They chose stone and shadow for the meeting place.
No carved thrones.
No banners.
Just a ring of upright rocks older than any living Alpha and a canopy of twisted branches that let in slivers of light like blades.
The message was clear before a single word was spoken:
You are not the only weight here, Luna of Moonshadow.
The Council of Circles had been her idea, but she had never intended to *own* it.
That did not mean others were comfortable with how easily her name had become its shorthand.
"Are you ready?" Orion asked quietly as they approached the clearing, their footsteps muffled on the damp forest floor.
Luna adjusted the simple leather mantle over her shoulders.
No crown.
No extra finery.
Just her mark, faintly luminous on her brow, and the quiet thrum of the Moonstone and star-Seed in her chest.
"As ready as I can be," she said. "This will not be a trial. It will only feel like one."
Orion's mouth tightened.
"If they turn it into a trial," he muttered, "they may discover my opinions about that."
She brushed her fingers against his.
"I need you as my anchor," she said softly. "Not my sword."
He exhaled.
Nodded once.
"For now," he said.
They stepped through the last fringe of undergrowth and into the council ring.
Alphas were already gathered, seated on low stone benches arranged in a circle around a flat, central rock. No one sat on the central stone. For now, it served as a table where a map lay weighted by carved tokens.
Luna recognized most of the faces.
Rhia of Mistveil, snow-wolf calm, cloak drawn tight against the damp.
Soren of the coast, smelling of brine and old storms.
Harrow of the northern pines, grizzled and sharp-eyed.
Greenwood's elder, thin and gnarled as one of her own trees.
A handful of younger leaders—newly risen Alphas from packs that had once supported Selene and had, after her fall, sworn to do better.
A rogue representative, Scar, leaned against a stone just outside the circle, not quite ready to sit with them, not willing to stay away.
Luna took all this in with one sweep of her gaze.
She also noticed what was *not* present:
No Moonstone.
No sacred symbols.
No overt markers of the Moon's favor.
Deliberate.
We are *only* wolves here, the arrangement said. No gods. No queens.
Political tension curled in the air like smoke.
Luna felt it slide over her skin, raising the fine hairs on her arms.
She stepped forward anyway.
"Luna of Moonshadow," Greenwood's elder said, voice carrying just enough to fill the clearing. "You were called. You have come. Sit."
Not *welcome*.
Not *thank you*.
Sit.
Luna inclined her head.
She chose a bench that was not at a cardinal point—neither north, nor south, nor at the place where an old High Alpha would once have held court. It put her between Rhia and Soren, across from Harrow.
Orion remained a half-step behind and to her right, standing.
A few eyes flicked to him, noting his position, his choice to remain on his feet.
"Let us begin," Harrow said roughly. "We have all packs represented enough to call this Council binding, yes?"
Murmurs of assent.
"No one objected to my being here," Scar put in, voice dry. "That is new. I almost feel... respected. It is making me uncomfortable."
A few wolves snorted.
The tension eased a hair.
Luna did not smile.
She sensed the undercurrent too clearly.
"This is not a regular circle," Soren said, rolling a sea-smoothed stone between his fingers. "Our last gathering set the bones of a new Accord. Today, some of us have... concerns about how those bones are being wrapped in flesh."
His gaze slid to Luna.
Met hers.
Held.
"Say it plainly," she said. "We are not pups trading secrets."
Harrow's lip curled.
"Very well," he said. "Your influence is... swelling, Luna. In ways some of us find... concerning."
"Concerning how?" Orion asked, voice low.
Luna touched his wrist.
He fell silent.
Let them name it, she thought. Do not fight ghosts.
Greenwood's elder leaned on her staff, eyes sharp.
"Wolves talk," she said. "They tell stories. Lately, most of those stories have the same center. Moonshadow. Luna. The Moon's Heir. Queen of Elements. High Alpha in all but name."
A muscle in Luna's jaw tightened.
"I did not start those stories," she said.
"No," Rhia agreed. "You did not. You lived loudly enough that others did. And stories are power. In some ways, more than claws. That is what we are here about."
Soren set his stone down on the map.
"We fought Selene to break one chain," he said. "We are wary of forging another, even if it glitters prettier."
Scar shifted his weight.
"A world without a central tyrant is... disorienting," he said. "Some wolves want you to fill that Selene-shaped hole. Others are... afraid you already are. They see you in every decision the Council makes. Whether or not you were truly the one pushing it."
"That is not entirely inaccurate," Harrow added bluntly. "We feel your paw in many things. Treaties. Training exchanges. The very idea of this Council. Some say..." He hesitated.
"Say it," Luna urged.
