The Broken Urn

Elara's POV

The heavy front door of Argentmaw Manor hadn't even clicked shut behind me when the poison hit my ears. I stood in the brightly lit entryway, the black wooden box secured tight against my chest, as Morwena’s voice echoed down the grand hall. Her tone dripped with an arrogance that physically grated against my exhausted nerves.

"Now that Sivya is back—and she's a pilot, no less—you should divorce Elara and mate her instead," Morwena declared. She pitched her words loud, ensuring they carried through the foyer.

Right on cue, Zyla’s sharp, mocking laughter cut through the air. "Everyone knows you were in love with Sivya first. She’s the first female pilot of the Aero-Flight Wing! What does Elara have? She doesn’t even have a title." Zyla scoffed, the sound echoing off the marble floors. "She is nothing but a leech. A parasite who only swooped in and mated you because your first, true love was away on duty."

I stopped in my tracks. My grip on the black wooden box tightened until my knuckles turned white under the harsh chandelier light. For three exhausting years, I had bled for Dravos. I had stood by him through brutal missions, patched his shredded skin, and silently run his entire pack from the shadows while he played the public leader. And this was my reward. To stand in my own home, holding the sacred Lupine Legion banner, and listen to his family dismiss my existence as absolute nothingness.

I stepped deeper into the foyer, my boots clicking sharply against the stone. I kept my spine locked straight, refusing to hide in the shadows of the doorway for another second.

"I wasn’t sneaking around," I said, my voice cutting through their malicious gossip. "I walked through the front door."

Zyla jumped, though she quickly masked her surprise with a sneer. Dravos finally raised a hand, stepping out of the adjoining parlor to silence his sister's relentless yapping. His gaze swept over me, lingering on the exhaustion in my posture before slowly dropping to the black wooden box cradled in my arms. The crimson and gold fabric of the Legion banner peeked from beneath the lid.

"What is that?" he asked.

"My parents' combined ashes," I informed him flatly, refusing to let my voice break. "I brought them home."

A brief, genuine flicker of guilt flashed across his sharp features. He shifted his weight, refusing to meet my eyes directly. "I’m sorry, Elara. I should’ve been there for their return. But Sivya… she collapsed this morning. Hyperventilation or something. I had to stay."

He offered the excuse casually, as if a friend's panic attack somehow justified abandoning his mate during her deepest moment of mourning. As if leaving me to face the shattered remains of my heroic parents alone was just an unfortunate scheduling conflict.

Before my mind could even process the sheer pathetic nature of his excuse, Morwena emitted a piercing shriek.

She recoiled dramatically, stumbling backward and pointing a shaking, manicured finger at the box in my arms. "Ashes? Did you bring dead ashes into this house?!"

"Yes," I blinked, staring at her dramatic display. "They are my parents. They served the Lupine Dominion with the highest honor. They were heroes." My voice vibrated with suppressed Alpha power, a low, rumbling warning meant to demand the respect they deserved.

Morwena twisted her face in disgust, looking at the sacred box as if I had dragged rotting garbage onto her pristine rugs. "I don’t care who they were! Ashes are cursed. You remove that thing from my house right this instant!"

"This is my territory too," I fiercely defended, taking a step forward. "Dravos and I purchased this massive home together after the coronation. They belong here with me."

"Don't you dare talk back to my mother!" Zyla snapped immediately, stepping between us. "Bringing dead bones into the main house will severely upset her delicate health. The doctor specifically said she needs a stress-free environment for her eyes!"

The sheer hypocrisy tasted like ash on my tongue. I had personally exhausted every covert contact I possessed in the Prime Citadel to find the elusive specialist who saved those very eyes. I had paid the hidden costs, traded favors in the shadows, and now they used that same eyesight as a weapon to banish my martyred parents to the cold.

I looked at Dravos, waiting. Waiting for the Alpha I mated to defend his Luna.

He hesitated. The silence stretched into a long, agonizing moment. His eyes darted between his furious mother and my grief-stricken face.

"Just... put their remains somewhere else for now, Elara," he said quietly. "Please."

The entire world tilted on its axis. The stone walls of the foyer felt like they were closing in. Three continuous years of prioritizing his pack over my own basic needs. Hunting down his mother’s specialist. Physically carrying his bleeding, half-dead body from vicious rogue ambushes in the Obsidian Depths. And he could not even grant my parents a simple, quiet resting place in our own home.

"You think they’re cursed too?" I whispered, my chest aching. "I just want to keep them inside where they belong. Just until we build the proper shrine."

Dravos frowned, a warning edge creeping into his tone. "Don’t be unreasonable."

"And if I insist?" I challenged, digging my heels into the marble floor.

"Not while I’m alive!" Morwena shrieked.

She lunged forward with a speed that defied her fragile act. Her hand swung through the air and slapped me hard across the cheek. The sting was sharp, a burning slap of skin against skin, but what followed shattered any remaining peace. She shoved her body forward, aggressively striking the ornate wooden box with both hands.

The wood splintered. The heavy lid flew off. The obsidian urn began to slip from my grasp, plummeting toward the unforgiving stone floor.

Pure instinct roared through my blood. My pupils narrowed into feral slits. In one blindingly fast movement, I dropped the broken wooden shell and caught the falling obsidian urn. I pulled the heavy stone tight against my chest, shielding its fragile form with my own body like a mother protecting her young.

"This is my parents’ remains!" I snarled. My canines elongated, scraping against my bottom lip as I actively fought the violent shift clawing just beneath my skin. The Alpha aura I had hidden for years flared hot and dangerous. "You may be Dravos’s mother, but you are not Luna of this house! And you will not spit on the honor of warriors who gave their lives to keep you safe!"

Unfazed by my feral warning, Morwena scoffed. "This is my son’s den! Get that cursed thing out before I break it myself!" She curled her lip, looking me up and down with raw disgust. "Let your mongrel parents see what kind of filthy Omega daughter they raised!"

Desperate for backup, for one sliver of loyalty, I looked directly to my mate.

His scent reached my nose first. Sharp cedar and frost. Cold. Unyielding. It perfectly matched the hard expression settling over his features.

"Elara… just take it out. Please," Dravos commanded, his jaw tight with irritation. He didn't look at my red cheek. He didn't look at the urn. "My mother’s condition is fragile. If anything happens because of this—if she shifts or falls sick again—I won’t forgive you."

The finality of his words echoed through the silent hall, bouncing off the walls we bought together.

Something deep, foundational inside me cracked. Loud. Final.