Ch. 1..5: A Warrior Luna's Awakening Chapter 1-5

Chapter 1

Freya’s POV

The coronation ceremony was in full swing, laughter drifting through the moonlit clearing like the ghosts of joy I no longer recognized.

Banners embroidered with the Silverfang crest rippled in the night wind, threads gleaming with sacred runes—symbols of a legacy I had once bled to uphold. The elders stood like statues around the perimeter, robes weighted with centuries of authority, eyes reflecting generations of judgment and expectation.

And in the center—he stood.

My mate.

Alpha Caelum.

He had told me he was too busy today—too busy for pack rites, for oaths beneath the moon, too busy launching a product built on the blood-price of my fallen family. Yet here he was, bathed in stolen moonlight, standing beside her.

Aurora.

Daughter of the Bluemoon Pack. Beta-born. Newly anointed female pilot of the Airborne Wing. The council’s perfect heir.

Then she spoke.

Her voice, soft as down-fur and twice as venomous, slid through the firelit circle like a velvet-wrapped blade.

“Alpha Caelum, you said…” She tilted her head, eyes glinting with calculated cruelty. “You said that when I became the female pilot, you would give me something no one else could ever have. A token of loyalty. Of love. Was that just pillow talk?”

The clearing froze for a single heartbeat.

Then the wolves erupted—not in challenge, not in outrage, but in celebration. Howls rose into the sky like smoke from a pyre; paws clapped, throats snarled their approval; even the elders nodded as if pride had taken root in their bones. They thought this was his claim. His Luna revealed.

Because Caelum had never spoken my name.

Never marked me.

Never declared me before the Circle of Stone.

And now, when Aurora stood beside him, it was her they saw.

Caelum did not deny her words.

He smiled.

Not the boyish grin he once gave me beneath the stars when we named imaginary pups in the constellations, but a smile colder, sharper, calculated—the smile of an Alpha claiming his prize. His hand slipped into his coat, and when it reemerged, I saw it.

The necklace.

The one from the Crescent Black Market, the one I had begged for not because of its worth but because it was the last tether to my mother. And now, he placed it around Aurora’s throat.

Something inside me broke.

I lunged forward through the circle of wolves, through hands mid-clap and mouths mid-howl.

“Wait!”

Gasps rippled across the clearing. Faces turned toward me—confused, pitying, amused.

Ryker, Caelum’s enforcer, sneered from the shadows. “One necklace and she’s drooling like it’s moonstone and fate,” he jeered. “Told you Omegas are shallow. Especially the orphaned ones.”

I ignored him. My eyes were fixed on the necklace glinting at Aurora’s throat. My hand rose—

Caelum caught my wrist, his grip hard as iron.

“It’s hers now,” he said, his voice cold, Alpha-command threading every syllable.

“But you promised,” I whispered.

He did not blink.

“It was a gift. For Aurora. To celebrate her promotion.”

Promotion.

As if the necklace hadn’t belonged to the ghost of a war hero.

As if it hadn’t been bought with blood.

I stared at him. “What if I told you I wasn’t asking?”

Behind him, Ryker barked out a laugh. “Gold-digger. I told you she was never Alpha’s equal. Just a charity case with good eyes and no teeth.”

Aurora scoffed, unclasping the necklace. “Please. I didn’t even want it. Caelum never said it meant anything.” She tossed it at my feet.

The ruby struck the ground with a sound that echoed like a curse.

I knelt, fingers curling around the gem, pressing it into my palm until its edges bit into my skin.

This necklace had once belonged to Healer Myra. Medic. Warrior. My mother. They dismissed her as another Omega, but they did not know she had negotiated peace in blood territory with nothing but her name and this gem. They did not know about my father either—Arthur Thorne, field strategist, the Ghost General of the Iron Fang, who lost his entire unit in enemy territory except for the peace their sacrifice purchased.

And they did not know about me.

Their only daughter.

Once a frontline commander in the Iron Fang Recon Unit, a black ops force so secret that even the council had no jurisdiction. When I retired, I had not only been ordered to bury my identity—I had been forbidden, by blood-vow, to release my true scent. My Alpha pheromones.