He exhaled.
"Some say the Council is a leash," he said. "That you hold the end, wrapped in silk and good intentions. That by bringing us all to the same table, you make it easier to steer us. That your visions and the Moon's whispers give you advantages the rest of us do not have."
The word *leash* hung in the air.
Luna let it.
She could feel the old part of herself—the wounded runt, the scorned rogue—bristle.
You think I did all this just to bind you?
She breathed around it.
"I will not pretend I have no influence here," she said finally. "I do. I pushed for this Council. I argued for rogues in our circles. I carry the Moon's mark, and I do not hide it. That gives my words weight."
She looked around the ring.
Met each gaze in turn.
"I will also not pretend I am wholly comfortable with that," she went on. "You are not wrong to be wary. Power gathers. Stories stick. The question is not *whether* I have influence. It is what I do with it. And what you do in response."
Rhia's lips quirked.
"You mean, whether we roll over or bite," she said.
"Yes," Luna said simply. "You should bite. When I deserve it."
Surprise flickered across a few faces.
"Let us set aside motives for a moment," Soren cut in. "There are... practical matters. In the last three moons, three small packs on our eastern flank have... dissolved. Their Alphas abdicated. One entire clan asked to be folded into Moonshadow's protection. Another pledged themselves to Mistveil. The third scattered into rogue bands. The balance is shifting."
He tapped the map.
Tokens marked former pack territories with different colored stones.
Moonshadow's marker glowed faintly where the light caught it.
"We cannot ignore this," he said. "Where once there were many small centers, there are now fewer, larger ones. Moonshadow among them. This would be true even if Luna never opened her mouth again."
Greenwood's elder grunted.
"Power seeks stability," she said. "Wolves seek safety. The old hierarchy broke. It will re-form in new patterns whether we guide it or not. The question is: do we let fear of one new center stop us from using the strengths it offers?"
Harrow bristled.
"Strengths?" he scoffed. "Like the ability to call storms on our borders without warning? To sway my young wolves with stories of star-Seeds and goddess marks until they look more to Moonshadow for guidance than to their own Alpha?"
His voice rose.
"They whisper, in my own den," he snarled. "About how *Luna* would handle a dispute. *Luna* would not do this. *Luna* would not demand that. Do you know what it is to hear your authority measured against someone who is not even *present*?"
Luna flinched inward.
She *did* know.
She had been compared to Selene her whole life.
Found wanting.
"I do," she said quietly. "And I will tell them to stop when they come to my den saying, 'Harrow would be harsher. Harrow would not allow this.' It is unhelpful. Cruel, even, to wield my name against you. Just as it is cruel to wield another's against me."
Harrow blinked.
The anger in his scent shifted.
Less clean fury.
More... bruised pride.
"You cannot control what pups say," Rhia said. "Or what fearful elders mutter. But you can control how much of yourself you pour into every fire. Luna—you turn up. Everywhere. In person. In stories. In visions. You rush to borders. You answer calls. You soothe rogue feuds. You advise new Alphas. It has been... useful. It has also made you the first name on many tongues."
Luna winced.
"I am not trying to be everywhere," she protested, then heard the echo of Selene's justifications in her own mouth.
I am only doing what is needed.
She forced herself to stop.
To listen.
"Perhaps I have been... too quick to step in," she admitted slowly. "I remember what it was to cry for help and hear only silence. I vowed others would not feel that. But you are right. Helping can turn into hovering. Into... owning."
Scar spoke up, voice rough.
"There is another chain here," he said. "Not just yours. The Council itself. Some rogues—and some packs—fear that this circle is a noose. That decisions made here will bind those who did not sit at this fire. That today's agreements become tomorrow's chains."
Greenwood's elder nodded slowly.
"Hence this... talk," she said. "We asked you here, Luna, not to accuse alone. To ask: how do we keep this Council from becoming the very thing we fought? How do we make sure the chains we put on *ourselves* to keep from tearing each other apart do not become shackles for our children?"
The phrase *chains we put on ourselves* rang in Luna's ears.
Council of Chains, she thought.
Not because they bind me.
Because we choose what holds us.
And what does not.
She stood.
Orion shifted behind her, alert.
Luna stepped into the circle fully, moving to the central stone where the map lay.
She did not climb onto it.
She placed her hand flat on the cold rock.
"Then let us name them," she said. "Out loud. The chains we *want*—and those we do not."
Murmurs.
"What are you suggesting?" Soren asked, wary but intrigued.
Luna looked around the ring.
"When Selene ruled, most of our bonds were hidden," she said. "Unspoken expectations. Old oaths never written, only wielded when convenient. Fear thrived in that fog. Let us drag it into the open."
