Flashback – 25 Years Ago
"I love you, Cel," the Luna whispered, her voice trembling like the leaves in the night wind. Her silver eyes shimmered with something deeper than just affection—something heavy, knowing. "I always have."
Celestine stood still, hands clenched at her sides. The weight of the bond between them hung unspoken, tangled in duty and fate. She loved the Luna fiercely, but she had never been chosen. Not by the Moon Goddess. Not officially.
"I watched her tie you to him," Celestine murmured, her voice low, barely audible. "Watched you say yes to fate. And I stayed."
The Luna's gaze dropped, soft and apologetic. "Because you love me."
Celestine gave a sad smile. "Yes. Enough to watch you become someone else's."
Silence settled between them—familiar and aching.
"I'm pregnant," the Luna said suddenly.
Celestine's heart stumbled. "What?"
"The Alpha put her in my womb," the Luna said. "But she's not his. She'll never be. She's yours , Cel. I want you to imprint on her."
Tears welled in Celestine's eyes. "You haven't told him?"
She shook her head. "No one knows. Not yet. I want her to be acknowledged by you first."
Celestine stepped forward, trembling. "You still choose me? Even now?"
"Always," the Luna whispered. She took Celestine's hand and gently placed it on her belly. "Come. Imprint on her."
A tear slid down Celestine's cheek as she closed her eyes and let her soul reach for the tiny spark within. The bond formed softly, like warm light wrapping around her heart.
"Zyra," Celestine breathed, the name falling from her lips like a vow. "Her name is Zyra."
Born of two Alphas… but imprinted by a Beta. She would call her "mother," and that would be enough.
Even if the world never knew.
‐‐‐‐‐
The warmth of that night, when Celestine imprinted Zyra, lived only in memory now—fragile, distant, buried beneath blood and smoke.
Years later, it all came crashing down.
The Moonveil Pack attacked without warning. They poured into Lunarion territory like a shadow stretching across sunlight—merciless, unstoppable. It wasn't a challenge or a negotiation. It was war.
They slaughtered warriors. Elders. Pups. No one was spared.
Zyra, still a child, hid in the corner of the great hall as her world burned. She could smell iron in the air. Hear the roar of wolves locked in death. And then she saw her.
Her Luna—her mother.
Celestine stood protectively in front of her and the Luna, fighting like fire itself, blades flashing, blood splattering her face.
But it wasn't enough.
A dark figure broke through the chaos—a woman in a black cloak, her face partially hidden, but her eyes… they burned like rage incarnate. She lunged, her blade sharp and sure, and in one vicious movement, drove it into the Luna's back.
Time seemed to stop. The Luna gasped, her breath catching. Her silver eyes found Zyra's, wide and filled with silent goodbye.
"No!" Celestine screamed, too late.
The cloaked woman turned her fury on Zyra. She raised her blade again.
But Celestine moved like lightning.
One brutal strike. The woman collapsed—lifeless. The blood didn't stop flowing.
"Run," Celestine whispered, her voice shaking, her hands gripping Zyra. "We have to run."
And they did.
That night marked Zyra forever.
She never forgot the scream. The blood. The way her Luna's body crumpled like wind-blown leaves.
Hatred grew like wildfire in her chest. Not just anger—but a vow.
Moonveil would never know peace again.
Celestine raised her in the ashes of that loss, motherly and fierce, training her harder than any warrior. Every wound Zyra took in training numbed her from the pain of that night. She didn't cry anymore. She couldn't.
Not since the Luna died.
The war had claimed too many lives on both sides. The bloodshed was so devastating that both packs, weary and broken, forged a pact:
No pack shall cross into the other's territory. No leader shall be harmed. To break this… is death.
It was fragile peace. An uneasy truce.
But Zyra didn't forget.
She trained not just to lead—but to make sure that when the time came again, she would never lose anyone the way she lost her mother.
---
Present Day
The air was sharp with morning chill, but Zyra's skin burned hot from movement. Blades clashed. Boots thudded against the hard-packed dirt. She ducked, twisted, and struck.
Kael barely blocked her in time.
