CHAPTER 160: CHAPTER 160: GRIEF, GUILT, GRIT

Kieran’s POV

The moment Astrid said "I’ll do it, Your Majesty," I knew it was going to break Magnus.

She stood firm, voice steady, but the hollowness in her eyes said enough. Her body still carried the toll of the last ritual and yet, she was willing to do it again.

"We’ll need nightroot," Astrid said, turning to Cyrin. "And ember salt. Three blood sigils, one for the mind, one for the soul, and one for the wolf. The containment has to be spiritual, not physical. We’ll need a containment glyph stone too, there should be one in the storage vaults."

"You don’t have enough strength to carry out another full binding ritual, and you know it Astrid," Magnus cut in, again.

Astrid didn’t even flinch. "And if we don’t bind the wolf, Magnus? She’ll wake. She’ll rip through this hideout like tissue paper."

"I know that," he snapped, pacing like a caged animal. "But there has to be another way. Something else."

"There isn’t," Cyrin said, quiet but firm. "We’ve tried everything else. Genetic suppressants, psychic dampeners, neurological blocks, none of it works. The ghosthound lust isn’t in her blood, it’s embedded deep in her wolf’s DNA. Her wolf is the rage, the hunger, the madness."

"And if we lock the wolf?" Magnus demanded. "You think that’ll make her human? You think she’ll be safe? That thing inside her is her."

"No," Cyrin said, "it’s a part of her. And a part we cannot afford to let loose."

I stepped forward. "Magnus, I understand how this looks. I do. But this isn’t just about Astrid. If we let the Queen wake without control, she’ll kill Astrid nevertheless. She’ll kill you. She’ll kill us all."

Magnus turned toward me, eyes blazing. "Easy for you to say. You’re a royal. You all always have someone to bleed for you. Do you even know what this woman has suffered for your family?"

His words struck hard.

"You weren’t there when the former king forced me to kill Astrid to prove my loyalty to the throne. Ten years ago, I ran a blade through her back on your father’s orders and I left her for death..."

Astrid touched his arm gently. "Magnus...."

He yanked his arm away, jaw trembling. "You keep doing this. Throwing yourself into the fire for people who don’t deserve it."

Her gaze softened. "And you keep trying to stop me. Because this time, you can’t."

"Oh, I can," he snarled. "But maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re so damn eager to die for people who would burn you again the second they got the chance, so.... suit yourself"

He turned to the door, shoulders shaking.

"Go ahead then, Astrid. Save the kingdom. Be the sacrificial lamb one more time."

And then he walked out. No one said a word. The echo of the door slamming shut was louder than any scream.

Astrid exhaled, closing her eyes, composing herself. "We need to begin gathering the materials. We don’t have time."

I clenched my jaw, heart pounding. Magnus wasn’t wrong, but neither was she. She was right, this wasn’t about royalty or revenge. It was survival.

So the second she finished listing the ingredients, I memorized them all

"Come on," I said to Varya, and she was already moving beside me before I could finish.

The underground was chaos, organized in some places, but still chaos. But Varya and I moved like twin pulses of lightning, splitting off in directions to gather everything we needed.

Some of the ingredients were simple, things Cyrin kept stocked for basic treatments. Others weren’t. We had to dig through storage crates, overturned steel drawers, old cabinets labeled in faded ink. One of the roots had been preserved in a jar of ash in the apothecary wing I didn’t even know existed. Another was growing near the mouth of the underground spring, glimmering under faint silver moss. It took effort not to snap it too roughly, I remembered Astrid’s voice saying the root had to remain intact.

We didn’t speak much. There was no room for it. Just breath, and urgency, and movement.

I don’t know how long it took. Minutes? Maybe twenty? Maybe more. But time had become a cruel blur, and all I knew was that when we finally returned to the ritual chamber, Astrid was waiting, seated in the center of the runic circle she’d redrawn with that same ancient chalk.

The room smelled of incense and metal and blood. The Ghosthound Queen still lay bound and sleeping in the center cot, Cyrin had reinforced her restraints with spell welded silver chains lined with warded herbs. Her body was still, but I knew better. The moment that last drop of wolfsbane faded from her bloodstream, hell would open again.

Astrid took the basket of herbs and powders Varya and I had brought and began laying them out in precise directions around the cot. Her fingers didn’t tremble, but her skin looked paler than before. The silver streaks in her hair were nearly white now, and the fine lines around her eyes had deepened. It wasn’t just age. It was sacrifice. Magic demanded tolls. And Astrid had already paid more than most.

