"Hi, yes you aren't dreaming, it's the chubby Kelly," I say inwardly as I see the unhappy face expression of Jason who is disheartened. 

The guests laugh at us. They call our couple all sort of names. "The prince charming and the pancakes' eater Kelly" is one I can sadly remember."

"I, Jason Bentley of the South pack, reject you Kelly Thompson as my mate and the Luna Queen," he declared fiercely.

***
Kelly Thompson, an eighteen-year-old curvaceous and wolfless she-wolf, has been quietly admiring Jason Bentley, the heir apparent to the throne of the dominant South pack, for a number of years.

Unfortunately for Kelly, she doesn't get the same attention in return from Alpha heir Jason, as the handsome daughter of his old father's Gammas, Betty Nord, is already the love of the pack's future Alpha. But, the plump Kelly has an advantage over the skinny Betty because of a strong vow made by Jason's father, the Alpha King Don Bentley, that his son will marry the daughter of his Betas who gave their lives two years ago in a fight against the North pack's fiercest adversaries in order to preserve the life of the Alpha heir.

But clearly, nothing goes as smoothly as Kelly imagines.

The Rejected Curvy Luna Queen

The Godforge does not burn—it *consumes*. 


Molten Lumen ore cascades down the volcano’s throat, cooling into jagged, resonant spires that hum with a sound like fractured choirs. The air vibrates, thick with charged particles that cling to our skin, hissing where they meet the remnants of the Hunger’s power fused with mine. Eden walks ahead, drawn by the pulse beneath his scars, while Veyd’s gauntlet flickers erratically, its readings scrambled by the forge’s aura. Jara keeps her rifle trained on the smog-shrouded cliffs, her scavenged lens whirring as it adjusts. 


Dyre’s crystalline soldiers emerge like ghosts, their armor reflecting the forge’s kaleidoscopic light. He steps forward, his Lumen brand glowing faintly beneath his collarbone—a twin to the scar buried under my ribs. **“You’re trespassing, Stormbearer,”** he says, but his smirk lacks its old malice. There’s something hollow in his eyes, a fissure the Verse never carved. 


The godforge