Chapter Forty-Seven: The Dream of the Dead
Hazel's POV
Sleep did not come gently.
It pulled me under like a tide that knew my name.
One moment I was standing beneath the thinning canopy of dawn, the weight of crowns and futures still settling into my bones—
and the next, the world softened.
Not darkness.
Not light.
Something in between.
The air felt warm, thick with memory. Not scent exactly, but recognition—the way a place knows you before you remember why.
My feet touched grass.
Real grass.
Green and living and impossibly untouched.
I looked down. I was barefoot. Clean. No blood beneath my nails, no ache in my muscles, no echo of power humming beneath my skin. Just… me.
Hazel.
My breath caught.
The forest opened into a wide clearing I knew before my mind could name it. Sunlight spilled through familiar branches, slanted just the way it used to in the mornings. There was a stream to the left, its song gentle and patient, and beyond it—
The house.
Whole.
Standing exactly as it had in the fragments of memory I'd chased my entire life.
My heart slammed so hard it hurt.
"No," I whispered. "This isn't—"
The front door opened.
I didn't walk.
I ran.
I barely registered the figures at first—only the pull, the ache, the gravity of them. Arms wrapped around me before my mind could catch up, strong and warm and devastatingly real.
I inhaled.
And broke.
"Mama—"
Her laugh shook as much as her arms did. She smelled like lavender and smoke and the faint iron tang of a warrior who never pretended she wasn't both mother and Alpha when she had to be.
"Oh, Hazel-girl," she whispered into my hair. "You took your time."
I was sobbing now. Ugly, wrecked, years-too-late sobbing that tore straight out of my chest. My hands fisted in her clothes like if I let go, she'd vanish.
"I tried," I choked. "I tried to remember you. I tried so hard."
"I know," she said softly. "We know."
Someone knelt in front of me.
Large hands—calloused, familiar—cupped my face.
I looked up.
My father's eyes were the same warm brown as mine. Steady. Unbroken. Alive in a way that hurt worse than any blade.
"You did better than remembering," he said. "You became."
I shook my head helplessly. "I didn't save you."
His smile was gentle. Proud. "You saved everyone after us."
Behind them, figures gathered.
Pack.
Family.
Faces I'd only ever known as ghosts in my blood.
They didn't accuse. Didn't mourn. They watched me with quiet awe, like I was something precious they'd always believed in.
My mother pulled back just enough to look at me properly. Her hands framed my face, thumbs brushing away tears.
"Look at you," she murmured. "Standing. Whole. Still kind."
"I'm not," I said hoarsely. "I've killed. I've burned things. I've wanted—"
She pressed her forehead to mine.
"So did I."
The words landed like absolution.
The world shimmered at the edges, like the dream was thinning, but I clung to it desperately.
"Please don't go," I whispered. "I just found you."
My father stepped closer, resting his hand over my heart. "We never left, Hazel. We're here. In your spine. In your stubbornness. In the way you refuse to become what hurt you."
My mother smiled, fierce and soft all at once. "And you're not done yet."
The clearing began to fade.
Light pulling back. Sound stretching thin.
I reached for them, panic clawing up my throat—
—and felt something else.
A presence.
Sharp. Familiar. Smug.
"Oh, don't tell me you're crying already."
I froze.
That voice.
I turned.
She leaned against a tree like she owned the afterlife itself—white hair spilling down her back, eyes bright with mischief and power and something dangerously close to joy.
Helene.
Not fragmented.
Not caged.
Whole.
"Well," she said, grinning. "This is awkward. I leave you alone for five minutes and you go full Luna Queen."
I laughed through tears, the sound breaking free like it had been waiting years. "You're unbelievable."
"Obviously," she said. "Even dead, I'm stunning."
Flora padded up beside her, golden and radiant, tail swishing happily. She bumped my leg, her presence warm and content in a way I hadn't felt in ages.
She's okay, Flora said, her voice light. We all are.
My chest tightened. I stepped toward Helene, suddenly unsure. "I'm… I'm sorry," I said quietly. "For forcing you out. For not trusting—"
Helene waved a hand dismissively. "Please. I deserved worse. You did what you had to do."
"Will you come back?" I asked. The question hurt more than I expected. "Did I… lose you forever?"
Her expression softened—not weak, not sad, just honest.
"Of course I'll come back," she said. "But not like before."
I frowned. "What does that mean?"
She stepped closer, tapping two fingers against my chest. "I don't get to live in your head rent-free anymore. I come when you open the door. When you need me. When you choose me."
I swallowed. "So you're not gone."
"No," she said gently. "I'm waiting."
Flora pressed against my other side, warm and steady. And we'll be stronger for it, she added.
The dream began to unravel fully now—light thinning, gravity loosening its grip.
My mother's voice drifted through it all. Lead well, Hazel.
My father's followed. And live.
Helene smirked. "Don't get sentimental. It's gross."
I smiled. "I missed you."
"I know," she said. "Try not to get yourself killed. I hate dramatic reunions."
The world tipped.
Fell away.
I woke with tears on my cheeks and a strange, steady peace in my chest.
Not empty.
Not alone.
Just… held.
The dead were not gone.
They were watching.
And for the first time since the war began—
I wasn't afraid of the dreams anymore.