She tapped the stone.
"This Council *will* bind us," she said. "That is the point. To stop us from using each other as we please. To keep us from looking away when one of us rots. But the bindings must be clear. Limited. Agreed to. Not assumed. And they must sit on *all* of us. Including me."
Harrow folded his arms.
"Such as?" he challenged.
"Such as," Luna said, "a chain that says no pack may declare war on another without bringing cause to this Council. That is a bond I *want.* It limits us. Keeps blood from being spilled on the whim of one Alpha's pride."
Rhia nodded slowly.
"A useful chain," she agreed.
"Another," Luna said, "that says this Council cannot strip an Alpha of their title without a process, witnesses, and a say from their own pack. That protects you from me. From any of us deciding we do not like how another leads and toppling them from afar."
Harrow's eyes narrowed, but the line of his shoulders eased.
"A chain on *you,*" he said slowly.
"On all of us," Luna corrected. "Including me. Especially me."
Greenwood's elder's staff clicked softly as she shifted her weight.
"And what chains do we reject?" she asked.
Luna's gaze slid to Scar.
He lifted his chin.
"We reject any bond that says rogues must obey this Council's decrees without representation," Luna said. "No more laws made about wolves who are not in the room."
Scar grunted, surprised and begrudgingly pleased.
"We reject," Luna continued, voice gaining strength, "the chain that says the Moon's favor—whatever that means—gives one voice more vote than another here. My mark does not double my say. I get one voice. One vote. The same as Harrow. The same as Rhia. The same as Soren. The same as Greenwood's elder. No more. No less."
The clearing stilled.
"Is that *wise?*" Soren asked. "You *see* things we do not. You walk with gods. Should that not... weigh more?"
"Wisdom is not the same as authority," Luna said. "I will speak what I see. I will argue for what I believe. But if we give my visions the power to override this circle, we have simply crowned a new divine right. I will not wear that."
The Moon's faint amusement brushed her mind.
*You grow more annoying by the day,* She murmured.
"Good," Luna thought back. "Maybe You will stop trying to stack the deck."
*Never,* the Goddess replied cheerfully.
Harrow studied Luna.
Suspicion warred with a grudging respect.
"You would put chains on yourself willingly?" he asked.
Luna thought of the cracked Moon bleeding light in her dreams.
Of how little hold even a goddess had on the forces She had once bound.
Of how quickly power slipped its leashes when no one acknowledged they were needed.
"Yes," she said simply. "Because I have seen what I become without them."
She thought of the moment, in the heat of battle, when she had almost burned everything to ash because it was *easier* than choosing what to save.
She had chosen restraint.
She needed structures to help her keep choosing it.
Kerran, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward from the edge of the clearing.
"If I may," he said.
Greenwood's elder nodded.
"You speak as Luna's advisor," she said. "And as one of the scribes who will write whatever madness we agree to. Go on."
Kerran inclined his head.
"The Council of Chains," he said, borrowing Luna's unspoken phrase, "does not have to be a gallows. It can be... a net. To catch us when we swing too far. The danger with Selene was not that she had *no* chains. It was that hers all ran one way—downward. Nothing held her. No one could say no. We are here to build something that holds *all* directions."
Rhia's eyes gleamed.
"Spider," she murmured.
Kerran blinked.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
"You spin webs," she said. "Words instead of silk. Careful. Intricate. Easy to miss until you touch them. We will need that."
He flushed.
"Thank you," he said stiffly.
Scar snorted softly.
"This is all very noble," he said. "Chains we want, chains we do not. Words about circles. But out there—"
He jerked his thumb toward the world beyond the stones.
"—wolves are already moving," he said. "Rogue bands swelling. Some forming alliances. Some sharpening blades. That young fool Varrik tells his followers *he* should sit in whatever empty throne you have not yet burned. He says this Council is a trap. That you—" he flicked his chin at Luna "—are just another Selene wrapped in moonlight. What do your chains matter if he never steps into them?"
Luna met his gaze.
"They matter here," she said. "Not because they will catch everyone. Because they will catch *us.* When wolves like Varrik rise, the difference between a world that births another Selene and one that does not is how we—those with our paws already on levers—respond. Whether we grab more power in response, or hold to the limits we set."
Greenwood's elder's mouth pulled into a thin, wry smile.
"She is right," she said. "Annoyingly often."
Harrow grumbled.
"This is all very philosophical," he said.
Luna shook her head.
"It is practical," she said. "Chains are nothing more than habits, written down. If we do not name what we are willing to do—and *not* do—when fear rises, we will reach for whatever feels familiar. For some of us, that will be old Selene-shaped answers. Harsh. Simple. Devastating."
