The forest never truly slept.
Even after the confrontation at the ancient dais, Selene could feel it watching her—breathing, waiting. The whispers hadn’t stopped since that night. They echoed in her ears with every step she took through the palace, like secrets carried on invisible threads. Sometimes they came in the voice of the moon goddess. Other times, in a language no one alive should understand.
Back in Silverfang Palace, the grand halls felt too bright, too hollow. Marble floors gleamed with perfection, yet everything was coated with a sheen of unease. No one else knew what had happened in the forest. Aleron had made her promise to keep it hidden—for now.
“They’ll fear you,” he had said grimly, gripping her hands like a lifeline. “And if they fear you, they’ll try to control you. Or kill you.”
Selene wasn’t sure what terrified her more—the truth of what she might be or the knowledge that her mate believed she might be hunted for it.
She stood now at the window of her chambers, looking down on the training grounds where warriors sparred under the pale morning sun. Aleron was among them, shirtless and fierce, moving like a shadow through the clash of swords. His blade struck with brutal precision, each movement laced with tension. But Selene saw it—the way his muscles tensed even between strikes, the subtle twitch in his jaw. He hadn’t been sleeping either.
Was it guilt? Fear? Or the weight of a secret no king was ready to carry?
“Selene,” came a soft voice behind her.
She turned to find Lira, the palace healer and one of the few women who spoke to her without suspicion or jealousy. The older woman walked lightly, her emerald robes brushing the polished floor.
“You missed breakfast again,” Lira said, brows drawn together. “Are you alright?”
Selene offered a tired smile. “Just… restless.”
Lira studied her closely, then stepped forward and held out a small vial. “I thought this might help.”
Selene took it, recognizing the faint shimmer of crushed moonflower petals suspended in the liquid. It was used to calm nightmares—and quiet visions.
“Thank you,” Selene whispered.
But as she turned to set it down, Lira gently caught her wrist.
“You’re changing,” the healer said quietly. “Your aura... it’s different. Wilder. Ancient.”
Selene froze. “You feel it too?”
Lira nodded. “Whatever’s happening to you, child, it’s older than this kingdom. Older than the wars. Don’t ignore it.”
Before Selene could ask more, the doors to her chambers slammed open.
General Draven stormed in, flanked by two guards in heavy armor.
“Aleron’s presence is requested at the council chamber immediately,” he barked. Then his eyes landed on Selene. “And the girl comes too.”
Selene tensed. “What’s going on?”
“No time for questions,” Draven snapped.
Minutes later, she and Aleron stood in the center of the war chamber. Around them, the high council—composed of Alphas, elders, and generals—sat in a circle of judgment. Maps were spread across the war table, blood-spattered, and burned at the edges. A banner—once white—lay torn and soiled beside a curved blade.
Aleron’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”
“An ambush,” growled Elder Malric, his voice like gravel. “Our patrol near the Blackfang border was wiped out. Only one survivor.”
The doors opened again, and a limp, barely conscious soldier was dragged in. His chest was slashed, his uniform soaked in blood and ash. One of his arms hung useless at his side. He looked barely older than eighteen.
“They came from the shadows,” he croaked. “They weren’t wolves… not anymore.”
Selene’s blood ran cold. That voice. That phrase.
“Wraithborn,” she said softly, before she could stop herself.
Every head in the room turned to her.
General Draven narrowed his eyes. “How do you know that name?”
Selene’s mouth went dry. But Aleron stepped forward, shielding her with his body.
“She has visions,” he said firmly. “She saw this before it happened.”
The council erupted in murmurs, some skeptical, others curious.
“What else did you see?” Elder Malric asked, his tone less mocking now.
Selene hesitated. “A kingdom drowning in shadows. Creatures twisted by dark magic. Blood soaked into the earth. And… me.”
“You?” another councilman sneered. “What part do you play in this, girl?”
Selene raised her chin. “I don’t know. Yet. But I saw myself standing on a battlefield of fire. And I wasn’t alone.”
The room buzzed with tension. Some councilmen stood. A few reached for their swords.
“She’s a seer,” one hissed. “Or worse.”
“She’s the Moon’s Chosen,” Aleron snapped. “She saved my life.”
The arguing grew louder—until a deep, commanding voice silenced them.
“Enough.”
Alpha Magnus, Aleron’s father and the ruling Alpha King, stepped forward. His dark robes swept the ground as he walked, eyes like cold steel fixed on Selene.
“You claim visions,” he said. “You speak of the Wraithborn, a threat we haven’t heard of in centuries. Then tell me, girl… what do you see coming?”
Selene met his gaze. Her heart thundered in her chest, but she refused to look away.
“Death,” she said softly. “Unless we stop pretending that our enemies still bleed like us.”
A heavy silence blanketed the chamber.
And then, without warning, Alpha Magnus did something no one expected—he dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
“To the one the moon marks,” he said.
“The kingdoms may soon rise or fall at your feet.”
The chamber exploded in chaos.