"You're going to take my head off one of these days," he grunted, pushing her back with a smirk.
"Then dodge faster," Zyra snapped, sweat trailing down her temple.
They'd been at it for nearly an hour—Zyra hadn't said a word at first, just launched into the spar with quiet fury. Kael knew that look. He knew what today was. What memory it stirred.
He didn't pity her. She'd hate that. But he didn't go easy either.
Zyra moved like a storm—fast, brutal, relentless. Her strikes had purpose. Not just to win—but to hurt. To bleed the pain out of her bones.
"You thinking about them again?" Kael asked, catching her sword mid-swing with his own. "About that night?"
Her jaw clenched. She shoved him back hard, blades scraping as they separated.
"I don't think," she said coldly. "I train."
"Bullshit."
Zyra exhaled sharply, circling him. Her silver eyes burned like steel catching light. "I remember, Kael. Every damn detail. Every scream. Every face. That's why I won't stop."
She lunged again, knocking him to the ground this time, blade pointed at his throat. "I can't stop."
Kael lay there for a second, staring up at her, chest heaving. Then he gave a faint smile.
"I hope the Moonveil Omega knows who she's dealing with."
Zyra's blade paused.
She pulled back, letting him up. "She'll find out."
There was something dangerous in the way she said it. Not anger exactly—but a promise. A storm rising in the distance.
Kael rolled his shoulder, groaning. "Next time remind me not to spar with you on your mother's death day."
Zyra's expression softened, just barely. "You're the only idiot who can keep up."
"Aw, how sweet. I'll have that carved on my tombstone."
She smirked—and for a split second, the warrior cracked. A silver of the girl who once hid behind her mother's cloak shone through.
Then it was gone.
"Again," she said, stepping into stance.
Kael groaned dramatically but obeyed. The sun rose higher. The blades kept clashing.
And in the silence between strikes, Zyra remembered—and promised herself once more:
It will never happen again.
‐‐‐‐‐‐
It was nighttime.
Moonlight filtered gently through the canopy outside, casting dancing shadows across Liora's room. The silence was thick, the kind that made every creak of the wooden floorboards seem louder, closer.
She tossed in bed, restless. Her breath grew uneven. Eyelids fluttered.
Then the dream came.
A figure cloaked in black fog.
Tall. Broad. Unmoving.
Silver eyes—sharp as blades, glowing like a cursed flame.
No words. No warning.
A dagger.
Straight through her chest.
Pain shot through her like wildfire. But the figure didn't flinch. It just watched her bleed.
Liora jolted awake, gasping hard, like someone had yanked her from underwater. Her hands flew to her chest, expecting blood, a wound—something.
But there was nothing.
Only her own heartbeat, wild and erratic beneath her palm.
She sat there for a second, dazed, chest rising and falling as her mind scrambled to catch up.
The dream had felt real. Too real. And worse—it hadn't been random.
Silver eyes.
Zyra's eyes.
But… why? Why now?
Liora had never dreamt of her before , not even during their battles or the tense moments across enemy lines. But after everything that happened between them in the Alphas room —after letting her in, even for just one night , she is having such a dream.
She rose from bed slowly, bare feet touching the cold floor as she made her way to the window. She didn't open it. Just stood there, staring out into the dark trees.
Her breath fogged up the glass.
Was it guilt?
Or something deeper?
The door creaked softly. Sera's voice was quiet behind her. "Liora? I heard you … Are you alright?"
Liora didn't turn. "Yeah," she said. "Just a dream."
Sera waited a bit. "Want to talk about it?"
Liora hesitated. "No."
She could still feel the phantom sting in her chest. Still see those silver eyes in her mind.
And somewhere deep inside her—beneath the fear, beneath the confusion—something stirred.
A strange tingle crept through her veins. Not pain. Not pleasure.
Just… a pull.
And she couldn't tell if it was warning her—or calling her closer.
‐‐‐‐‐‐‐-
Crimson eyes smirked in the shadows, watching through the veil of night.
"Ahh... she is awakening."
The voice was soft. Amused. Like someone who had waited far too long for this moment.