Chapter 5: The First Claim

Morning broke with a thin veil of mist clinging to the forest floor.

Lunaria woke slowly, tension coiled tight in her body. For a heartbeat, she forgot where she was—then the rough stone beneath her and the scent of damp earth brought everything rushing back.

The cave.

Rogue land.

Freedom bought with pain.

She pushed herself upright, wincing as stiffness protested through her limbs. Her chest still ached, but it was different now—less like a bleeding wound, more like a scar still healing. When she pressed her palm over her heart, warmth met her touch, steady and reassuring.

We are not breaking anymore, her wolf said quietly.

Lunaria exhaled. “No. We’re not.”

She stepped outside the cave cautiously. Sunlight filtered through the trees, scattering gold across the forest floor. The land felt… alert. Not hostile, not welcoming—but aware of her presence.

As if it was waiting to see what she would do.

Hunger twisted her stomach again, more urgent than before. Power or not, she still needed food.

Lunaria scanned the ground, searching for tracks the way she’d seen hunters do. To her surprise, the signs came easily—hoof prints, broken twigs, flattened grass. Her senses felt sharper, clearer.

“I can do this,” she murmured.

She followed the trail carefully, heart racing, until she spotted a small deer grazing in a clearing. It lifted its head suddenly, ears twitching.

Lunaria froze.

Her wolf stirred. Ask.

“Ask?” Lunaria whispered.

Before she could question it, an instinct deeper than thought guided her. She lowered her gaze, breathing slowly, and reached inward—not with force, but with intent.

The moonlight within her pulsed softly.

The deer stilled.

It didn’t run.

Lunaria’s breath caught. She stepped forward slowly, reverently, and with a whispered apology, ended its life quickly and cleanly.

When it was done, she stood shaking—not from fear, but from the gravity of what she’d just done.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the forest.

The wind stirred the leaves in response.

By midday, the scent of blood had changed.

Lunaria felt it before she saw it—a pressure in the air, like invisible lines tightening around her. Her wolf bristled.

Wolves, she warned.

Not rogues this time.

Pack wolves.

Lunaria stiffened, instinctively masking her presence. She moved silently toward the shadows, her heart pounding. Had Nightfang sent scouts after her?

She peered through the trees and saw three wolves in human form approaching the clearing. Their scents were unfamiliar—leaner, sharper, edged with hunger but disciplined.

A small pack.

Not Nightfang.

Relief warred with caution.

“Smells like Moonfire,” one of them muttered.

Moonfire?

Lunaria’s breath hitched.

Another frowned. “And blood. Fresh.”

The third stopped abruptly. “We’re not alone.”

Lunaria stepped out before fear could make the decision for her.

“I claimed this land,” she said calmly.

All three snapped toward her.

For a long moment, no one moved.

The tallest of the three—a woman with dark braids and calculating eyes—studied Lunaria carefully. “You’re not a rogue,” she said slowly. “And you don’t smell like a pack.”

“I’m neither,” Lunaria replied. “Not anymore.”

The woman’s gaze sharpened. “Who are you?”

Lunaria hesitated—then lifted her chin. “Lunaria Vale.”

The name seemed to ripple through the air.

One of the men sucked in a breath. “Vale… as in the forgotten bloodline?”

The woman shot him a warning look, but it was too late.

Lunaria’s heart skipped. “What do you know about that name?”

The woman regarded her with new caution—and something close to respect. She dropped her head slightly.

“I am Nyra Blackroot, Alpha of the Blackroot Pack,” she said. “And if you truly carry Moonfire, then you stand on sacred ground.”

Lunaria’s pulse roared in her ears.

“I don’t want a pack,” she said carefully. “I want peace.”

Nyra gave a humorless smile. “Peace doesn’t exist in rogue land. Only power and territory.”

She stepped forward, then stopped—eyes flicking to the faint silver glow under Lunaria’s skin.

“But you already understand that,” Nyra added.

The two Alphas locked gazes—one born to power, the other forged by rejection.

“I will not submit,” Lunaria said softly.

Nyra nodded. “Good. Neither would I.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Nyra surprised her.

“I propose a boundary pact,” Nyra said. “You hold this territory. We’ll defend it as neutral ground. In return, you owe us nothing—except truth.”

Lunaria considered it. She felt the forest listening.

“What truth?” she asked.

Nyra’s eyes were sharp. “What you are.”

Lunaria inhaled slowly.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted.

Nyra studied her a moment longer, then inclined her head. “Then find out. The world will notice soon.”

As the Blackroot wolves turned to leave, Nyra paused. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

Nyra’s gaze hardened. “The Alpha who rejected you?”

Lunaria’s jaw tightened. “He is nothing to me.”

Nyra gave a low, knowing hum. “He will feel this claim. Every Alpha does.”

Lunaria looked down at the soil beneath her feet, at the land that had answered her call.

“I hope he does,” she said quietly.

---

That night, Lunaria stood at the edge of the clearing and pressed her palm to the ground.

“I claim this land,” she whispered—not as a plea, but as a statement. “By moon and blood. By survival and will.”

Silver light spread beneath her hand, racing through the earth like veins.

Far away, Alpha Kael Nightfang doubled over as a violent surge ripped through his chest.

His wolf howled in fury and fear.

Something had been claimed.

Something that no longer belonged to him.

And for the first time, Kael realized the truth he had refused to face:

Lunaria Vale was no longer just a rejected omega.

She was becoming a force the world would have to answer to.