The walls of Northwood trembled under the weight of Draven’s roar.

It was not the call of an alpha — it was the unrestrained fury of a beast whose control had been ripped apart.

Cierce’s body slammed into the stone wall, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp gasp as Draven’s hand closed around her throat. His claws were half-formed, digging into her flesh just enough to draw blood.

“You just had to stay quiet!” Draven’s voice thundered through the hall. “You and your foolish temper cost us the warriors — cost us her!”

Cierce clawed at his wrist, eyes widening in pain. “Draven—please—”

But he was deaf to her. The air around him shimmered with suppressed energy, his wolf close to the surface. “Roman left in rage because of you,” he growled, spittle leaving his lips. “You just couldn’t shut your damn mouth.”

Her face twisted in defiance even as her voice cracked. “What is it about her, huh? What does Elara have that I don’t?” Her eyes flared brown. “Why won’t you just let that bitch die?”

The growl that rumbled from Draven’s chest was animalistic. He threw her across the room like a discarded toy, the crash of splintering wood echoing as the bookshelf collapsed under her weight.

“Elara,” he snarled, chest heaving, “belongs to me. She is my mate!”

A tense silence swallowed the room. Rylan, who had been leaning casually against the pillar, finally lifted his gaze, arms still crossed.

Cierce pushed herself up from the debris, hair disheveled and eyes wide with disbelief. “No…” she muttered, shaking her head. “No way. You’re lying. That— that halfling? That thing—”

Rylan’s lip twitched into a smirk as he turned toward Draven. “Well, brother, now that the Lycan King’s gone, shouldn’t you go fetch your precious mate?” His tone dripped with mockery.

Draven shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “She’ll come back,” he said coldly. “She always does. She has nowhere else to go.”

Cierce’s laughter broke the tense air, brittle and venomous. “You actually believe that?” She staggered closer, grabbing his shirt. “Even if she’s your mate, she’s a halfling. She hasn’t even shifted! The Luna of Northwood can’t be a creature that doesn’t belong anywhere!”

Draven shoved her off. “Keep dreaming, Cierce. You were never more than a convenient distraction.”

The insult hit harder than his shove. Her wolf surged beneath her skin, eyes glowing amber. “A distraction?” she hissed. “You think you can just cast me aside for her? She’ll never forgive you, Draven.”

“Watch your words,” Rylan warned, though his voice held amusement rather than concern.

Cierce sneered, ignoring him. “Even if that halfling heart of hers still beats for you, she’ll never forgive what you did. Not after what you did to Hector.”

The name froze the air.

Draven’s pupils dilated, his jaw tightening.

Cierce saw the shift and pressed on, viciously triumphant. “Yes, I said it. You locked him up — her foster father, your father! You tortured him just to prove a point. And now you think you can still have her?”

Rylan straightened, tension flooding the room. “Cierce,” he said warningly, “enough.”

But it was too late.

A guttural growl erupted from Draven’s chest, deeper, darker — the growl of something ancient. His eyes flared crimson, claws lengthening as his wolf finally broke through the surface.

“Draven, don’t—”

The sound of bone snapping silenced Rylan’s words. Cierce’s body went limp, her neck broken cleanly in his grasp. Draven dropped her without hesitation, her form collapsing onto the cold marble like a lifeless doll.

For a long moment, there was only silence — the eerie calm after a storm. Rylan exhaled slowly and motioned to the guards hovering at the door. “Take her to her chambers,” he ordered. “She’ll heal by dusk.” He turned to face Draven, “You’re being too much.”

Draven wiped the blood off his fingers with disgust. “She deserved worse.”

Rylan’s tone hardened. “I wasn’t talking about her, Draven.” He met his brother’s gaze. “You’re going too far with Elara. She’s our sister first before she’s your mate. You’ve broken her enough. The King left, and she hasn’t come back. Stop pretending you don’t care.”

Draven turned his back, voice cold as ice. “She will come back.”

But before Rylan could respond, the door burst open.

“Alpha!” one of the warriors gasped, breathless. “On patrol… we found this.”

He held out a tattered, bloodstained dress, Elara’s dress and a sack containing fragments of rogue remains.

Rylan’s expression darkened. “That’s-”

Draven’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth nearly cracked. The sound that left him was a furious, heart-wrenching howl.

“Gather the men!” he roared. “Find her. Dead or alive. Bring her back!”

—-

In another world.

The wind whispered softly across the meadow, carrying with it the scent of wild lilies and dew.

