Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 23: Chapter 23
You are reading Reign of the Forsaken Moon, Chapter 23: Chapter 23. Read more chapters of Reign of the Forsaken Moon.
The cold wasn’t natural.
It bit through enchanted cloaks and protective wards. It gnawed at the bone. It whispered through the wind with voices long buried.
Seraphina stood at the edge of the Frostmaw Pass, where the mountains curved like the ribs of a long-dead god. Flakes of snow swirled in patterns that weren’t random. Symbols. Warnings.
Kael and Lyra stood close beside her, their presence a quiet strength.
Behind them marched a party of Moonclaw’s finest warriors, Mira, and Darian—each of them cloaked in obsidian furs and protective sigils glowing beneath their sleeves.
“We’ve entered the realm of the forgotten,” Mira whispered.
Seraphina nodded. “Then let’s remind it who we are.”
The Lost Kingdom
The Northern Wilds were once a kingdom of frost-wolves—shifters with control over ice, wind, and spirit. Centuries ago, they vanished, swallowed by storms and silence.
But the raven’s message had been clear.
> “He is waking. The Wyrm sleeps no longer.”
They descended into the valley, past frozen ruins, broken monoliths carved with wolf heads and runes older than any book in the Moonclaw archives.
There, they met the Snowborn Pack.
White-haired, pale-eyed descendants of the original frost-wolves.
Their leader was High Alpha Eira, draped in silver furs and bearing a staff tipped with crystal fang.
She bowed to Seraphina—not deeply, but respectfully.
“You carry the fire that banished the dark once before,” she said. “Come. The wyrm stirs.”
Beneath the Ice
They were taken to a temple carved into the side of a glacier, where Eira led them down steps slick with ancient frost.
Mira whispered protective incantations. Kael gripped Lyra’s hand.
And then they saw it.
Frozen beneath ten feet of solid ice was a massive serpent—the Wyrm of the Deep North. Scaled in midnight silver, with eyes that pulsed faintly red even in sleep.
“It feeds on magic,” Eira said. “Dreams. Memory. Pain. When the Old Wars ended, your ancestor sealed it here using the Flame Sigil. But the flame has weakened.”
Seraphina’s chest tightened.
“My blood woke it.”
Eira nodded.
“And your blood may be the only thing that can put it back to sleep.”
A Test of Legacy
That night, the Snowborn held a ritual feast in Seraphina’s honor.
Children of ice danced with fire-blessed wolves. Songs were sung in two languages—flame and frost.
But Seraphina couldn’t sleep.
She stood at the edge of the frozen pit, staring down at the wyrm.
Darian joined her.
“You’ve become the bridge,” he said.
“Between?”
“Everything.”
Seraphina turned to him. “That’s not what I wanted.”
“No,” Darian said. “But it’s what you are.”
She leaned into him, and for a moment, the cold didn’t touch her.
The Wyrm Awakens
The next morning, the glacier cracked.
The wyrm opened one eye.
And roared.
Snow quaked. Ice split.
Wolves screamed in every tongue.
Seraphina stepped forward alone, her children shielded behind Darian and Mira.
She raised her hands—and fire answered.
Not from a spell.
From her.
The wyrm lunged—but did not break the ice.
It stared at her, hissing in a language lost to time.
“You,” it said. “Flame-born. Again.”
She spoke the words that came to her lips without knowing why.
> “I am not her. I am the end of her. I am Seraphina.”
And with that, the wyrm hissed—and bowed.
Then returned to sleep.
The Gift
High Alpha Eira gifted Seraphina with a shard of the wyrm’s scale—enchanted with ancient ice magic. It would amplify Seraphina’s power, especially in elemental combat.
“You carry the past in your blood,” Eira said. “But also the future. And the future will be forged in balance.”
As they left the Northern Wilds, Kael asked quietly:
“Will it wake again?”
Seraphina looked back toward the glacier.
“Not if I do my job.”
Quiet Before the Storm
Back in Moonclaw, Seraphina called for a week of celebration. Unity Day. A time for packs to reconnect, for wounds to begin healing.
Kael began painting again. Lyra started sparring with Mira.
Seraphina and Darian spent nights on the palace roof, watching the stars, hearts heavy with hope and unspoken fear.
For the first time in years… there was peace.
But in a darkened corner of the old castle, a hidden scroll was unsealed.
Signed in blackened ink:
> The true heir of flame will rise.
The false queen shall fall.
And beneath it, the name of the sender:
Aurelia Stormfang.
