Hollow Moon

Killian

The forest spoke to me long before I could speak back. I was born into darkness, into the shadow of a man who believed fear was stronger than love and obedience more sacred than truth. My father ruled the Darkthorn Pack with an iron fist and silver blade, and I was supposed to be his heir.

But I was never meant to inherit his cruelty.

I still remember the night I killed him.

The storm had howled so loud it drowned out his last breath. The others had gathered in the clearing to see the blood, to hear the truth—that I’d challenged him and won. That I was no longer his son. That I was something else now. Something worse.

They rejected me before the body turned cold.

Branded me.

Cursed me.

Exiled me to the Shadow Forest—the place where wolves went to die or go mad. But I didn’t die. And I didn’t go mad. Not really.

The forest accepted me.

I wandered for days with nothing but my rage and my wolf. I slept in the roots of trees and drank from rivers that whispered names of dead things. Spirits lingered in the fog, old gods who didn’t need worship—only strength. They watched me break and rebuild, watched me bleed and howl.

And when I’d proven I wasn’t afraid of them, they gave me a name: Hollow Moon.

Not because I’d lost something.

But because I was the loss. The hunger. The void.

Now, I protect the forgotten. The rejected. The rogues. Not all of them live long enough to thank me. But those who do? They become mine. My pack of the damned. We don’t wear crests. We don’t build kingdoms. We survive. And that is power enough.

And now, there’s her.

Selene.

She’s fire wrapped in silk and sorrow. I knew who she was the moment I saw her collapse on the forest floor. Her scent carried the weight of a bond shattered, her eyes the storm of someone who lost everything and still refused to bow.

She reminds me too much of myself.

But she’s different.

Where I was cast out, she was discarded. Where I chose the blade, she still holds on to the hope of claws. She’s untrained, but beneath her grief, there’s rage.

Rage I can work with.

Last night, when she spoke of her past—of that Alpha boy who rejected her—I could feel her power, raw and trembling beneath her skin. She doesn’t know what she is yet. But I do.

She’s not broken.

She’s waking up.

And I’ll be the one to show her how.

If I were a better man, I’d leave her alone. Let her grieve, heal, return to whatever was left of her old life. But I’m not a good man. I’m the kind who carves strength out of suffering, who shapes warriors from shattered things.

And Selene was made for war.

The fire’s still burning in the cave, casting her shadow across the wall. She doesn’t see how it moves like it’s alive. She doesn’t notice how the spirits linger when she speaks. But I see it.

She’s already more than they ever let her be.

She’ll be more than Luna.

She’ll be legend.

But first, I’ll break her down and build her up again. And if somewhere along the way, I touch her skin and forget where I end and she begins—well, even the Hollow Moon is allowed to want something, once.

Right?

Because the truth is, I saw it in her eyes even before she spoke. The need to rise. To reclaim. To destroy everything that once held her captive. That kind of hunger is divine.

And gods don’t kneel.

I stepped out of the cave that morning and shifted into my wolf. Midnight black, just like the forest made me. My paws sank into soft earth, and I let the wild guide me. I hunted for the silence that taught me, for the spirits that carved me, for the strength I would give her.

Later, when I returned, she was standing just outside the cave, barefoot and wary, watching the treeline like it owed her an answer. Her eyes found mine before my body shifted back, and in them, I didn’t see fear.

I saw defiance.

Good.

She’ll need it.

"You ready to bleed for who you’re meant to become?" I asked, voice low, rough like gravel beneath moonlight.

She didn’t flinch. She nodded.

And right then, I knew—Selene wasn’t here to be saved.

She was here to rise.

---