By Jack Dense
The mountain trembled before dawn.
Rosa stood at the edge of the Moonkeep's highest terrace, the night air sharp with the scent of rain and iron. Below, the forest rippled with movement—an ocean of shadows gathering under a blood-red moon.
Every sound felt magnified: the low growl of wolves taking formation, the whisper of blades being drawn, the pulse of her own heart racing toward something inevitable.
Behind her, Marshal's voice cut through the silence. "You should be below, in the warded chamber. The front lines are no place for you."
She turned to him, her silver-flecked eyes glinting in the dim light. "You can't keep me locked away while they fight for me."
Marshal's jaw tensed. "This isn't a fight for you, Rosa. It's a war to keep the world standing. You are its heart, and if that heart stops, everything ends."
The words should have frightened her, but instead, they settled like fire in her chest. "Then let me be more than a heartbeat you have to protect. Let me fight."
Before he could respond, a horn echoed from below—the warning call. The first wave was coming. Marshal's head snapped toward the sound, his body shifting into command.
The transformation was breathtaking; his voice deepened, his presence darkened, and every wolf within hearing range moved as if pulled by the gravity of his will.
"Positions!" he ordered. "Shields to the east wall. Shadow-trackers, with me."
The pack scattered with trained precision. Rosa followed him down the spiral steps into the main courtyard, the ground already trembling under the weight of something vast approaching. The silver-haired elder met them, his face grim. "They are not wolves," he said. "The shadows take form, but they carry no scent. They are born of Amon's realm."
Rosa's breath caught. "Then he's here."
As if summoned by her words, the air changed. A cold wind swept through the courtyard, snuffing out torches and plunging them into eerie half-light.
A voice rolled through the darkness—smooth, cruel, and endlessly familiar. "My chosen calls me by name."
Amon Blackwell stepped from the shadows as if he had always belonged to them. His eyes burned crimson, and his smile was a blade. The ground beneath him blackened with each step, shadow bleeding like smoke.
Marshal moved before Rosa in an instant, his power radiating through the air. "You will not touch her."
Amon laughed softly. "Still pretending she belongs to you? Poor Alpha, bound by instinct to something divine. Tell me, Rosa—has he told you what the choosing truly means?"
"Don't listen," Marshal warned, his voice rough.
Amon tilted his head, his gaze sliding to Rosa with deliberate slowness. "She feels it already—the pull between power and love. Only one will survive the full moon."
Rosa's heart stuttered. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Amon's tone turned almost tender. "The Moonblood has always chosen power. It is why the world still turns, why the Shadow Realm waits for its door to reopen."
Marshal growled, shifting partially, his eyes glowing gold. "Enough."
The first attack came like a scream from the dark. Shadow creatures poured from the treeline—figures of smoke and bone, their eyes empty voids. The courtyard erupted into chaos as the pack met them in a collision of claws and teeth and fury.
Marshal launched himself into the fray, his hybrid form tearing through the creatures with lethal precision. Rosa tried to stay behind him, but the surge of power inside her made it impossible to remain still. Her veins burned, her pulse matching the moon's rhythm above.
One of the shadow beasts broke through the line, lunging straight for her. Marshal turned too late.
"Rosa!"
Instinct overruled fear. Her hand shot up, light blazing from her palm. The beast disintegrated midair, its form bursting into silver mist. But the burst didn't stop there—it tore through the courtyard, shaking the walls and throwing wolves and shadows alike off balance.
Marshal stumbled toward her, eyes wide with disbelief. "You can't control it yet. You'll burn yourself out."
"I can't stop it!" she cried, clutching her chest. The light pulsed stronger, brighter, as if something ancient had woken completely.
And then Amon was in front of her, moving faster than thought. His hand brushed her cheek, cold as death. "Let it rise, little Moonblood. You were made for me."
Marshal's roar split the air. He struck Amon hard, but the Shadow King caught his arm mid-swing, their power colliding in a shockwave that shattered stone. Rosa screamed as both were thrown apart, the world spinning in blinding light.
When her vision cleared, she saw Amon raise a blade of shadow aimed for Marshal's heart. Without thinking, Rosa moved.
She stepped between them.
The blade struck her chest, searing through flesh and light. For an instant, everything froze—the moon, the air, the sound. Then, her body erupted in silver fire.
Amon staggered back, his hand smoking. "Impossible…"
Rosa's eyes opened, glowing pure silver. Her voice, when she spoke, was layered with something not entirely human. "You cannot have what belongs to the light."
The ground split beneath her. Energy spiraled outward, silver and blue, tearing through the shadow creatures like a rising tide. Amon's body dissolved into smoke, his laughter echoing as he faded.
"This is not the end, Moonblood. The choosing has only begun."
The blast ended as suddenly as it began. The courtyard lay in ruins, the air heavy with silence. Rosa swayed, her vision dimming. Marshal caught her before she fell, his arms wrapping around her like the only safe place left in the world.
"Stay with me," he murmured, his voice breaking. "You don't get to leave me."
Her breath came in shallow gasps, her hand trembling against his chest. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice raw. "You saved us. You saved me."
Above them, the sky rippled with unnatural light. Amon's voice rolled through the clouds, deep and taunting, echoing for miles.
"The Moonblood has awakened. The choosing begins at the next full moon. And she will be mine."
The wind died. The world went still.
Rosa's lashes fluttered as she looked up at Marshal. Her voice was a broken whisper. "Marshal… I'm scared I won't choose you."
His eyes closed, his hand tightening around hers as the moon bled silver light across her face.
In the silence that followed, the mountain itself seemed to hold its breath.
Because somewhere deep inside the wounded earth, a heartbeat answered, hersand it did not belong to Marshal.