The rain had stopped by morning, but the world still smelled of blood.
From the balcony of the citadel, Aria watched the valley below — blackened trees, broken towers, and the faint glow of funeral pyres smoldering against the gray horizon. The wind carried the scent of smoke and burnt iron, and though her wounds had closed, she still felt every ghost of the battle beneath her skin.
They had survived the first strike. But survival wasn't victory.
The pack moved quietly below her, tending to the wounded, rebuilding defenses. Every face she saw was marked — by exhaustion, grief, or the hollow awareness that this was only the beginning.
When the door behind her opened, she didn't need to turn to know who it was. Damian's presence filled the air before he spoke, steady and magnetic.
"You should still be resting," he said softly.
Aria's fingers tightened around the railing. "Resting won't bring them back."
"No," he said, stepping beside her. "But it'll keep you alive long enough to avenge them."
She glanced at him then — at the dark circles beneath his eyes, the blood still crusted along the edge of his armor. He hadn't slept either.
"You're one to talk," she murmured.
He smirked faintly. "Fair point."
For a long moment, they simply stood there, watching the valley breathe beneath a bruised sky. The silence between them wasn't cold; it was heavy with understanding — a kind of shared ache that needed no words.
When Aria finally spoke, her voice was low. "He called me Moonborn."
Damian's head turned sharply. "Kieran?"
She nodded. "He said it like… it meant something. More than a title."
"It does," Damian said, his tone shifting, guarded now. "Or it did, once."
Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, as though weighing how much truth she could bear. "Moonborn were said to be the first children of the Moon Goddess herself — beings who carried not just her blessing, but her will. They were leaders, judges… destroyers. But they vanished centuries ago."
"Vanished," she echoed bitterly. "Or were hunted."
His gaze darkened. "Both."
The wind howled softly through the mountains, and the air between them thickened. The revelation burned through her chest — not as pride, but as fear. If what Kieran said was true, she wasn't just a weapon in this war. She might be the reason it started.
"I need answers," she said finally. "Real ones. From someone who knows what I am."
"Then you'll get them," Damian replied. "Tonight, we summon the Alphas."
Her head snapped up. "All of them?"
He nodded. "Every surviving pack within our borders. We can't face what's coming alone."
Aria exhaled slowly, the weight of leadership pressing down on her like iron. The thought of standing before them — wolves who had lived twice her years, leaders hardened by blood and politics — made her pulse tighten.
"They won't listen to me," she murmured.
"They will," Damian said, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "Because I will stand beside you."
She looked up at him then, and for a heartbeat, the war fell away. All she saw was the man who had fought through hell to reach her, who carried his strength like a weapon and his loyalty like a vow.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why risk everything for me?"
His hand found hers, rough and warm. "Because, Aria… I already did."
---
By dusk, the citadel was alive again — not with battle, but with whispers. The great hall glowed with torchlight, long shadows stretching across ancient stone. Banners of silver and black hung from the walls, symbols of packs that had not stood together in decades.
The Alphas arrived one by one — fierce, proud, suspicious. Aria recognized few of them, but their scents filled the air: frost, pine, earth, steel. They were predators, every one of them, and she could feel their eyes like blades when she entered the hall.
Damian stood at her right, regal and unflinching. When he spoke, his voice carried like thunder.
"The enemy moves against us all," he said. "Witches bound to Kieran's will. Wolves twisted by dark magic. If we stand divided, we will fall divided."
An older Alpha — massive, gray-furred, with scars carved deep across his face — stepped forward. "And why should we trust you, Black Moon?" he snarled. "Your bloodline started this war."
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
Aria's pulse pounded, but she lifted her chin. "My bloodline might have started it," she said evenly. "But I'll be the one to end it."
The elder sneered. "You? A half-trained wolf with a cursed mark?"
Before Damian could intervene, the air around Aria shimmered — faint, silvery, alive. The mark on her neck burned with light, pulsing to the rhythm of her heartbeat. The elder stumbled back, his sneer fading.
"I didn't ask for this power," she said, her voice quiet but unshakable. "But I won't waste it hiding behind fear. If you won't fight beside me, then stay out of my way."
The hall fell silent. Every eye was on her now — not with contempt, but with wary respect. Damian's gaze found hers, pride flickering there like firelight.
"Then it's settled," he said, his tone final. "From this night on, we stand as one. The Alliance of the Moon."
The wolves howled their assent, low and fierce. The sound reverberated through stone and bone, a promise etched into the heart of the citadel.
---
Later, when the hall had emptied and the night grew quiet, Aria lingered by the great fire. The flames painted her skin in shades of gold and crimson. Her body was weary, but her mind refused to rest.
Damian approached silently, setting a goblet of wine beside her. "You handled them better than I expected," he said.
She smirked faintly. "Better than you expected, or better than you hoped?"
He chuckled. "Both."
For a while, they sat without speaking. The silence between them was different now — not heavy, not haunted, but full of unspoken things.
"You know," she said after a moment, "every time I think I understand what's happening, the world changes again."
"That's war," Damian said softly. "And destiny."
"I don't believe in destiny."
He turned toward her then, his expression unreadable. "You should. Because whether you believe in it or not, it believes in you."
The fire cracked, sending sparks spiraling into the air. Aria looked into the flames and saw her own reflection there — tired, scarred, but unbroken. A flicker of light in the dark.
"I'll make them pay," she whispered. "Every one of them."
Damian's gaze softened. "You will. But not alone."
When she looked at him again, the distance between them felt almost fragile — like something that could break or bloom, depending on the next breath.
And in that breath, the door opened.
A scout stumbled in, his face pale, his clothes soaked with rain. "Alpha," he gasped, bowing low. "They've found it."
"Found what?" Damian demanded.
"The relic," the scout said, eyes wide with terror. "The Moonstone. Kieran has it."
The goblet slipped from Aria's hand, shattering against the floor.
The storm, it seemed, had only been waiting.
---