The Abandoned Luna's Journey to Power (by Emily Reed) novel Chapter 215

Chapter 215 Announcing His Return to the World

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The home that once lived in my memory-warm, lively, and full of laughter-was now nothing but scorched black ruins.

Several elderly men wearing tattered fur coats were hauling timber in the distance.

Their backs were bent, their movements slow, yet they continued working through the bitter winter.

“Bruce!” I called out.

The one-eyed old man leading them halted.

He turned around. His remaining cloudy eye brightened the instant it landed on me, then shifted to the thin figure beside me.

At first, there was confusion.

Astra was far too thin, and he limped. There was nothing left of the chubby boy Astra had once been.

Bruce inhaled deeply.

A werewolf’s sense of smell does not lie.

The wind carried Astra’s scent toward him.

It was layered with medicine, but beneath it surged the unmistakable bloodline of Silverpeak-clean and cold, like moonlight itself.

Clatter!

s

The timber slipped from Bruce’s hands and hit the ground.

As if struck by lightning, his entire body began to shake violently.

His lips trembled, and broken, suppressed sounds-something like sobbing-forced their way out of his throat.

“This scent…” Bruce staggered forward several steps. He moved too fast, slipped in the snow, and fell, but he scrambled up and rushed over regardless.

“This is … this is…”

The other elders smelled it too.

Like sharks catching blood, or lost lambs hearing the shepherd’s whistle, they dropped their tools and surged forward in a frenzy.

Astra grew frightened and instinctively shrank back behind me.

I gently pressed a hand to his shoulder and guided him forward.

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Chapter 215 Announcing His Return to the World

+30 Free Coins

“Bruce. Everyone.” My voice caught, but I forced myself to maintain the dignity of a duchess. “Look carefully. Silverpeak did not end here. Astra… has come home.”

Those words were like a drop of water thrown into boiling oil.

“Astra!”

Bruce let out a scream that tore at the air.

He collapsed to his knees in the snow-not in salute, but in full prostration, his forehead slamming into the frozen earth with a dull thud.

“Praise the Moon Goddess! Praise the Moon Goddess!” he wailed. “Silverpeak has an heir! We have an heir!”

More than a dozen elders dropped to their knees at once.

They cried and beat their fists against the ground. This was no longer grief, but madness born of hope shattering two years of buried despair.

It was the ritual of a pack welcoming its future king, the submission and ecstasy of old wolves before their young lord.

“I’ve seen this three times already,” Diana said softly, her voice heavy with awe. “And every time, it’s overwhelming.”

Astra stood frozen amid the roar.

He stared at the white-haired elders, faces streaked with tears and snot.

Then, his own tears spilled over.

Ignoring the pain in his leg, he broke free of my hand and limped toward Bruce, dropping to his knees before him.

He raised both hands, cradled the old man’s weathered, tear-soaked face, then lowered his head and gently pressed his forehead to Bruce’s.

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