The Day the Moon Cried
The Silverfang Pack Palace shimmered beneath the full moon, its white marble towers catching the celestial glow like the crown of a goddess.
From the terrace, Selene Hale stood wrapped in a velvet shawl, her long silver hair brushing the small of her back, her golden eyes fixed on the forest stretching beyond the palace walls.
It was peaceful. Too peaceful.
Tonight marked the anniversary of her Luna ceremony—five years of leading beside her mate, Alpha Damon Blackwood.
Five years of honor, love... and lately, silence. The kind of silence that didn't settle. It slithered.
"You're distant again."
She whispered to the wind, though she wished Damon were near enough to hear.
He hadn't touched her in weeks. Not since the whispers began. Not since the coldness in his eyes started replacing the heat of the bond they once cherished.
But Selene did what Lunas did best—endure. Smile for the pack. Hold her head high. She couldn't afford weakness. Not now.
---
In the Great Hall below, the pack celebrated without a care. Wine flowed like rivers, and laughter roared through the stone corridors.
Selene descended the stairs, her presence commanding quiet reverence. Warriors bowed. Elders raised their cups. And Damon?
He wasn't there.
She turned to Beta Kalen.
"Where is the Alpha?"
"He received urgent word from the Northern border. Gone to inspect a disturbance, my Luna."
Selene's brows furrowed. Damon hadn't said a word to her. Again. It wasn't just avoidance—it felt like shame.
—
Later that night, in the solitude of their shared chambers, Selene wandered the room aimlessly. Her hand brushed against the edge of Damon's desk. Papers, maps, and... a sealed letter. Addressed to Zera.
Zera.
A name Selene had long since banished from her mind. A warrior. A council advisor. A she-wolf with a past intertwined too closely with Damon's.
She had vanished years ago—exiled for reasons buried by politics and blood. And yet here her name lay, in Damon's own ink.
With trembling fingers, Selene broke the seal.
"He is stronger than you think. The boy has your fire."
"Once she's gone, the bloodline will be ours again."
The letter slipped from her hands. Her breath caught in her throat.
The boy?
A sharp knock shattered the stillness. Then a voice.
"Luna Selene. You're needed in the forest clearing."
---
Selene moved like a ghost through the trees. The air was too still, too silent. And then—she saw them. Damon. Zera. And a boy. No older than six, with eyes like molten gold and black hair just like Damon's.
"You lied to me," Selene whispered.
Damon turned. His face was pale, jaw clenched.
"You weren't supposed to see this."
"You had a child with her... while you mated me."
"She was the mother of my firstborn," Damon replied.
Zera said coolly.
"Before your precious Moon Goddess marked you."
The child hid behind Zera's cloak. He looked terrified. Selene's gaze flicked to Damon.
"You ordered my death, didn't you?"
Damon's silence was her answer.
Zera moved first.
A blade drawn from the folds of her robe gleamed silver under the moonlight. Selene tried to run, to shift—but something burned in her chest, weakening her. Poison.
Betrayal.
Damon didn't stop Zera. He didn't move. The last thing Selene saw was the red of her blood staining the snow as her vision went black, the cry of the Moon splitting the sky like thunder.
Darkness swallowed everything.
No wind.
No breath.
No pain.
Only a distant hum… like the echo of a heartbeat that no longer belonged to her.
Then—light.
Not sunlight. Not fire.
Moonlight.
It pulsed through her veins like a forgotten lullaby, slow and ancient. A voice spoke—not aloud, but inside her bones.
"Rise, daughter of the Moon. Your story is not over."
Selene's eyes flew open. She gasped, choking on air like it was her first breath.
She lay in a bed of snow, her body untouched by frost, the blood gone. Her wounds were sealed. Her skin… glowing faintly under the blood moon that still hung heavy in the sky.
She touched her face. Her hands were smaller, her limbs unfamiliar—younger. Her reflection in the ice revealed a version of herself reborn—features softened, hair even more silver than before, and etched into her collarbone, the mark of the Moon Goddess: a crescent surrounded by thorns.
A howl rang in the distance.
Then—footsteps.
Two figures burst through the trees. Rogues. A man and woman. Both with sharp eyes and weather-worn clothes, but no malice in their scent.
"Gods above," the woman whispered.
"You weren't lying, Riven. She really came from the light."
"I told you. The prophecy said the Moon would weep and send her champion," the man replied.
He knelt beside Selene. "Can you speak?"
Selene coughed. "Where…?"
"You're safe now," the woman said.
"I'm Eira. This is Riven. We found you lying in the snow, glowing like a star. And we're not the only ones who'll be looking for you. We need to move."
"Wait…"
Selene's vision swam as she tried to stand.
"I was… Selene Hale. Luna of Silverfang…"
"You're not anymore," Riven said gently.
"Whoever you were is dead to them. You need a new name."
Selene paused. The ache of betrayal still throbbed in her chest. Damon's cold gaze. Zera's blade. The boy. The child that should have been hers.
"I'll be Lysandra now."
And with that name, Selene Hale died for the second time.
And Lysandra—the rogue with a burning moon in her blood—was
Weeks passed. Maybe more. Time blurred in the deep forest, hidden away from the world Selene once knew.
Lysandra trained beneath the moon, sweat clinging to her borrowed clothes, breath misting in the cold night air.
Riven watched her with crossed arms, silent but calculating.
"Again."
She gritted her teeth, her palms glowing faintly as she summoned the energy from within. A gust of silver wind spiraled from her hands, slamming into the boulder ahead. It cracked down the middle with a satisfying boom.
Riven whistled.
"Impressive. You're getting stronger."
Eira handed Lysandra a flask of water.
"And more dangerous. But your emotions are still driving your magic. You need control."
"I don't want control," Lysandra snapped, wiping sweat from her brow.
"I want revenge."
"Then you'll lose," Eira said flatly.
"Your power comes from the Moon, and the Moon does not serve rage. If you want to face Damon—or Zera—you need more than anger. You need clarity."
Lysandra looked away, shame curling in her gut.
Eira was right.
Every night, the nightmares returned. The sound of her own screams. Damon's betrayal. Zera's smirk.
The child. Talon.
Who was he?
Why did Damon hide him?
And why did the Moon Goddess bring her back if not to tear it all down?
—
One night, under the full moon, Lysandra knelt alone by the river, her reflection rippling. She touched the mark on her collarbone and whispered,
"Why me?"
The water shimmered. Then a voice, ethereal and distant, echoed in her mind.
"You are the blade. The balance. The wolf born not of blood, but of fate."
"The curse must end… and it begins with the truth."
She gasped and fell backward as a swirl of moonlight shot from her chest into the sky, forming the shape of a wolf with golden eyes—the same image she'd seen in her dreams.
Riven and Eira rushed to her side.
"What did you see?"
"A sign," she whispered. "And a warning."
It was time.
Time to return to Silverfang.
Time to wear a new face, a new name… and tear the truth from the shadows.
"Help me prepare," she said.
"I'm going home."
---