Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading Reign of the Forsaken Moon, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of Reign of the Forsaken Moon.
The fire flickered low in Seraphina’s cabin, casting gold-drenched shadows on the wooden walls. The scent of scorched rosemary still clung to the air—a bitter reminder of the assassin who had come for her in the night.
She sat at the edge of her cot, Moonfire flickering at her fingertips. It pulsed stronger now. Hungrier.
The words the assassin had carved into her door replayed in her mind like a curse:
“Prove you live.”
She had—barely.
But she knew now that survival wouldn’t be enough. She would need to make them all remember who she was—who she is.
The Twice-Born Luna.
Mira entered quietly, her veil fluttering behind her like moth wings. The old seer’s eyes glowed with soft violet light.
“I brought what you asked,” she said, placing an ancient scroll on the table. “Shadowborn magic. Forbidden. Forgotten. But it still breathes in hidden places.”
Seraphina moved to the scroll with cautious reverence. The ink was faded, written in Old Tongue. Darian followed her inside moments later, boots echoing softly across the stone.
“You really want to open that door?” he asked, voice low.
“I already did,” Seraphina replied. “The moment Thorne sent that assassin.”
The scroll spoke of an ancient union—Lunae Umbra, the balance of moonlight and shadow. A power only granted to a Luna who had died under betrayal and been reborn beneath a blood moon.
It described her exactly.
“The Moon remembers,” Mira whispered. “Even when the world forgets.”
Darian crossed his arms. “This power—does it come with a cost?”
“Everything worth wielding does,” Seraphina murmured.
She traced the symbols with her fingertip, and the scroll responded—glowing faintly beneath her skin.
Later, after dusk had swallowed the land, she found herself standing at the base of the Silent Hollow, a sacred place behind Ashfang where wolves rarely tread. It was said the spirits of fallen warriors gathered here.
She didn’t come to mourn.
She came to remember.
She placed her palm on the moss-covered stone and closed her eyes.
A soft voice, childlike and pure, echoed in the wind.
“Mother...”
Her breath hitched.
Another whisper followed, stronger.
“We never left you.”
Kael. Lyra.
She fell to her knees, Moonfire erupting around her, the mark on her back burning bright.
Visions surged— Lyra, leaping through moon-drenched grass, her silver hair wild.
Kael, painting stars on the floor of the nursery with chalk, humming softly.
Her own hands covered in blood, her screams echoing in the ruins of Moonclaw Keep.
Thorne, cradling Lyra’s lifeless body as if it were a prize.
She screamed.
The Hollow trembled.
When she awoke, she was back in her bed, Darian at her side. His hand was on hers, steady.
“You went somewhere deep,” he said softly.
“I saw them,” she choked. “They remember me.”
Darian said nothing for a long time. Then: “So will the world.”
He stood, moving toward the door. “There’s something you need to see.”
Outside, the courtyard of Ashfang had transformed. Torches lined the path. Wolves in armor stood at attention, forming two lines.
A figure stood at the center—Korin, a rogue Alpha once thought dead, who had served under Seraphina’s father long ago.
He knelt before her now.
“Twice-Born Luna,” he said, head bowed. “I pledged loyalty to your blood long before the world turned against you. If you rise, I rise with you.”
Seraphina stared at him, then the wolves behind him—half a dozen scarred warriors with the mark of the old Moonclaw etched into their cloaks.
She swallowed hard.
This was no longer survival.
This was resurgence.
That night, as the moon climbed high, Seraphina stood at the top of Ashfang’s eastern watchtower. Darian joined her again, silence hanging thick between them.
“Did you feel it?” she asked.
“The Hollow?”
She nodded. “They’re not gone. My children. My power. My purpose. They’re waiting for me to reclaim it all.”
Darian’s voice was quiet. “Then let’s give them a reason to hope.”
She turned to face him, her heart thudding in her chest. “Darian…”
He stepped closer. Not touching—just enough to let the heat between them rise.
“You don’t have to choose tonight,” he whispered. “But when you do… I’ll be waiting.”
A pause. The wind howled.
Then: “You don’t have to be alone anymore, Seraphina.”