Silence settled, thick and thoughtful.
One by one, the Alphas spoke.
They named chains they would accept:
No secret prisons.
No borders closed so tight that starving wolves had no way to seek aid.
No forced bonds.
They named chains they would not:
No Council decree overriding the right of a pack to choose its own traditions, so long as they did not violate the shared accords.
No single pack taxed beyond reason to support another's mismanagement.
No expectation that Luna—or any one Alpha—would act as savior on demand.
Kerran scratched it all down.
Orion stood behind Luna, watching, listening, his own jaw tight.
She felt his pride through the bond.
And his fear.
He had seen, up close, how easily she could become the center of everything.
He believed in her refusal.
He also knew how seductive the role of necessary axis could be.
When the last voice fell quiet, Greenwood's elder tapped her staff three times.
"Then we are agreed," she said. "We build a Council bound by chains we choose, not ones inherited from fear. We watch for new ones that slip in unnoticed. We hold each other to this."
Harrow grunted.
"I will hold *you,*" he said, pointing at Luna. "If I see you pulling harder on these chains than you promise today, I will call you to this circle and name it."
"You had better," Luna said. "And I will do the same."
Rhia smiled crookedly.
"Equal opportunity annoyance," she said. "Good."
Soren rolled his stone between his fingers again, gaze thoughtful.
"We are still wary," he said to Luna. "Of your influence. Of your visions. Of how easily wolves look to you now. That will not vanish because of pretty words."
Luna nodded.
"Nor should it," she said. "Keep watching me. Just as I will watch you. Wariness is not always distrust. It can be... care. For what we are building."
Scar snorted.
"The lot of you are insufferable," he said. "But... less so than before."
He pushed off the stone.
"I will take word of this Council back to the rogues," he said. "Tell them the chains you bind yourselves with. They will laugh. Then they will watch. If you break them, they will not forget."
"Good," Luna said simply.
The council broke for the day.
Maps were rolled.
Stones cleared.
Alphas drifted into small clusters, talking quietly, eyes occasionally flicking to Luna.
Some nods.
Some narrowed looks.
Orion came up beside her as she stepped out of the ring.
"You walked into a den of wolves convinced you were going to collar them," he murmured. "And you offered them your own throat instead."
She huffed a breath.
"It was not *that* dramatic," she said.
He stopped her with a hand lightly on her arm.
In the filtered light under the trees, his gaze was very clear.
"It was exactly that," he said softly. "You know what you did in there, do you not?"
"Annoyed half of them?" she offered.
"Reminded them you are not a goddess to be worshipped or feared," he said. "A wolf. Chosen, yes. Powerful, yes. But willing to be held to your own rules. That is... rare."
She shrugged, suddenly tired.
"Selene taught me what happens when no one can say no," she said. "The Moon is teaching me what happens when even gods have limits. I would be a poor student to ignore that."
He studied her for a moment.
Then, quietly, "What chains do *you* put on yourself that you did not name?"
She knew what he was really asking.
What private lines she held.
The ones no council could enforce.
She considered.
"I will not use visions to manipulate," she said slowly. "Not even for ends I believe are good. I will not say, 'The Moon wills it,' when I mean, 'I want this.' I will not let fear of another Selene turn me into her inverted twin. I will not... carry more than is mine."
She met his eyes.
"And you?" she asked.
He smiled crookedly.
"I will not let love for you blind me to the harm you might do, if you ever start to slip," he said. "I will not be your *chain.* But I will tug when I must. I will not... worship you. Even when you call down lightning and catch stars."
Her chest ached with affection.
"And if I ask you to?" she murmured.
He huffed.
"In private, that is a different discussion," he muttered, making her snort despite herself.
The Council longhouse—a temporary structure thrown up between the stones as shelter—emptied around them.
Voices faded into the woods.
Above, the Moon rose pale against the day, a ghostly disk.
To most eyes, whole.
To Luna's, lined with hairline fractures.
The Council of Chains had taken a step.
Not toward perfect safety.
Toward chosen entanglement.
They were wary of her.
Good.
They trusted her enough to argue with her.
Better.
They had set limits on themselves.
Best.
In a world where Selene's empty throne still lingered like a phantom at the edge of every ambitious mind, that was no small thing.
As they walked away from the circle, Orion's hand brushed hers.
She took it.
The chains they wore—duty, love, promise, fear—felt, for the moment, like something they had chosen.
Not shackles.
Links.
Between wolves.
Between packs.
Between a cracked Moon and the hearts that still howled under its light.