Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 21: Chapter 21

The skies wept fire.
From the broken cliffs of the East to the glacial peaks of the North, the world felt her rise. The old bloodlines stirred. The winds whispered a name not spoken in centuries.
Seraphina.
Not just Luna.
Not just queen.
> The Flame-Born.
The Twice-Died.
The Storm Mother.
A World Watching
In the halls of distant werewolf kingdoms, monarchs gathered around silver scrying bowls.
They watched as the Eastern Palace crumbled.
They watched as Adraste’s soulfire was consumed by her daughter’s blade.
They felt the pulse of ancient power ripple across their borders like an omen.
And one by one, they spoke the words their ancestors feared to utter:
> “She has returned.”
Some planned allegiance.
Others planned war.
None planned peace.
The Storm Within
Seraphina stood atop the cliffs just beyond Moonclaw territory, her children nestled behind her in a protective circle of guards.
Her hands still trembled from the killing blow.
Not from regret.
From knowing.
Adraste’s final look had not been fear.
It had been pride.
Twisted, terrible pride.
“She wanted this,” Seraphina whispered.
Darian approached quietly.
“She wanted to die by your hand?”
“No,” Seraphina said. “She wanted the world to see me do it.”
Darian didn’t speak for a while. Then:
“You didn’t just kill your mother. You ended an era.”
She nodded once.
> “Then it’s time to build a new one.”
Visions in the Flame
That night, as the Moonclaw camp settled under layers of protective wards, Seraphina sat alone at the heart of a ritual circle.
Mira joined her, hands glowing with spelllight.
“You’re changing,” Mira said. “I can feel it.”
“I know,” Seraphina whispered. “It’s like something’s waking up inside me.”
She closed her eyes.
Let the fire take her.
Visions surged—too fast, too bright.
A white temple above the clouds.
A crown made of bone and starlight.
A beast in chains beneath a crimson moon.
And a voice—deep, feminine, ancient:
> “You are the storm they feared. The death they delayed. The queen they cannot stop.”
Seraphina gasped, breaking the trance.
Mira knelt beside her.
“What did you see?”
Seraphina’s voice was calm.
> “The end of the war.”
The Gathering
The next morning, riders were sent to every allied pack and neutral kingdom.
They carried one message:
> “The Queen of Flame summons you. Come to Moonclaw.”
And they came.
From icy tundras, rainforest groves, desert temples.
Alphas and emissaries. Rogues and mystics.
By the hundreds, they arrived.
And they knelt.
Some out of loyalty.
Some out of awe.
Some out of fear.
Seraphina met each gaze with the same calm fire.
She made no speeches.
No promises.
Only one truth:
> “The world as you knew it has ended. Choose your side.”
A New Bond
That night, as wolves feasted and whispered, Seraphina stood on the palace terrace alone—until a familiar scent wrapped around her.
Darian.
He stepped beside her, silent for a time.
Then he said:
“You’ve always belonged here. Even when you didn’t believe it.”
She looked at him.
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
He touched her hand.
“You’re the same woman who saved a broken pack. Who raised children in exile. Who looked death in the eye—twice—and lived.”
He leaned in, his voice a breath.
“You are mine, Seraphina. Whether you wear a crown or claws.”
Her heart thudded.
Not from surprise.
From recognition.
She leaned into him.
> “And you are mine.”
The Queen of Storms
At dawn, beneath a blood-orange sky, Seraphina stood before the united packs.
A crown of fire and moonstone upon her brow.
Kael and Lyra at her sides.
Mira, Darian, Shael behind her.
She raised her hand.
Lightning crackled across the horizon.
Winds roared.
The land listened.
And she spoke:
> “We are not prey.
We are not pawns.
We are wolves.
And this is our reign.”
The packs howled.
And the heavens answered.