For three years I suppressed every instinct, not with suppression drugs, which never worked on high-ranking wolves, but through raw will, discipline, pain. And even after the vow expired, I kept hiding it. Why? Because I wanted to believe love was possible without dominance. That someone could love me for who I was, not for my Alpha blood, not for my legacy, not for the wolf coiled beneath my skin.

So when I met Caelum—when I found him broken yet ambitious, a wolf with dreams too big for his pack-born chains—I let him see only what I chose: a humble Omega from a rear logistics unit. A woman with no past, no expectations, no name.

And I chose him.

I believed that would be enough.

So I gave him everything—my parents’ blood-earned compensation, the resources they died to protect, the foundation of the Silverfang Pack, the capital to build his company. I gave him three years of my life—three years of faith, loyalty, waiting.

And now, I stood betrayed, looking at the man I once called pack.

Slowly, I rose. The ache in my chest hardened into something colder.

“Forget the necklace,” I said. “Tomorrow, my parents return from the Eastern Border. I want you beside me. Stand as my mate.”

For the first time, his composure wavered. A flicker—guilt? Doubt?

“Alright,” he said at last.

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, Ryker muttered, “Courier service for dead Omegas now? What’s next, ghost parades?”

I didn’t turn.

I only held the necklace tighter.

“Rest easy,” I whispered. “Tomorrow, you come home.”

And the wolf inside me stirred.

Not with grief.

But with rage.

 

Chapter 2

Freya’s POV

The next morning, at the exact hour we’d agreed to meet, I stood alone—waiting.

Caelum never showed.

An ache began to bloom in my chest, slow and steady, like frost creeping across glass. I told myself to be patient, told myself he would come. That surely, this time, he wouldn’t let me down.

I reached for the mind-link.

A flicker of hope.

Maybe he was on his way.

But when he answered, his voice wasn’t rushed or apologetic. It was flat. Bored.

“Aurora fainted this morning,” Caelum said. “She said she woke up dizzy and couldn’t breathe. I’m staying with her at the infirmary for observation.”

In the background, her voice chimed in—light, airy, perfectly timed.

“Caelum, could you fluff my pillow again? The one behind my neck is making me lightheaded.”

He chuckled softly. Like she was made of glass.

“Of course, darling. Just a second.”

The line went dead.

Just like that.

No apology. No explanation. No remorse.

A fainting spell.

Over a funeral.

He chose her. Again.

I stared at the silent space where his voice had been, my throat tightening like a noose. Part of me wanted to scream. To rage. To weep.

But I didn’t.

I rose. Straightened my spine. Walked out of the Silverfang estate without a single backward glance.

The wind was cold when I stepped outside, but my blood burned hotter with every step.

I drove alone to the outer garrison.

The war barracks loomed in solemn silence, their stone towers piercing the morning fog. Guards flanked the gates, clad in ceremonial black, bearing the insignia of the Lycan Nation’s fallen legion.

I stepped out of the car, boots crunching against gravel, and lifted my chin.

Three years had passed since I retired from the Iron Fang Recon Unit, but my posture had not forgotten. Neither had my soul.

I walked to the front line of guards, and I stood still.

Then, with slow purpose, I raised my hand in a crisp, unwavering salute.

Even if I was alone—

Even if not a single soul stood beside me—

I would honor them.

My voice rang through the morning air:

“Former Iron Fang Recon Unit Commander, Freya Thorne, reporting to receive the ashes of Healer Myra and Commander Arthur Thorne—fallen in service to the Lycan Nation.”

My words echoed across the barracks.

And then—

The gates creaked open.

Two rows of soldiers emerged, each movement perfectly synchronized. They lined the path, steel-eyed and reverent, raising their arms in solemn salute.

At their center came a figure I hadn’t seen in years—General Aldred, one of my father’s closest comrades.

He wore full dress armor. In his hands, he carried a carved onyx urn, draped with the crimson-and-gold battle standard of the Lycan Nation.

My eyes burned.

That red—

That banner—

It wasn’t just cloth.

It was belief.

It was sacrifice.

It was my parents’ last breath, folded into the colors they bled for.

Aldred stood before me. His voice was low.

“When we found them… there was no separating what was hers and what was his. The explosion took everything.”

I swallowed the sob clawing its way up my throat.

He continued, voice thick with reverence.

“They fought side by side. They died together. The ashes… were combined.”

I nodded, my fingers already trembling as I reached out.