Her eyes welled, not from sorrow—but for the first time in years… from hope.
She sat at the edge of her cot, Moonfire flickering at her fingertips. It pulsed stronger now. Hungrier.
The words the assassin had carved into her door replayed in her mind like a curse:
“Prove you live.”
She had—barely.
But she knew now that survival wouldn’t be enough. She would need to make them all remember who she was—who she is.
The Twice-Born Luna.
Mira entered quietly, her veil fluttering behind her like moth wings. The old seer’s eyes glowed with soft violet light.
“I brought what you asked,” she said, placing an ancient scroll on the table. “Shadowborn magic. Forbidden. Forgotten. But it still breathes in hidden places.”
Seraphina moved to the scroll with cautious reverence. The ink was faded, written in Old Tongue. Darian followed her inside moments later, boots echoing softly across the stone.
“You really want to open that door?” he asked, voice low.
“I already did,” Seraphina replied. “The moment Thorne sent that assassin.”
The scroll spoke of an ancient union—Lunae Umbra, the balance of moonlight and shadow. A power only granted to a Luna who had died under betrayal and been reborn beneath a blood moon.
It described her exactly.
“The Moon remembers,” Mira whispered. “Even when the world forgets.”
Darian crossed his arms. “This power—does it come with a cost?”
“Everything worth wielding does,” Seraphina murmured.
She traced the symbols with her fingertip, and the scroll responded—glowing faintly beneath her skin.
Later, after dusk had swallowed the land, she found herself standing at the base of the Silent Hollow, a sacred place behind Ashfang where wolves rarely tread. It was said the spirits of fallen warriors gathered here.
She didn’t come to mourn.
She came to remember.
She placed her palm on the moss-covered stone and closed her eyes.
A soft voice, childlike and pure, echoed in the wind.
“Mother...”
Her breath hitched.
Another whisper followed, stronger.
“We never left you.”
Kael. Lyra.
She fell to her knees, Moonfire erupting around her, the mark on her back burning bright.
Visions surged— Lyra, leaping through moon-drenched grass, her silver hair wild.
Kael, painting stars on the floor of the nursery with chalk, humming softly.
Her own hands covered in blood, her screams echoing in the ruins of Moonclaw Keep.
Thorne, cradling Lyra’s lifeless body as if it were a prize.
She screamed.
The Hollow trembled.
When she awoke, she was back in her bed, Darian at her side. His hand was on hers, steady.
“You went somewhere deep,” he said softly.
“I saw them,” she choked. “They remember me.”
Darian said nothing for a long time. Then: “So will the world.”
He stood, moving toward the door. “There’s something you need to see.”
Outside, the courtyard of Ashfang had transformed. Torches lined the path. Wolves in armor stood at attention, forming two lines.
A figure stood at the center—Korin, a rogue Alpha once thought dead, who had served under Seraphina’s father long ago.
He knelt before her now.
“Twice-Born Luna,” he said, head bowed. “I pledged loyalty to your blood long before the world turned against you. If you rise, I rise with you.”
Seraphina stared at him, then the wolves behind him—half a dozen scarred warriors with the mark of the old Moonclaw etched into their cloaks.
She swallowed hard.
This was no longer survival.
This was resurgence.
That night, as the moon climbed high, Seraphina stood at the top of Ashfang’s eastern watchtower. Darian joined her again, silence hanging thick between them.
“Did you feel it?” she asked.
“The Hollow?”
She nodded. “They’re not gone. My children. My power. My purpose. They’re waiting for me to reclaim it all.”
Darian’s voice was quiet. “Then let’s give them a reason to hope.”
She turned to face him, her heart thudding in her chest. “Darian…”
He stepped closer. Not touching—just enough to let the heat between them rise.
“You don’t have to choose tonight,” he whispered. “But when you do… I’ll be waiting.”
A pause. The wind howled.
Then: “You don’t have to be alone anymore, Seraphina.”
Her eyes welled, not from sorrow—but for the first time in years… from hope.
End of Reign of the Forsaken Moon Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to Reign of the Forsaken Moon book page.