She adjusted a set of runestones around the edge of the cot, whispering old incantations under her breath as she did.

I watched her in silence. She looked.... determined. Like a soldier walking willingly onto the battlefield alone, knowing the odds.

She looked up at me once. Just once. Her eyes met mine, cold crimson, fierce and resigned, and I knew what she was saying even before her lips moved.

"Don’t stop me."

I nodded once. Because I couldn’t.

Varya stepped back. Cyrin checked the measurements one last time. The Ghosthound Queen was beginning to stir—m, her body twitching faintly, mouth trembling like something deep and primal was waking inside her.

Astrid drew a sharp breath and sat down in the center of the runes, her legs crossed, her palms facing up.

"I’m starting," she said quietly.

Lorraine’s POV

I sat on the cold bed, staring at the wall, at nothing, at everything.

My throat ached, stitched, raw, and bandaged. I could still taste the metallic bite of blood, still remember the way the scalpel felt in my hand. I had done that. I had taken the blade and sliced through my own throat.

And Kieran.... he saw me.

Then he unleashed every cruel word his mouth could form, words meant to cut deeper than any blade. And they did. Goddess, they did.

"I regret ever saving you..."

"You’re weak."

"Go ahead and die..."

His voice kept echoing in my skull like a curse I couldn’t shake. Every word another nail. Another dagger.

And.... I hated him for it.

But I also hated how, deep down, part of me agreed with him.

I used to be strong. I used to charge headfirst into every battle, every injustice. I was always the one who stood up, who spoke out. I was the one.... they followed.

Now look at me.

One arm missing, and it’s like the fire inside me went out with it. I let the darkness win. I let the pain dictate my worth. I let the grief of losing a limb become the grave I crawled into.

How the hell did I become this.... fragile?

When did I start believing that my strength only existed in my body?

My wolf had healed me. My shoulder was sealed and whole, except for the arm that would never grow back. Even though I wanted more, my wolf had actually done her path

My train of thoughts was interrupted with a knock.

A soft, hesitant knock.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

The door creaked open anyway.

I looked up, expecting Astrid. Or worse, Kieran again, back to hammer more nails into my ribs.

But it was Felix.

He stepped in slowly, like he thought I’d shatter if he moved too fast. He looked tired. Hollow-eyed. His brown curls were a tangled mess

We stared at each other for a long time.

"....Hey," he finally said, voice small and unsure, like he was afraid I’d scream or cry or break again.

I didn’t.

I just looked at him.

And something inside me cracked. Not from pain. Not from anger. But from shame.

Because he was still standing.

And I had wanted to give up.

Felix stepped into the room like he didn’t belong in it, like being near me might make him crumble. He hesitated, his eyes darting toward the stool near my bedside.

He motioned to it.

"Can I sit?" he asked quietly, voice almost breaking.

I nodde

He sat. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was heavy. Then, with a deep sigh, he said

"I’m sorry."

I blinked. My brows pulled together slowly.

"....Why?" My voice was hoarse, a whisper dredged through smoke.

He didn’t look at me. Just stared at the floor like it was the only thing that wouldn’t judge him.

"I’ve been.... distancing myself. I couldn’t bring myself to face you. I didn’t know what to say. I felt ashamed. Like a coward." He exhaled sharply. "You were always there for me. Always brave. Always strong. And when it was my turn to be there for you... I couldn’t do anything. Just stood there and watched everything fall apart. It was too shameful to even be near you."

I was quiet for a moment. And then, unexpectedly.... I smiled.

It was small. Weak. But it was real.

I reached for his hand and held it. His fingers tensed at first, then slowly relaxed beneath mine.

"Do you remember," I said, "when Callum lost an arm protecting me?"

Felix’s eyes snapped to mine. He nodded slowly, pain flashing across his face.

"And then.... he died because of it," I continued, my voice low, thick with emotion. "I prayed for him, Felix. Prayed to anything that would listen. I didn’t care if he lived with one arm or none, I just wanted him to survive. I would’ve taken his pain if I could."

My grip on Felix’s hand tightened.

"And here I am," I said, motioning to my left shoulder with a bitter chuckle. "I lost an arm. But unlike Callum.... I survived."

I swallowed, emotion clawing its way up my throat. "And the first thing I did.... was try to die anyway."

Felix shook his head, eyes glassy. "Lorraine, don’t...."

"No," I whispered. "It’s the truth. And Callum would be so disappointed in me if he saw what I’ve become. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. But this.... this is my reality now."

I looked down at my missing limb.

"And I will learn," I said. "I’ll learn how to not just live with it... but how to be triumphant with it. No matter what."