“Good,” I whispered. “They loved each other more than life. In death, they should stay that way.”

Aldred straightened, then held the urn out to me.

“To the honored dead,” he said. “Their sacrifice shall never be forgotten.”

The soldiers behind him echoed in unison, their voices a wall of thunder:

“Honor to the fallen! Glory to the Thorne line!”

My hands closed around the urn.

Heavy.

Sacred.

And yet… for the first time in days, I felt steady.

The grief didn’t vanish. It settled.

Like a blade sheathed, not gone—but held with purpose.

I looked at Aldred.

He was watching me.

“Where’s your mate?” he asked gently. “Didn’t he come with you?”

I stared down at the urn.

Then I smiled—a small, tired curve of the lips.

“He was needed elsewhere.”

Aldred frowned.

He was no fool. He’d watched me grow up. He saw through things.

“If you need anything,” he said, voice firm, “anything at all—you come back here. The Iron Fang Unit may be disbanded, but its loyalty doesn’t die.”

My throat tightened again.

“Thank you, General.”

He gripped my shoulder. Strong. Steady.

“And remember, Commander—this pack may not recognize your strength, but we do. You are always welcome here.”

I nodded.

Then I turned and walked back to my car.

I placed the urn gently on the passenger seat, strapping it in as if it were still flesh and blood.

Then I looked out at the open road.

“We’re going home now, Mom. Dad,” I whispered.

My foot pressed to the pedal.

And I drove.

Alone—but no longer broken.

Chapter 3

Freya’s POV

When I returned to the Silverfang estate, I heard her voice before I even stepped into the den.

“Now that Aurora is back—and she’s a pilot, no less—you should divorce Freya and mate her instead,” Caelum’s mother, Eleanor, said with confidence that dripped like poison.

“Aurora and I are just friends,” Caelum replied, his voice low.

“Friends? Please,” another voice scoffed.

That would be Giselle, his younger sister. “Everyone knows you were in love with Aurora first. She’s the first female pilot of the Airborne Wing! Freya doesn’t even have a title. She has nothing. She’s just… no match for you.”

Their words slithered through the air like venom.

Three years. I had stood by Caelum through every sleepless night, every brutal mission, every negotiation with rogue factions and foreign Alphas. I had patched his wounds, run pack operations in his absence, even when my own heart felt like it was bleeding out.

And now? Now I was “no match”?

Just then, Giselle caught sight of me standing in the entryway.

“Oh, look who’s here. Were you eavesdropping, Omega?”

I stepped forward, spine straight.

“I wasn’t hiding. I wasn’t sneaking. I walked through the front door.”

“Well, then good,” she snapped. “Because you should hear it. You should leave now. Don’t stand in the way of Caelum and Aurora.”

“Enough, Giselle,” Caelum growled.

But she didn’t stop.

“She only got to mate you because Aurora was away training. She swooped in when your heart was broken, and now she’s just clinging like a parasite.”

“Giselle, that’s enough,” Caelum said again, sharper now.

She pouted but fell silent.

Eleanor stepped in to soothe her daughter, but her glare was still fixed on me.

Caelum walked over, and his gaze flicked down to the black wooden box I held in my arms—smooth, engraved, and draped in the crimson banner of the Lycan Legion.

“What is that?” he asked.

“My parents’ ashes,” I said flatly. “I brought them home.”

Guilt flashed across his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been there, but Aurora—she collapsed this morning. Hyperventilation or something.”

Before he could finish, Eleanor shrieked, “Ashes? Did you bring ashes into this house?!”

I blinked. “Yes. They’re my parents. They served the Lycan Nation with honor. They were heroes.”

Eleanor stared at me as though I’d tracked filth onto her pristine white rug.

“I don’t care who they were. Ashes are cursed. You cannot bring that… thing… into this home!”

My grip on the urn tightened.

“This is my home, too,” I said coldly. “Caelum and I bought it together after the coronation ceremony.”

“With Caelum’s money!” Giselle snapped. “Just put it somewhere else! Don’t bring your cursed family into this house!”

“Giselle!” Caelum barked.

But she wasn’t finished. “You want her bringing bones into Mom’s house after her eye surgery?! The doctor said she can’t get upset! Are you trying to kill her?!”

Caelum hesitated.

Then he said it.

