The snow in the Northern Territory never stopped falling.
I stood at the highest point of the Wolf Tower, draped in a pure white cloak, overlooking the entire border training camp.
Three months ago, the Northern Territory royal family declared me heir. The council of elders initially opposed it, but popular opinion was like a tide—those refugees who had lost relatives in the Western Ridge and fled to the Northern Territory were the ones I had taken in. They remembered who had shielded them from the bloodshed, who had lit the first lamp for them.
They called me their Moon Shadow, the true Alpha of the Northern Territory.
I didn’t refuse.
I no longer needed anyone to grant me identity. I stood in the snow, my bloodline was proof enough.
That day, I led Dean through the royal court corridor and accepted the ice-blue scepter. When the King handed me the signet ring, he said only one thing:
“The Northern Territory’s future should also have a woman’s footsteps.”
I smiled. This time, I was finally completely myself.
At night, Dean nestled in my arms, sleeping peacefully. I tucked his cloak around him, put on my own cloak, and walked out alone.
The snow was quiet, with only the low hum of wind. I walked through stone steps, past forest paths, to a black stone monument.
The monument bore no name.
This was one I had ordered erected. What was buried wasn’t bones, but the soul of the past—that Seraphina who had once knelt for love, endured humiliation for the pack, and sacrificed for family.
I stood under the stone gallery of the Wolf Tower, watching the children running in the training ground. Dean and other young Alphas chased and played, their laughter cutting through the cold wind like scattered gold falling on snow.
This was the Northern Territory’s newly built Free Academy. No hierarchical suppression, no bloodline discrimination. Any wolf willing to integrate could receive training and shelter here.
Dean made friends here and began learning how to balance wolf and human forms. He no longer had to suppress his presence or pretend to meet some father’s expectations. He belonged here, and he belonged to himself.
I gave him a new surname.
He was now called—Dean Frost.
He loved this name.
In the afternoons, I would take him to gather herbs in the valley. In the evenings, we would cook soup together in the stone house and watch the stars by the fire. He often said: “Mother, the stars here are much brighter than in the Western Ridge.”
I would smile and agree: “Because the eyes we use to look at them are clearer now.”
Sometimes, I would still receive reports from the Northern Territory patrol teams.
They said that at the far western border, a lone wolf could sometimes be seen wandering. Pitifully thin, acknowledging no master, joining no pack. Old blood on its body, death in its eyes.
I knew who it was, but I never responded.
That was a nightmare from the past, already cut out by the roots.
Now, I had snow plains, starlight, and my child.
I finally understood that freedom wasn’t about running away—it was about having the right to never look back.
