Chapter 62. Funeral

Lotus’s POV

The Winter sun is merciless today. It hangs low and pale above the frozen lake, casting a light that feels too clean, like it wants to cut through the grief smothering the air. The surface of the lake glitters, still and glassy, a mirror reflecting the smoke and the sorrow of an entire pack.

Jeffery’s body lies at the center of it all.

They’ve built him a pyre on a wooden raft, bound in furs and flowers. The triplets helped carry him down to the lake at dawn, while I trailed behind, numb and silent. I haven’t cried since last night. My tears froze somewhere inside me, deep where even my magic can’t thaw them.

The world smells of pine resin and smoke. The banners of the Winter Pack ripple in the wind, and beneath them, hundreds have gathered. Rebels, loyalists, healers, even children. For one rare moment, the war feels distant, held at bay by grief.

I stand at the edge of the frozen water, my hands trembling as I hold the torch.