elder, the weight of their legacy, was theirs to shed if they so desired.

The ancient coven would open its doors to new blood, new members, ready to serve where they were needed most. Some would remain to serve under Lisbeth, ensuring that peace among the vampires was both guarded and nurtured.

Cielo and Lumi, having earned Lisbeth’s trust and respect, joined her small council, their wisdom now an integral part of her leadership.

Sir Kai was elevated to the role of Minister of Defense, his skill and discipline now formalized in his new position.

Sir Orlo was appointed to lead a new division dedicated to the study of magic, including the darker, more dangerous arts. Lisbeth had learned a valuable lesson from recent events: ignorance could be as perilous as any weapon. Knowledge, when harnessed properly, was power, and now, it was a resource they would never take for granted.