Elara stirred. Her body no longer ached, yet her heart felt unbearably heavy. She lay on lush green grass beneath a sky so clear it seemed unreal. Sunlight shimmered across a river nearby, and ethereal creatures. Some winged, others furred grazed in perfect harmony. For the first time in her life, she felt peace.

“So this is how the morning sky looks,” she murmured to herself, a small smile curving her lips.

A soft nudge drew her attention. A white wolf cub no larger than her palm pawed at her side, letting out a tiny yip. Elara smiled and lifted it into her arms, stroking its fur absently.

That was when she noticed the air shifting and light gathering, forming a glow brighter than the sun but softer than moonlight. The beasts lifted their heads, then bounded toward the glow in reverence. Elara rose slowly, clutching the cub protectively.

From the light descended a woman, radiant, graceful, divine. She sat upon a crescent moon that hovered above the ground, clothed in flowing white robes trimmed with gold. Behind her floated a half-crown of stars that drifted lazily around her head, gleaming like living constellations.

Elara’s heart skipped. She didn’t know whether to bow or run.

“Who… who are you?” she whispered.

The woman smiled, stepping lightly off the moon. Wherever her feet touched, white lotus blossoms bloomed, carpeting the grass beneath her.

“You may call me Selene,” she said gently.

Elara’s eyes widened. “Selene… as in the Moon Goddess?”

Selene’s smile deepened. “Yes, child.”

Elara’s voice trembled. “Are you here because you were hurt too? Because they broke you too?”

Selene chuckled softly, the sound warm and soothing. “No, little one. I am here because you called me.”

Elara frowned. “Called you?”

“Yes,” Selene said, taking Elara’s hand. “Your heart cried out for life. For love. For meaning. It was that desperate call that reached me. And because you are one of my descendants, I came.”

“Descendants?” Elara echoed, startled.

Selene nodded, waving her hand. The air shimmered, forming faint image translucent like memories replaying in light.

“Elara,” Selene said softly, “you are not as alone as you think. There are those who care for you even now.”

Elara’s throat tightened. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No one cares. Everyone I ever trusted hurt me. My life was just—”

“Look,” Selene interrupted gently.

The images brightened. A woman with hair as pale as snow cradled a newborn, pressing her lips to the baby’s forehead. Beside her stood a man, tall and strong, tears streaming down his face as he watched them.

Elara gasped. “Who… are they?”

“Your parents,” Selene said softly. “The ones who hid you, to save you.”

Elara’s lips parted. “That can’t be true.”

Selene didn’t argue. Instead, she waved her hand again, and the image shifted, a man with jet black hair and scar running down his cheek.

“Dad…” Elara whispered as she looked at Hector’s image.

Selene waved her hand one last time now showing a different man, kneeling beside a pale body.

Elara froze.

It was the Lycan King. His broad shoulders trembled as he clutched her hand. His golden eyes usually sharp, fierce were filled with pain as he pressed his forehead to her lifeless arm. The image flickered, showing his tears falling onto her skin.

Her chest constricted.

“That’s the King…” she whispered.

Selene’s voice was calm but laced with quiet sorrow. “He wept for you, Elara. For your pain. For every wound you endured.”

Elara shook her head, tears streaming freely. “He sent me to the woods… he—he knew I wasn’t fit but still… He said—”

“The answer to your questions lies behind the veil,” Selene said softly. “Not everything you see is the truth you think it is.”

Elara fell to her knees, clutching the white cub tightly. “I don’t want to go back,” she sobbed. “Please. Don’t send me back there.”

Selene knelt beside her and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I know, child. But if you stay here, you will unbalance the world. The war will begin before its time. The prophecy must unfold as it was meant to.”

“But I’m scared…”

Selene smiled sadly and placed a finger on Elara’s lips. “Courage isn’t the absence of fear, Elara. It is walking forward even when fear drags at your soul.”

Then, gently, she lifted Elara’s left arm. A soft light shimmered across her skin, forming into a mark, a crescent moon intertwined with a vine of thorns, faintly pulsing like a heartbeat.

“This is your mark,” Selene said. “The seal of the moonblood line. It will protect you and one day, it will lead you back to the truth.”

Elara looked down at it, her tears falling like rain. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Selene’s eyes glistened. “You will see me again, my child. But now, you must wake.”

Her tears fell, silver droplets that landed on Elara’s hand, glowing faintly as they sank into her skin. The cub licked Elara’s fingers as the light around them began to fade.

“Will I remember this?” Elara whispered.

“Not yet,” Selene replied, stepping back toward her crescent moon. “But your heart will.”

As Selene rose into the glowing sky, her final words drifted like a whisper carried on wind and moonlight:

“Rise, daughter of the moon and blood. The world awaits your return.”