Aria didn't remember falling.
One moment she was running through the forest, breath ragged and pain burning behind her ribs. The next… darkness.
And in that darkness, a warmth. Not comforting, but wild electric, alive. It pressed into her skin, stirred something inside her chest.
Then, light.
A soft golden glow behind her eyelids.
She blinked.
Slowly, her vision cleared. She was no longer in the snow, no longer alone in the forest. She was lying on a smooth stone altar, surrounded by massive, ancient trees with silver bark and leaves that shimmered like stars. The air vibrated with something powerful.
Standing before her was a figure.
It looked human, but Aria knew instantly — it wasn't.
The being's eyes were gold. Not yellow, not amber, but pure, molten gold — glowing and deep, like suns trapped inside glass. A faint aura danced around them like firelight, humming with raw, ancient power.
They were beautiful. Terrifying. Impossible.
"Aria," the voice spoke. It didn't echo, but it didn't need to. It settled inside her bones, in her head, in her soul. "Former Luna of the Blood Moon Pack, Betrayed, Banished."
Aria sat up slowly, still weak. Her throat was dry. "Who… are you?"
The figure didn't move. Their golden eyes stared into her with something like pity… or maybe pride.
"You were never one of them," it said softly. "You're one of us."
Her heart jumped.
"What do you mean…? I'm not one of them?"
There was a pause. The wind stilled. The golden figure stepped closer, and their aura made the stone beneath Aria's fingers tremble.
"There is more to you than you were ever told," the voice said. "And it's time you learned the truth."
The sudden gravity of those words struck her. For the first time since the banishment, Aria felt the weight of possibility, of destiny bending toward her. She pressed her palms into the cold stone as if to ground herself.
The figure raised one hand, and suddenly, the space around them shimmered like heat waves. Then, images appeared — floating like memories in the air.
A woman with silver hair and glowing violet eyes.
Aria gasped. She didn't know her, but… she did. Something deep inside recognized her. Her face, her scent, her warmth.
"That was your mother," the voice said.
Aria's breath hitched. "My…?"
"She was never part of the Blood Moon Pack," the being continued. "She was part of us. The Blood of the Rising Flames."
That name —The Blood of the Rising Flames—echoed through Aria like a beacon. Memories she never lived flickered at the edge of her consciousness: lullabies in a tone she couldn't place, a soft hand brushing her hair as a child, warmth against the night chill.
"Your father was Blood Moon. They should've never met, but they did. They fell in love. And they had you."
The images changed. She saw her mother and father standing together, surrounded by wolves snarling in rage. A young Alpha—Xavier's father, maybe, stood in front, pointing at her mother.
"When the Blood Moon Pack discovered the truth, they murdered your mother. Burned her alive. They banished your father, stripped his name, and kept you as one of their own."
Aria couldn't speak. Her throat closed.
Why… why had no one ever told her?
Why had her whole life been built on lies?
"They raised you under their roof, hoping your blood would be silenced. That "The Blood of The Rising Flames" would never awaken within you. But it was always there—sleeping. Waiting."
The voice turned quiet. "Until they betrayed you. Until they forced you to become what they feared."
Aria felt her heart pounding. "The prophecy… it was a lie?"
The figure nodded.
"Yes. It was created by the new Luna. She learned about your mother's bloodline. She knew what you'd become if you were allowed to stay. So she formed a prophecy and made them all believe it."
She remembered the Elder's voice, Xavier's empty eyes, the hatred in the eyes of her pack.
And all of it… based on a lie.
She clenched her fists. Her nails pierced into her palm.
"And Xavier?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Did he know?"
The figure looked at her, something almost sad in their golden gaze.
"No. He believed in the prophecy. He believed you were cursed. But he never knew the truth. Not the full truth."
---
Silence fell again.
Aria stood slowly. Her legs shook, but not from fear. From the power she could now feel curling beneath her skin like smoke. Heat pulsed in her chest—warm, ancient, waiting to be unleashed.
Her mind raced with every memory and emotion her mother's story stirred: pride at her heritage, grief for her loss, anger at the betrayal of everyone she'd ever trusted.
Above, the moonlight filtered through the silver leaves, painting her in shifting patterns of light and shadow. It felt as if the forest itself recognized her now, bowing to The Blood of the Rising Flames had flowed through her.
She took a step forward. The trees seemed to lean closer, their branches whispering secrets in the night breeze.
"Your powers," the figure said softly, "are not mere werewolf gifts. You carry the first spark of creation, the ember that birthed life when the world was young."
Aria stopped. Creation? Ember? She swallowed hard.
"What does that mean?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.
"It means that within you lies the power to remake—" the figure paused, choosing words with care, "—to heal the land, to bind broken souls, and to destroy mountains if you so choose."
A thrill of fear mixed with longing ran through her veins. She raised her hands before her, palms glowing faintly with a trembling light. Sparks flickered along her fingertips, dancing like fireflies.
She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly. Every inhale drew in the moon's silver glow; every exhale sent shivers through her veins.
When she opened them, the gold in her vision had intensified, and she could see veins of living light in the trees, pulsing in time with her own heartbeat.
A new certainty settled in her chest: she was not the victim here. She was something else entirely.
As if to prove the truth of their words, the figure stepped back and extended both hands. Two coiling ribbons of golden flame arced from their palms, swirling around Aria like twin serpents before dissolving into sparks that rained down harmlessly at her feet.
Her breath hitched. They were safe flames—alive, yet respectful. They tested her, acknowledging her blood.
Aria squared her shoulders. "Teach me," she said, voice steady now, brimming with purpose.
The figure inclined their head. "Very well. But first, you must remember the name you were given at birth."
Aria paused. Given at birth? She shook her head.
The figure smiled, a fleeting curve of molten light. "You were named 'Velaryssa'—meaning "Blood of Flames" You will reclaim it now."
Velaryssa. The name felt foreign and yet irreplaceably hers.
Slowly, she murmured, "Velaryssa."
The word settled in the air, solid and radiant.
"Embrace it," the figure whispered. "For in your true name lies your true power."
She closed her eyes and let the name fill her, every whisper trickling into her bones, awakening muscle memory and ancient instinct. When she opened them again, she stood taller, fiercer, reborn.
---
A distant rumble rolled through the forest. The golden figure's expression darkened.
"Your enemies are stirring," they warned. "The Blood Moon Pack still hunts you. And others have learned of " The Blood of the Rising Flames" return. They will come—some seeking vengeance, some seeking alliance. Some… seeking to claim your power as their own."
Aria's heart pounded. She looked around at the silver trees, the stone altar, the glowing dusk.
Her destiny lay before her, fraught with danger and betrayal, but also possibility.
"Then let them come," she said softly, with quiet confidence.
The figure nodded, and the golden aura around t
hem flared once, like a beacon.
And beneath the Blood Moon's pale light, 'Velaryssa' stood reborn, ready to reshape her fate—and the world—by her own hands.