It bit through enchanted cloaks and protective wards. It gnawed at the bone. It whispered through the wind with voices long buried.
Seraphina stood at the edge of the Frostmaw Pass, where the mountains curved like the ribs of a long-dead god. Flakes of snow swirled in patterns that weren’t random. Symbols. Warnings.
Kael and Lyra stood close beside her, their presence a quiet strength.
Behind them marched a party of Moonclaw’s finest warriors, Mira, and Darian—each of them cloaked in obsidian furs and protective sigils glowing beneath their sleeves.
“We’ve entered the realm of the forgotten,” Mira whispered.
Seraphina nodded. “Then let’s remind it who we are.”
The Lost Kingdom
The Northern Wilds were once a kingdom of frost-wolves—shifters with control over ice, wind, and spirit. Centuries ago, they vanished, swallowed by storms and silence.
But the raven’s message had been clear.
> “He is waking. The Wyrm sleeps no longer.”
They descended into the valley, past frozen ruins, broken monoliths carved with wolf heads and runes older than any book in the Moonclaw archives.
There, they met the Snowborn Pack.
White-haired, pale-eyed descendants of the original frost-wolves.
Their leader was High Alpha Eira, draped in silver furs and bearing a staff tipped with crystal fang.
She bowed to Seraphina—not deeply, but respectfully.
“You carry the fire that banished the dark once before,” she said. “Come. The wyrm stirs.”
Beneath the Ice
They were taken to a temple carved into the side of a glacier, where Eira led them down steps slick with ancient frost.
Mira whispered protective incantations. Kael gripped Lyra’s hand.
And then they saw it.
Frozen beneath ten feet of solid ice was a massive serpent—the Wyrm of the Deep North. Scaled in midnight silver, with eyes that pulsed faintly red even in sleep.
“It feeds on magic,” Eira said. “Dreams. Memory. Pain. When the Old Wars ended, your ancestor sealed it here using the Flame Sigil. But the flame has weakened.”
Seraphina’s chest tightened.
“My blood woke it.”
Eira nodded.
“And your blood may be the only thing that can put it back to sleep.”
A Test of Legacy
That night, the Snowborn held a ritual feast in Seraphina’s honor.
Children of ice danced with fire-blessed wolves. Songs were sung in two languages—flame and frost.
But Seraphina couldn’t sleep.
She stood at the edge of the frozen pit, staring down at the wyrm.
Darian joined her.
“You’ve become the bridge,” he said.
“Between?”
“Everything.”
Seraphina turned to him. “That’s not what I wanted.”
“No,” Darian said. “But it’s what you are.”
She leaned into him, and for a moment, the cold didn’t touch her.
The Wyrm Awakens
The next morning, the glacier cracked.
The wyrm opened one eye.
And roared.
Snow quaked. Ice split.
Wolves screamed in every tongue.
Seraphina stepped forward alone, her children shielded behind Darian and Mira.
She raised her hands—and fire answered.
Not from a spell.
From her.
The wyrm lunged—but did not break the ice.
It stared at her, hissing in a language lost to time.
“You,” it said. “Flame-born. Again.”
She spoke the words that came to her lips without knowing why.
> “I am not her. I am the end of her. I am Seraphina.”
And with that, the wyrm hissed—and bowed.
Then returned to sleep.
The Gift
High Alpha Eira gifted Seraphina with a shard of the wyrm’s scale—enchanted with ancient ice magic. It would amplify Seraphina’s power, especially in elemental combat.
“You carry the past in your blood,” Eira said. “But also the future. And the future will be forged in balance.”
As they left the Northern Wilds, Kael asked quietly:
“Will it wake again?”
Seraphina looked back toward the glacier.
“Not if I do my job.”
Quiet Before the Storm
Back in Moonclaw, Seraphina called for a week of celebration. Unity Day. A time for packs to reconnect, for wounds to begin healing.
Kael began painting again. Lyra started sparring with Mira.
Seraphina and Darian spent nights on the palace roof, watching the stars, hearts heavy with hope and unspoken fear.
For the first time in years… there was peace.
But in a darkened corner of the old castle, a hidden scroll was unsealed.
Signed in blackened ink:
> The true heir of flame will rise.
The false queen shall fall.
And beneath it, the name of the sender:
Aurelia Stormfang.
End of Reign of the Forsaken Moon Chapter 23. Continue reading Chapter 24 or return to Reign of the Forsaken Moon book page.