Years had passed.
The meadow that had once been scorched by war now bloomed in vibrant greens and golden sunlight. Where once there were ashes, now there was life — and laughter. The great tree Sienna and Daemon had planted during the peace ceremony stood tall and proud, its thick branches casting shade over the children who played beneath it. Its bark was dark and gnarled, a reminder of pain and growth, of blood spilled and promises kept.
At the edge of the field, Sienna stood with one hand resting protectively over her belly — now round and full with the child she and Daemon had prayed for. Her silver hair, once wild with rage and sorrow, now fell in soft waves around her shoulders, kissed by the wind. She wasn't the same woman who had walked into the Black Stone forest with curses etched into her soul.
She had changed — not just because the curse was lifted, but because love had taken root where only survival once lived.
The Black Stone itself was gone, reduced to ruins and swallowed by moss. What remained was memory — and legend. Elders still spoke of it, but now only as a tale to remind the young that power fed by fear can destroy, while power fed by love can save.
Children ran in the meadow, laughing and tumbling, shifting between human and wolf in playful, clumsy movements. One pup howled high-pitched, and the others joined, echoing joy instead of pain. It was the sound of a future rewritten.
Sienna closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her face. A small kick nudged her from within.
Daemon appeared behind her, arms slipping around her waist with familiar ease. His warmth enveloped her like home.
"He kicked again?" he asked, his voice rich with quiet joy.
She nodded with a soft laugh. "Hard. Like his father."
Daemon kissed her temple. "Then we'll need strong walls. And stronger patience."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the pups leap after butterflies and chase one another through the grass. It was hard to believe that once, this same field had been soaked in blood and moonlight — that she had once feared she'd never live to see a day like this.
Sienna's smile faded slightly, her hand tightening over her belly. "Do you think he'll be born cursed?" she asked quietly, the ghost of the past brushing her voice.
Daemon turned her gently to face him. His eyes, those deep, fierce eyes that had once terrified her, were now filled with nothing but unwavering love. "No," he said, his voice firm but tender. "He'll be born free — because you fought for that. Because you made it so."
She leaned into him, drawing strength from his certainty.
"I still hear it sometimes," she admitted. "That voice in the wind. Like a memory that hasn't faded."
"I hear it too," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. "But now… it doesn't haunt me. It reminds me."
"Of what?"
"That love is the real magic," he said. "That it can rewrite fates even the moon thought unchangeable."
A breeze stirred the tall grass, rustling leaves in the tree above. The voices of the past moved like music through the wind — too soft to understand, yet somehow known. A song only the cursed could ever truly recognize. A lullaby for those who endured.
"Only those who love past fear," the wind seemed to say, "shall rewrite the stars."
Sienna smiled, and tears welled in her eyes not of sorrow, but of gratitude.
She had once believed she would die with a monster's name carved into her legacy. But now, she would live, not as a cursed Luna, but as a mother, a mate, a woman who overcame.
The past was still there. It always would be. But it no longer held her down.
She and Daemon turned away from the meadow and walked slowly toward the house that overlooked the valley. Their home. Their future. She could already see the nursery Daemon had built by hand, the tiny hand-carved wolves lining the shelves, the dreams they had laid out piece by piece.
As they reached the path, he looked down at her belly, then at her.
"What do you think he'll be?" he asked. "A warrior? A healer? A dreamer?"
Sienna laughed. "All three, if he takes after us."
"And if he doesn't?"
She squeezed his hand. "Then we'll love him anyway. Curse or not. Weak or strong. Just like we should've loved ourselves back then."
Daemon's lips brushed her forehead. "Then we've already won."
And behind them, the wind whispered once more.
Not a warning.
Not a curse.
But a blessing.
THE END.