Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

The ground trembled beneath Seraphina’s bare feet as the warning horn faded into the night.
Wolves moved like shadows across the Ashfang Hold, grabbing weapons, hoisting armor, and falling into formation with practiced efficiency. Torches flared, casting orange light onto faces both young and battle-hardened.
Darian’s voice cut through the din. “To the ridge! Defend the gate!”
Seraphina followed, the old fire in her blood reigniting with every step. She had lived through death, betrayal, and rebirth. Now, she would fight.
Atop the northern ridge, a line of sentinels stood braced. Below them, the valley dropped into jagged rock and forest. The enemy emerged from the trees like a plague.
Dark figures—wolves in blackened armor, moving with eerie discipline. Not rogues. Not strays. These were trained warriors. Thorne’s enforcers.
Her former mate had found her.
Darian came to stand beside her, a sword strapped to his back and a gleaming dagger in his hand. “You recognize their formation?”
She nodded grimly. “Thorne’s personal strike legion. He only sends them for one reason—execution.”
His jaw tightened. “Then we’ll give them war.”
A second horn blew—short, sharp.
Attack.
The enemy surged forward.
Seraphina didn’t wait for orders. She leapt down the ridge, landing hard on the rocks below. Pain lanced through her ankle, but she pushed forward. The closest enemy didn’t even see her coming.
Her claws slashed across his throat.
He fell, gurgling, and another replaced him immediately.
The battlefield exploded into chaos.
Ashfang wolves clashed with Thorne’s legion, snarls and howls ripping through the cold air. Blood splattered across the rocks. Steel met fang. Firelight flickered against swinging blades.
Seraphina fought like a spirit possessed.
She ducked a spear, grabbed the shaft, and yanked it forward, slamming her elbow into the wielder’s face. Another came from behind—she twisted, catching his wrist mid-strike and snapping it before slashing his throat with his own dagger.
For a moment, the world shrank to instinct. Rage. Memory.
Kael. Lyra.
She saw their faces in the fire. Saw Thorne’s betrayal in the red glint of enemy blades. And it fueled her.
A soldier lunged with a curved sword.
She turned, ready to meet him—and the world shifted.
Time slowed.
Her vision blurred and sharpened simultaneously. She could see every ripple of breath, every twitch of muscle, every crack in the approaching enemy’s armor.
Her pulse thundered.
Then, from her palms, a pale silver light ignited—bright as moonlight. The sword meant for her heart struck a shield of glowing energy mid-air, shattering with a hiss.
The enemy’s eyes widened in horror.
Seraphina struck him down—and the light pulsed again, surging up her arms and down her spine.
Around her, the battle paused briefly.
Ashfang wolves turned to look. Even Darian, locked in combat with two foes, froze as the light flared from her skin.
Then pain—hot, searing—tore across her back.
She fell to her knees.
Something was burning beneath her shoulder blades. She cried out, clawing at her shirt—and then it happened.
A mark bloomed across her skin in a spiral of white-hot pain: a crescent moon coiled in flame, encircled by wolf runes.
Gasps echoed.
Mira, watching from the cliffs, whispered, “The Twice-Born has awakened.”
The enemy retreated.
With the appearance of Seraphina’s radiant shield and the mark glowing visibly even through blood and ash, panic rippled through Thorne’s soldiers. They hadn’t come prepared to face a goddess-marked wolf.
Darian killed the last of the stragglers himself, a snarl still on his lips.
Silence settled over the battlefield.
Ashfang wolves stood amidst the bodies, panting, bleeding, stunned.
Then, a roar erupted—from the youngest wolf in the hold. A triumphant howl that echoed into the sky.
The others joined it.
A song of victory.
But Seraphina couldn’t rise.
Later, she lay inside Mira’s hut, the mark on her back pulsing faintly beneath bandages. Her body felt like it had been torn apart and reforged.
Darian stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed. Watching.
“Do you feel it?” Mira asked, kneeling beside her.
Seraphina managed a nod. “What… was that?”
“Not magic,” Mira said. “Divine power. You’ve been touched by the Moon herself. Twice-born wolves are rare. Fated by death, reborn through vengeance.”
Seraphina closed her eyes.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“No,” Mira whispered. “But now you carry it. The power to reclaim what was stolen.”
That night, Darian remained by her door.
She called out softly, “You’re still awake?”
He stepped inside.
“You made quite the impression,” he said. “Half the hold thinks you’re a goddess.”
“I’m not.”
“I know.” He paused. “You’re more dangerous than that.”
Their eyes locked.
Something in his gaze had shifted. Respect had deepened into something heavier. Something magnetic. His scent calmed her pulse—grounded her.
Seraphina looked away. “You saw the mark.”
“I did.”
She held his gaze again. “Does it change things?”
He nodded. “It means you’re not just a survivor. You’re meant to lead.”
She almost laughed. “I lost my kingdom.”
“Then it’s time to build a new one.”