Chapter 30
Jul 18, 2025
The wind tore at my hair as I stood at the cliff’s edge, the same jagged precipice where Alira’s scarf had fluttered like a surrender flag two years ago. My fingers closed around the white stone I’d carried here—smooth marble carved from the ruins of the old temple, polished by my own hands during the sleepless nights when victory felt more like burden than triumph.
“She was sixteen,” I said, my voice cutting through the ocean’s roar below. “Sixteen years old when they drove her to this.”
Hector moved beside me, our daughter secure in the carrier against his chest. “The same age you were when the Games began.”
“No.” I stepped closer to the edge, loose rocks skittering over the precipice. “I was never sixteen. I was born the moment I watched her fall.”
The white stone felt warm in my palm, heavy with the weight of memory and promise. Below us, waves crashed against the same black rocks that had claimed Alira’s broken body. The sea didn’t care about our revolution. It simply took what was offered and kept its secrets.
“For the girl who chose wings over cages,” I whispered, and hurled the stone into the churning depths.
It vanished without ceremony, swallowed by foam and fury.
Hector’s arms circled me from behind, solid as fortress walls. “We ended it.”
I turned in his embrace, meeting his eyes with fierce certainty. “No. We began it.”
His brow furrowed. “Lyssira—”
“Look.” I gestured toward the valley spread beneath us, where the old temple complex gleamed white against green hills. “What do you see?”
“The sanctuary. The training grounds.”
“I see fifty girls learning to fight instead of kneel. I see boys learning respect instead of conquest.” My voice gained strength with each word. “I see the future we bought with blood and fire.”
The old temple had been transformed beyond recognition. Where once stone altars had held sacrifice, now training circles taught combat. Where Matrons had preached submission, instructors now taught rebellion. The screams of broken girls had been replaced by battle cries of the free.
“The Moon Guard patrols the borders,” I continued. “The rotating council settles disputes with votes instead of violence. Every girl who walks through those sanctuary doors carries revolution in her bones whether she knows it or not.”
Hector’s smile was soft as starlight. “And you’re not satisfied yet.”
“I won’t be satisfied until every kingdom, every pack, every corner of this world burns away the old ways.” The fire that had carried me through the Games blazed in my chest. “Until no girl ever has to choose between submission and suicide.”
Our daughter stirred in her carrier, tiny fists waving at the sky. She would grow up in the world we’d forged—free to choose her own path, her own mate, her own destiny. The thought sent fierce joy coursing through my veins.
“The other kingdoms are watching,” Hector said. “Ambassadors arrive weekly, asking how we maintain order without oppression.”
“Let them watch. Let them learn.” I stepped back from the cliff’s edge, leaving Alira’s resting place to the sea and wind. “Every emissary who returns home carries seeds of change. Every trader spreads stories of girls who learned to burn instead of bow.”
We walked toward the path that would take us back to the valley, back to the sanctuary, back to the endless work of revolution. But I paused at the cliff’s highest point, looking out over the kingdom we had remade.
The setting sun painted everything gold—the training grounds where tomorrow’s warriors learned their craft, the council chambers where voices replaced violence, the roads packed with pilgrims seeking sanctuary. All of it born from one girl’s refusal to kneel.
“Do you ever regret it?” Hector asked. “The crown you burned, the power you scattered, the throne you never claimed?”
I laughed, the sound sharp as breaking chains. “They spent a thousand years perfecting their system. Building cages disguised as ceremonies, forging chains from tradition and fear.”
The wind carried scents from the valley—bread baking in free ovens, steel ringing against steel in practice yards, children’s laughter echoing from schools where girls learned letters alongside boys.
“They tried to make me a bride,” I said, my voice carrying across stone and sky like a battle cry that would echo through generations. “I became their reckoning.”
