Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
You are reading Reign of the Forsaken Moon, Chapter 12: Chapter 12. Read more chapters of Reign of the Forsaken Moon.
The blade clashed against the tent pole with a ringing snap of steel. Seraphina rolled from her bed in one fluid motion, blade drawn, her wolf senses crackling to life. A scent filled the air—hers, but tainted with sulfur and blood.
A figure stood at the edge of her tent, half-shadow, half-light.
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
The stranger stepped into the moonlight.
She was identical to Seraphina—same silver eyes, same scar beneath the collarbone—but her aura was all wrong. The energy radiating from her was cold, hateful. A predator without honor.
“I’m what you could’ve been,” the doppelgänger said. “If you’d embraced vengeance from the start.”
Seraphina’s breath caught.
“Shael.”
The name tasted like betrayal.
Guards rushed in, but Shael raised a hand, and a shockwave of corrupted magic threw them back into the trees. Darian lunged, but Seraphina shouted, “No! She’s mine.”
They circled each other like twin moons locked in orbit.
“You’re a fake,” Seraphina said.
Shael smiled. “I’m what’s left of you. I was born from your blood, your anger, your weakness. Thorne didn’t create me—you did.”
Their swords clashed. Sparks lit the air as the two mirrored wolves fought beneath the stars.
Blades sang. Teeth bared. Claws tore through tent walls and scorched earth.
For a moment, they were perfectly matched—until Shael whispered a name.
> “Lyra.”
Seraphina faltered. That half-second was all Shael needed.
She slashed deep across Seraphina’s ribs and vanished into the shadows, her laughter echoing like a curse.
Later, in the War Tent…
Mira stitched the wound, her hands trembling.
“That wasn’t just a clone,” she muttered. “It was a soul-fracture. She carries your blood, your magic... even part of your pain.”
Seraphina grimaced through the pain. “She knew things no one should know.”
Darian stood at her side, arms crossed. “She’s baiting you. Thorne wants you off balance before the real war begins.”
Seraphina shook her head. “She is the war.”
Meanwhile – Thorne’s Stronghold
Shael knelt before Thorne.
“She’s weaker than I expected,” she said. “Still ruled by grief. She flinched at a name.”
Thorne caressed the hilt of his obsidian blade.
“She was once the most feared Luna in the northern packs,” he said. “But even the brightest stars burn out. You, my dear, are the eclipse that ends her reign.”
Shael bowed. “Then I will become her. And when I do, they will follow me.”
The Next Morning at Ashfang
Auron approached Seraphina’s war table with a map marked in blood-red ink.
“Thorne is building an army,” he said. “He’s united the rogue Alphas—Bloodfang, Hollowshade, Dreadpine. They’ll march by the solstice.”
Seraphina leaned over the map, pain still fresh in her body, rage blooming in her eyes.
“We strike first.”
“But we’re not ready,” Darian warned. “Our scouts haven’t returned from the eastern front. We don’t know what kind of dark magic he’s hiding now.”
“We don’t wait,” she said. “We bleed him before he becomes a god.”
That night, she returned to the Moonstone Cliff. Alone.
And this time… she spoke to the ghosts.
“I know you’re still here,” she whispered into the wind. “Lyra. Kael. I saw what she did with your names. What he turned you into.”
The wind shifted.
And for a brief moment… she felt warmth.
A tiny hand brushing her cheek.
A child’s voice, soft as dusk:
> “We believe in you, Mother…”
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
Her grief no longer broke her—it fueled her.
The Next Dawn
Seraphina walked into the training yard fully armored.
She raised her sword and shouted:
> “We march at dusk. We take back what was stolen. We fight for the fallen—and for those who cannot rise again.”
Her warriors howled.
And in the shadow of her tent, Shael watched from afar, her silver eyes gleaming.
> “Let’s see what happens when the moon fights its own reflection.”
A figure stood at the edge of her tent, half-shadow, half-light.
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
The stranger stepped into the moonlight.
She was identical to Seraphina—same silver eyes, same scar beneath the collarbone—but her aura was all wrong. The energy radiating from her was cold, hateful. A predator without honor.
“I’m what you could’ve been,” the doppelgänger said. “If you’d embraced vengeance from the start.”
Seraphina’s breath caught.
“Shael.”
The name tasted like betrayal.
Guards rushed in, but Shael raised a hand, and a shockwave of corrupted magic threw them back into the trees. Darian lunged, but Seraphina shouted, “No! She’s mine.”
They circled each other like twin moons locked in orbit.
“You’re a fake,” Seraphina said.
Shael smiled. “I’m what’s left of you. I was born from your blood, your anger, your weakness. Thorne didn’t create me—you did.”
Their swords clashed. Sparks lit the air as the two mirrored wolves fought beneath the stars.
Blades sang. Teeth bared. Claws tore through tent walls and scorched earth.
For a moment, they were perfectly matched—until Shael whispered a name.
> “Lyra.”
Seraphina faltered. That half-second was all Shael needed.
She slashed deep across Seraphina’s ribs and vanished into the shadows, her laughter echoing like a curse.
Later, in the War Tent…
Mira stitched the wound, her hands trembling.
“That wasn’t just a clone,” she muttered. “It was a soul-fracture. She carries your blood, your magic... even part of your pain.”
Seraphina grimaced through the pain. “She knew things no one should know.”
Darian stood at her side, arms crossed. “She’s baiting you. Thorne wants you off balance before the real war begins.”
Seraphina shook her head. “She is the war.”
Meanwhile – Thorne’s Stronghold
Shael knelt before Thorne.
“She’s weaker than I expected,” she said. “Still ruled by grief. She flinched at a name.”
Thorne caressed the hilt of his obsidian blade.
“She was once the most feared Luna in the northern packs,” he said. “But even the brightest stars burn out. You, my dear, are the eclipse that ends her reign.”
Shael bowed. “Then I will become her. And when I do, they will follow me.”
The Next Morning at Ashfang
Auron approached Seraphina’s war table with a map marked in blood-red ink.
“Thorne is building an army,” he said. “He’s united the rogue Alphas—Bloodfang, Hollowshade, Dreadpine. They’ll march by the solstice.”
Seraphina leaned over the map, pain still fresh in her body, rage blooming in her eyes.
“We strike first.”
“But we’re not ready,” Darian warned. “Our scouts haven’t returned from the eastern front. We don’t know what kind of dark magic he’s hiding now.”
“We don’t wait,” she said. “We bleed him before he becomes a god.”
That night, she returned to the Moonstone Cliff. Alone.
And this time… she spoke to the ghosts.
“I know you’re still here,” she whispered into the wind. “Lyra. Kael. I saw what she did with your names. What he turned you into.”
The wind shifted.
And for a brief moment… she felt warmth.
A tiny hand brushing her cheek.
A child’s voice, soft as dusk:
> “We believe in you, Mother…”
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
Her grief no longer broke her—it fueled her.
The Next Dawn
Seraphina walked into the training yard fully armored.
She raised her sword and shouted:
> “We march at dusk. We take back what was stolen. We fight for the fallen—and for those who cannot rise again.”
Her warriors howled.
And in the shadow of her tent, Shael watched from afar, her silver eyes gleaming.
> “Let’s see what happens when the moon fights its own reflection.”
End of Reign of the Forsaken Moon Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to Reign of the Forsaken Moon book page.