“Just… put them somewhere else for now, Freya. Please.”

The world tilted.

He couldn’t look at me when he said it.

“You think they’re cursed too?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

“Three years of standing by your side. Three years of putting your pack before my dreams. When your mother needed surgery, who found the specialist? Who used every contact I had in the Capitol to make sure her eyesight was saved? Who carried your bleeding body back from that rogue ambush in Black Hollow?”

No one answered. Their silence said enough.

“And now I ask for one thing. A place for my parents to rest. And it’s too much?”

Giselle sneered. “You didn’t do anything special. Caelum’s the one with influence. That doctor saw Mom because he respects him. Not you.”

I turned back to Caelum.

“I want to keep them here. Just for a few days. Just until we build the shrine they deserve.”

He didn’t move.

“Don’t be unreasonable,” he said quietly.

“And if I insist?”

Before he could respond, Eleanor lunged forward.

“Not while I’m alive!” she shrieked, raising her hand.

The slap came hard and fast.

Pain bloomed across my cheek as I stumbled back, still cradling the urn.

Before I could regain my balance, she shoved forward, striking the box with both hands.

It slipped.

No.

Time slowed as the urn tumbled from my arms.

My wolf surged beneath my skin the moment Eleanor bared her fangs—metaphorically, for now.

My pupils narrowed into slits. Instinct roared through my blood like a battle drum. In one swift movement, I wrapped my arms around the obsidian ashwood urn, holding it close like a mother shielding her pup.

“This is my parents’ remains!” My voice trembled with barely restrained fury, edged with a snarl. “They died protecting the Lycan lands—you dare insult them?”

Eleanor’s voice cracked like a whip through the stone hall of the packhouse. “This is my son’s den! You bring death into it and expect what—gratitude? Get that cursed thing out before I break it myself! Let your mongrel parents see what kind of filthy Omega daughter they raised!”

My wolf’s hackles rose, fur bristling beneath my skin. I fought the shift clawing at me. Not now. Not here.

“You may be Caelum’s mother, but you are not Luna of this house!” I snapped, voice sharp like shattered glass. “And you will not spit on the honor of warriors who gave their lives to keep you safe behind these damn walls.”

Caelum’s scent reached me before his words did—cedar and frost, as cold and unyielding as the look on his face.

“Freya… just take it out. Please.” His jaw was tight. “My mother’s condition is fragile. If anything happens because of this—if she shifts or falls sick again—I won’t forgive you.”

Something inside me cracked. Loud. Final.

Chapter 4

Freya’s POV

“You won’t forgive me?” I repeated slowly. “Three years of standing by your side, and you can’t even give my parents a single moment of shelter?”

My voice dropped, fangs sheathing into my words. “Do you even know what built your company, your pack alliances, your so-called future?”

He said nothing.

“Fine,” I growled, stepping back. “I’ll go.”

No tears. No breakdown. Just the cold steel of my spine locking into place.

I was a soldier of the Iron Fang Legion. Daughter of two fallen Alphas. I had bled for this nation. I would not beg for crumbs of respect in a house that stank of hypocrisy.

As I turned, I heard Giselle scoff. “She’s just leaving? Like that?”

“She should be thankful Caelum even mated her,” Eleanor hissed. “She’s an orphaned Omega, thinking she’s fit for an Alpha’s home. Pathetic.”

Let them talk. My wolf and I were already done with this den of cowards.

I carried the urn out beneath the rain, wind howling like ghosts in mourning.

The Citadel Memorial Sanctuary rose in the distance—white-stone towers etched with the emblems of the fallen. Here, the remains of Lycan warriors were held until they could return to ancestral soil. My steps echoed across the sacred courtyard, the weight of legacy pressing on my shoulders.

I placed the urn atop the obsidian altar, fingers trembling—not with weakness, but with reverence.

“Just a little longer, Mother… Father…” I whispered, unfolding the crimson battle-flag of the Lycan Nation and draping it across the urn. The sigil of Iron Fang glimmered faintly in the low light.

“You’ll be home soon. I swear it by the blood of our blood.”

My claws flexed unconsciously.

“And I’ll find Eric. He’s not dead. I’d feel it if he was. He’s out there—somewhere beyond the Northern Ridge. He would never abandon us.”

