Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 19: Chapter 19
You are reading Reign of the Forsaken Moon, Chapter 19: Chapter 19. Read more chapters of Reign of the Forsaken Moon.
Snow fell.
Not the soft snow of winter’s first breath, but the thick, suffocating kind that blanketed the earth in white silence—right before it turned red.
The Eastern army had arrived.
Thousands strong.
Shifting between man and beast, their warriors formed a tidal wall of silver fangs and forest green armor, etched with blood-spells older than Seraphina herself.
They came without warning. Without mercy.
The Moonclaw scouts never stood a chance.
A Daughter’s Decision
Seraphina stood before her war council, eyes hard, her cloak fastened with the ancient moonstone crest.
“We don’t have the numbers,” Shael said bluntly, tracing defensive lines across a map. “We need time to call our allies.”
“We don’t have time,” Mira snapped, her hands alight with energy. “They’ll be at our borders by moonrise.”
Darian stood silent. Watching Seraphina. Waiting.
She stared down at the map, at the ridge where the first battle would take place.
> “Then we hold the line until they come.”
> “We fight to buy time.”
> “And we make them bleed.”
Preparing the Pack
By midday, the city was in motion.
Mothers sent their children deep into the mountain vaults. Warriors were given blades soaked in ashroot oil, enchantments layered into every curve of steel.
The Moonclaw wolves stood shoulder to shoulder beneath a rising blood moon.
Some were young.
Too young.
But all were ready.
In the training grounds, Seraphina kneeled before Kael and Lyra.
“You’ll stay in the crystal sanctum,” she told them, voice soft but unyielding.
Lyra shook her head. “I can fight—”
“You will—one day. Not today.”
Kael clung to her.
“Come back, Mama,” he whispered.
She hugged them tightly.
> “There is no world where I don’t.”
First Blood
The battle began at dusk.
Eastern scouts emerged from the woods like wraiths—blades glowing green with corruption, howls carrying strange echoes of forgotten tongues.
Seraphina led the charge.
A comet of silver and flame, her form half-wolf, half-warrior. Where she passed, the enemy broke.
Darian fought at her side, his axe singing with rage.
Shael rained lightning from the cliffside.
Mira tore through warlocks with spells etched in blood and bone.
But the Eastern army was endless.
And behind them, on a war-chariot of bone pulled by shadow-beasts, stood Adraste.
Watching.
Waiting.
Smiling.
The Turning Point
Hours passed.
Bodies fell.
Snow turned red, then black, then froze solid with gore.
Seraphina was bloodied, her armor shattered, breath heaving.
And still she fought.
Until she heard it—a howl not her own.
Then another.
And another.
From the ridges and ravines, other packs emerged.
Redfang. Windhowl. Even the ancient Ghostwalkers—long thought extinct—arrived in silence.
Seraphina turned, heart hammering.
Mira appeared at her side, lips bloodied but grinning.
> “You bought time.”
The enemy faltered.
The tide turned.
Adraste stepped back, expression unreadable.
Then—
She vanished in a shimmer of dark light.
The Aftermath
They held the field.
Barely.
Hundreds dead.
Dozens wounded.
But alive.
Darian found Seraphina at dawn, her cloak torn, her skin streaked with drying blood. She was standing over a fallen enemy—an Eastern general whose armor bore her family crest.
“He was my cousin,” she murmured.
Darian reached for her hand.
She didn’t take it at first.
Then she did.
Silently.
In the Shadows of Victory
That night, around the fires, the pack sang the old songs—victory hymns that echoed in the bones of the mountain.
Children peeked out from the vaults.
Kael ran to her first.
Lyra followed, eyes shining with pride.
Seraphina lifted them both into her arms.
And for the first time since war began, she smiled.
But she knew it wasn’t over.
Adraste had tasted their strength.
She would return.
And next time, she wouldn’t come to conquer.
She’d come to destroy.
Not the soft snow of winter’s first breath, but the thick, suffocating kind that blanketed the earth in white silence—right before it turned red.
The Eastern army had arrived.
Thousands strong.
Shifting between man and beast, their warriors formed a tidal wall of silver fangs and forest green armor, etched with blood-spells older than Seraphina herself.
They came without warning. Without mercy.
The Moonclaw scouts never stood a chance.
A Daughter’s Decision
Seraphina stood before her war council, eyes hard, her cloak fastened with the ancient moonstone crest.
“We don’t have the numbers,” Shael said bluntly, tracing defensive lines across a map. “We need time to call our allies.”
“We don’t have time,” Mira snapped, her hands alight with energy. “They’ll be at our borders by moonrise.”
Darian stood silent. Watching Seraphina. Waiting.
She stared down at the map, at the ridge where the first battle would take place.
> “Then we hold the line until they come.”
> “We fight to buy time.”
> “And we make them bleed.”
Preparing the Pack
By midday, the city was in motion.
Mothers sent their children deep into the mountain vaults. Warriors were given blades soaked in ashroot oil, enchantments layered into every curve of steel.
The Moonclaw wolves stood shoulder to shoulder beneath a rising blood moon.
Some were young.
Too young.
But all were ready.
In the training grounds, Seraphina kneeled before Kael and Lyra.
“You’ll stay in the crystal sanctum,” she told them, voice soft but unyielding.
Lyra shook her head. “I can fight—”
“You will—one day. Not today.”
Kael clung to her.
“Come back, Mama,” he whispered.
She hugged them tightly.
> “There is no world where I don’t.”
First Blood
The battle began at dusk.
Eastern scouts emerged from the woods like wraiths—blades glowing green with corruption, howls carrying strange echoes of forgotten tongues.
Seraphina led the charge.
A comet of silver and flame, her form half-wolf, half-warrior. Where she passed, the enemy broke.
Darian fought at her side, his axe singing with rage.
Shael rained lightning from the cliffside.
Mira tore through warlocks with spells etched in blood and bone.
But the Eastern army was endless.
And behind them, on a war-chariot of bone pulled by shadow-beasts, stood Adraste.
Watching.
Waiting.
Smiling.
The Turning Point
Hours passed.
Bodies fell.
Snow turned red, then black, then froze solid with gore.
Seraphina was bloodied, her armor shattered, breath heaving.
And still she fought.
Until she heard it—a howl not her own.
Then another.
And another.
From the ridges and ravines, other packs emerged.
Redfang. Windhowl. Even the ancient Ghostwalkers—long thought extinct—arrived in silence.
Seraphina turned, heart hammering.
Mira appeared at her side, lips bloodied but grinning.
> “You bought time.”
The enemy faltered.
The tide turned.
Adraste stepped back, expression unreadable.
Then—
She vanished in a shimmer of dark light.
The Aftermath
They held the field.
Barely.
Hundreds dead.
Dozens wounded.
But alive.
Darian found Seraphina at dawn, her cloak torn, her skin streaked with drying blood. She was standing over a fallen enemy—an Eastern general whose armor bore her family crest.
“He was my cousin,” she murmured.
Darian reached for her hand.
She didn’t take it at first.
Then she did.
Silently.
In the Shadows of Victory
That night, around the fires, the pack sang the old songs—victory hymns that echoed in the bones of the mountain.
Children peeked out from the vaults.
Kael ran to her first.
Lyra followed, eyes shining with pride.
Seraphina lifted them both into her arms.
And for the first time since war began, she smiled.
But she knew it wasn’t over.
Adraste had tasted their strength.
She would return.
And next time, she wouldn’t come to conquer.
She’d come to destroy.
End of Reign of the Forsaken Moon Chapter 19. Continue reading Chapter 20 or return to Reign of the Forsaken Moon book page.