Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The first thing Seraphina felt was pain.
Hot, throbbing, all-consuming. Her body screamed in protest as she tried to move. Her mouth was dry, her limbs stiff, and the coppery taste of blood lingered on her tongue.
She blinked.
Wooden rafters loomed above her. Faint golden light filtered through the slits of a shuttered window, casting sharp beams onto the floor of what appeared to be a simple cabin. The air smelled of smoke, pine, and something else—wolf.
She wasn’t alone.
Seraphina jerked upright—but her side flared in agony, forcing a strangled cry from her lips. She collapsed back onto the cot, panting. Every inch of her body ached. Her arm was bandaged crudely but effectively, and a linen wrap bound her ribs.
Footsteps approached. Slow. Measured.
He emerged from the shadows like a ghost.
Massive. Muscular. Wearing a dark shirt rolled at the sleeves and leather trousers tucked into boots caked in mud. His black hair was tousled, his jaw covered in a day’s worth of stubble. But it was his eyes that caught her breath—silver, like burning ice. Piercing. Ancient.
The wolf who had saved her.
“You’re awake,” he said flatly, voice deep and commanding.
Seraphina’s heart kicked against her ribs. She masked her panic with cold silence.
He walked to the fire and crouched. “You should’ve died out there. Three rogues on your back, ribs shattered, arm torn… yet you fought like a wolf possessed.”
She said nothing.
He stood, walked toward her again, and placed a bowl of steaming broth on the wooden table beside her. “Eat.”
She eyed it. “You first.”
A faint smirk ghosted across his lips. “You think I poisoned it?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Fair enough.”
He picked up the bowl, drank from it without hesitation, and set it back down. “Satisfied?”
Seraphina nodded slightly. “Where am I?”
“My territory. The Ashfang Wastes.”
Her brows drew together. Ashfang? She had only heard of it in whispers—an isolated land at the edge of the northern border, where banished wolves and rogues scraped out survival in hostile wilds. No pack dared to rule here. Or so she’d believed.
“And you?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing in the Wastes?”
He studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“I live here.”
“No pack?”
His gaze darkened. “Not anymore.”
She paused. “Your name?”
He hesitated. “Darian.”
It struck her then—his scent. Strong, earthy, but not tainted by madness like most rogues. He was disciplined. Sharp. Too sharp for someone living outside a pack.
“I’m...” She faltered. She couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet.
“...Sera.”
A lie. A fragment of who she once was.
Darian nodded slowly. “Alright, Sera.”
His tone said he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press. That unsettled her more than questions would have.
Over the next few days, she healed.
Darian didn’t speak much. He brought her food, watched from a distance, and occasionally left the cabin for long stretches. She sensed he didn’t trust her—but also that he wasn’t cruel. He was a protector by nature. And a loner by choice.
Seraphina tried not to think about her children. But their faces haunted her in dreams. In every silence, she saw Kael’s final stand, Lyra’s hand reaching for her.
She trained again as soon as she could stand. Her body was weaker, slower than it had ever been—but her instincts remained razor-sharp. She practiced silently in the woods, pushing through pain, rage simmering beneath her skin.
Darian watched her one morning as she struck a tree repeatedly, her fists raw and bloodied.
“You train like a wolf with nothing to lose,” he said from behind her.
She didn’t stop. “I’ve already lost everything.”
He was quiet. Then: “Who were you before you ended up here?”
She turned to him. “Does it matter?”
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “It might.”
Seraphina’s fists clenched. “Why? You going to turn me in to someone?”
“There’s no one to turn you in to. No packs here. No councils. No laws.” He folded his arms. “But you’re not just some runaway omega. I’ve seen too many warriors not to recognize one.”
She didn’t reply.
“You fight like a Luna,” he added. “But you carry pain like a rogue.”
Those words hit her like a punch. He wasn’t wrong. She was both. Neither.
Finally, she spoke.
“I had a family. A pack. A mate.” Her voice shook. “They betrayed me. Took everything. Killed my children. I died too.”
Darian stiffened, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.
She took a step closer, staring up at him. “I don’t want pity. I want strength. If you saved me just to keep me caged in a cabin, then you made a mistake.”
He didn’t move. “I didn’t save you to cage you. I saved you because I’ve been where you are.”
That surprised her.
He looked away, jaw tight. “I had a mate once. She was murdered when our pack turned on us. I was too weak to stop it.”
Their eyes met. Two wolves carved by grief.
Two warriors who had nothing left… except the fire inside.
That night, as the wind howled outside the cabin, Seraphina sat near the fire, staring into the flames.
Darian broke the silence.
“I’ve been building something,” he said. “A sanctuary. For wolves like us. Those cast out. Betrayed. Not everyone out here is lost. Some are just… waiting to be found.”
She looked at him, curiosity flickering. “You’re rebuilding a pack?”
He nodded. “Something better. Not ruled by bloodlines or politics. But strength. Loyalty. Truth.”
She considered that.
“I want in,” she said.
Darian arched a brow. “Just like that?”
“I don’t need a crown,” she said. “But I do need to fight. I need to get stronger. For them.”
He watched her, silent for a long moment. Then:
“Alright, Sera. Let’s see what you’re really made of.”
Outside, the moon slipped behind the clouds, and the wind carried whispers through the Ashfang trees.
A fallen Luna had taken her first step toward war.