My brother had been the strongest of us. A tracker. A Shadowstep. Five years ago, he vanished during a classified border mission. No body. No trace. No howl on the wind to mourn.

But I would find him.

Once my parents were laid to rest beneath their ancestral tree, I’d head north. Even if I had to tear through rogue clans and border patrols. Even if I had to bleed again.

I turned from the altar. Rain swept across the cobblestones like a cleansing rite.

As I descended the steps, I overheard two guards murmuring beneath a carved arch.

“Did you see the procession? Half the Council’s here.”

“They say the Alpha Lord of the Whitmores passed. The funeral’s today.”

“Spirits keep us. Then who leads them now?”

A shiver crawled up my spine as the second voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who else? The Phantom of the West. Lord Silas himself.”

The name hit like a thunderclap.

Silas Whitmore—the warborn Alpha said to be half-shadow, half-wolf. Ruthless. Unmated. Untouched by politics yet feared by all. Some said he tore apart a rogue battalion with his bare hands. Others said he’d been born under a blood moon and never cried as an infant.

I paused at the sanctuary gates.

A line of black-armored vehicles choked the road, engines rumbling low like beasts held on a leash. Then one stopped. The door clicked.

A man stepped out.

The world tilted.

Even with a black umbrella shielding half his face, the dominance he exuded struck like lightning. The kind that prickled the nape of your neck and made even Alphas lower their heads.

He was tall—almost impossibly so—dressed in tailored black. His jaw carved in obsidian, lips pale and unreadable. His hands, gloveless despite the chill, were long, brutal, elegant.

Predator hands.

But it was his eyes that held me.

Obsidian. Soulless. Not with evil—but with absence. A void where grief, rage, joy… didn’t exist. The eyes of a wolf who’d seen too much death and never came back from it.

I stopped breathing.

“Lord Silas,” his attendant murmured. “This way, please.”

So it was him.

He passed close enough for me to scent the cold metal and cedar on his skin. My wolf stirred, not with heat, but with ancient recognition.

Power. Danger. Hunger wrapped in elegance.

I didn’t dare look back.

But long after he vanished into the temple, my palms were slick with cold sweat.

I forced myself to move, to shift back into the rhythm of the living.

A buzz snapped me out of my trance. My phone screen lit up with Caelum’s message:

“Mother and Giselle have left. Come back—we need to talk.”

I drove back through the storm in silence. The mansion loomed ahead, but it no longer felt like home.

Caelum was waiting in the great hall. No armor. No growl. Just soft eyes and fake regret.

“Did you place the urn safely?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

He stepped forward and pulled me into his arms.

“Freya… I’m sorry. I know today was hard. I’ll make it up to you.”

His scent used to soothe me—used to mean something. Now it was just a lie dressed in pine.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t rage.

I simply stepped back and looked him in the eye.

“You denied warriors their honor,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “You spat on the blood that built your life.”

“You think you can fix that with words?”

He blinked, startled.

And then I said it.

Clear. Final. Alpha-strong.

“Caelum Blackthorne, I reject this mating bond. I want a divorce.”

Chapter 5

Freya’s POV

“Divorce? Just because my mother refused to let your parents’ ashes enter the estate?” Caelum’s brow furrowed, disbelief curling on his lips.

His voice made me sound irrational. Like my grief—my bloodline—was a petty inconvenience.

That was the moment it clicked.

I was done clinging to illusions.

“It’s not just that,” I said coldly, claws flexing beneath my skin. “Let’s not pretend. You’ve been circling Aurora for years. Now you can finally crown her your Luna.”

He growled low in his throat. “We’re friends. Don’t twist it.”

His irritation scraped through the mind-link like claws on raw bone.

I laughed—bitter and sharp, like frostbite.

Everyone saw what they were. Everyone but him. Or maybe he did see, and simply enjoyed lying—to me, and to himself.

“I’m done, Caelum. I’ve carried this bond alone for long enough. This isn’t a mating—it’s a sentence.”

His expression faltered. Barely. But enough for my wolf to sense it—that flicker of Alpha panic, the realization that his Omega might finally break the leash.

“If that’s what you really think…” he said slowly, “then let’s have a pup. If that makes you feel secure.”

I froze.

“…What did you just say?”

We’d been bonded for three years. He had never touched me. Not once.

In the beginning, he said we needed time—he had Alpha duties, I had to “grow into my Omega station.” He said, “Let’s build something lasting. Wait for me.”

So I waited. Like a fool.

The silence between us became routine. Even in bed, his back was always turned. His skin, always cold.

Now—now—he wanted a pup?

He stepped closer, brushing his lips against my cheek.

Revulsion crawled up my spine.

I used to want that too. A child. A future. A family built between equals.

But he was never faithful—not to me. Only to the ghost of his first love.

Now that I was breaking free, he suddenly remembered his honor? His duty?

I shoved him back. Hard.

Then wiped my cheek with the back of my hand like his touch had soiled me.

“You’re disgusting, Caelum.”

His jaw tensed. “I told you when we bonded—I’d never abandon you. So I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. If you’re not ready for a pup, we’ll wait.”

“There’s no more waiting.” My voice was ice. “There will never be a pup between us. Not now. Not ever.”

Before he could respond, his comm-stone pulsed.

He answered it.

I heard her voice—soft, smug, sickening.

Aurora.

“…Alright, darling. I’ll be there soon.”

He ended the call and looked at me, utterly unfazed.

“I have urgent business. Cool your temper while I’m gone.”

Then he turned, cloak sweeping behind him, and left.

Just like that.

I watched his car disappear down the estate road, tail lights vanishing into the mist.

Running to her. Again.

He had already abandoned me. The moment he answered her call over fighting for his own mate.

I gave him everything—my trust, my loyalty, my family’s legacy. All because once, he promised, “I’ll never fail you.”

But he had.

Again.

And again.

And again.

This bond was broken.

For the first time in three years, my wolf stilled.

No confusion. No ache. Just silence.

I turned toward the window, letting that quiet take root in my chest.

Then—

The door slammed open.

The scent hit me first—rose oil, iron, and polished arrogance.

Lady Eleanor.

She strode in without knocking, velvet cloak brushing the floor, high heels cracking across the marble like gavel strikes.

In one gloved hand: a crimson envelope, wax-stamped with the Lycan Council’s crest.

“Freya,” she said sharply. “Let’s not drag this out.”

She tossed the envelope onto the table like it was nothing more than a dinner bill.

I picked it up slowly, eyes narrowing.

Inside: a bond dissolution contract. And Caelum’s signature, written in red Alpha ink.

“You forged this?” I asked flatly.

She gave a tight, polished smile. “Does it matter? You’re getting what you want.”

No. I was getting what they wanted.

My hands tensed around the envelope. The contract wasn’t complete.

There—at the bottom.

Lunar Severance Phase.

A mandatory thirty-day cooling period required by ancient Lycan law before the final bond break. A tradition meant to protect the mind-link from sudden rupture—especially when one party wasn’t willing.

It meant I couldn’t leave publicly. Couldn’t speak the truth. Couldn’t reject the title of “Caelum’s mate” for one full moon cycle.

A leash. Drenched in law and wrapped in velvet.

“You’re invoking the Severance Phase?” I asked quietly.

Eleanor smirked. “Naturally. You’ll remain silent, compliant, and invisible. Thirty days, and you can vanish. Quietly.”

“And if I don’t?”

She raised one brow. “Then I’ll see to it your name is buried right alongside your parents’ ashes. Outside the estate.”

A beat passed.

“I’m offering you one hundred million credits,” she added smoothly. “Take it and disappear when the moon turns. No scandal. No public spectacle.”

I stared at her.

Then said, calmly:

“Done.”

She blinked.

“You’d really walk away from Caelum just like that?”

“One hundred million and I vanish. I won’t even wait for the moon to reach its zenith.”

She stepped forward, placing the stylus before me. “Sign.”

I did.

The bond inside me shivered. Not broken yet—but bleeding.

“You’ve got thirty days,” she warned. “The full Severance Cycle. Until then, stay silent. No contact. No suspicion.”

I turned to leave.

But she wasn’t done.

“On second thought… one hundred million is too much. You’re just an orphaned Omega. Twenty million is more than generous.”

I stopped.

Then turned back, slow and wolf-sure, eyes glowing amber.

I smiled—a lethal, Alpha-killing kind of smile.

“If we go by Lycan marital law, I’m entitled to half of Caelum’s estate. That’s fifteen billion credits. Do you want me to file publicly?”