Prologue: The Last Luna of Ashmoore

N Y X A R A

The first time I died, it was under a blood moon. The sky burned red above Ashmoore, thick with smoke and fire. The ground trembled beneath my feet as wolves and rogues tore into each other across the field.

 I tasted blood in the air and felt the bond burning beneath my skin—sharp, hot, and relentless, as if something inside me already knew how this would end.

Kaelor was on one knee near the broken gate. Blood ran from his shoulder, soaking into the dirt beneath him. Enemies closed in from every side, yet his eyes were fixed on me instead of the blades moving through the dark.

He should have been watching the enemy. Instead, he was watching me. The mark over my heart pulsed once, hard enough to steal the breath from my lungs, and every wolf on the battlefield felt it at the same time.

“Nyxara,” Kaelor called.

His voice was rough—not the command of an Alpha giving orders, but the voice of a mate who knew he was about to lose something he could not survive without. 

The bond carried his pain straight into my body. Not just the pain from his wounds, but something deeper— Fear.

It wrapped around my ribs like a hand tightening slowly. I should have run to him. I should have dragged him behind the wall and forced him to live. 

Instead, I turned toward the figure standing beyond the firelight. Tall. Still. Watching us as if the battle had already been decided.

“You cannot win,” it said.

The voice carried easily across the battlefield. I stepped forward anyway. My legs felt heavy, and the mark over my heart burned so fiercely I thought it might tear through my skin.

“I am not here to win,” I said.

I was here to choose. Behind me, Kaelor tried to stand. The bond flared sharply when he failed. The mark over my heart spread in thin lines of light, moving across my skin and down my arms. 

The glow cut through the smoke, bright enough that every wolf nearby lowered their gaze. The ground cracked beneath my feet. Not from force, but from something older moving through it—something that answered only to blood and vow.

Through the bond, I felt the pack. Their fear. Their hope. Their trust. It pressed into me all at once, heavy enough that it would have been easier to break beneath it than to carry it. 

This was never what the Guild trained me for. They taught me how to kill without hesitation. How to move without emotion. They never taught me how to stand still while hundreds of lives leaned toward me and waited. 

The figure in the darkness moved forward with slow confidence, stepping over fallen bodies as if they were nothing more than broken branches. Behind me, Kaelor dragged himself to his feet. The bond reacted instantly.

“Nyxara,” he said again.

This time there was anger in his voice. Not anger at me, but at fate… at the sky… at whatever had decided this would be the price. 

I did not turn around. If I looked at him now, I would choose him. And if I chose him, the pack would fall.

The mark over my heart burned brighter. The light shifted from gold to something almost white, sharp enough that the enemy hesitated for the first time.  

Behind me, the wolves straightened. Some of them began to howl. It was not fear. It was an answer.  The power inside me rose higher than it ever had before. It pressed against bone and blood, filling every empty space that once held doubt.

 For a moment, I understood how easy it would be to let it consume me. To stop being a woman and become nothing but power. Across the battlefield, the figure smiled.

“You are not strong enough to carry it,” it said.

I stepped forward. The ground split beneath us as our power collided. The air bent inward, and the flames around us collapsed into drifting ash. 

I felt the bond between me and Kaelor stretch too thin. That was the first warning. The second was the cold. The heat vanished from my chest in an instant. The light shattered. And then it was too late. 

I did not see the blade until it was already inside me. There was no grand strike. No roar. Only the sudden weight of steel sliding through flesh and bone, exactly where the mark burned brightest.

The Luna mark broke as the blade pierced it. It was not a sound anyone could hear, but something you felt through the bond—like ice cracking beneath unbearable pressure. 

Kaelor’s pain tore through me so violently I almost missed my own. His shout spread across the battlefield, raw and broken, and every wolf collapsed where they stood.

The light around my body shattered. The power drained from me, sinking into the earth, into the sky, into nothing. I looked down. The blade had gone straight through the mark. 

The figure holding it leaned closer, close enough that I could finally see its eyes clearly. Calm. Certain. Confident that this was always how it would end.

“You were never meant to survive this,” it said.

Maybe that was true. The bond between Kaelor and me broke. There was no slow fading. No gentle unraveling. One moment I felt him. The next there was only silence. 

He was still alive. Still breathing somewhere behind me. But the line between us was gone. And that hurt more than the blade. My knees gave out.

 Above us, the red sky darkened as if the moon itself had turned away. Wolves howled across the battlefield, their connection to me fading like a dying flame.

 The blade slid free from my chest. Warm blood spilled down my skin and over my hands. I pressed my palm against the wound without thinking, as if pressure alone could force fate to change its mind. Across the ruined ground, Kaelor dragged himself toward me, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

“Nyxara,” he kept saying.

My name broke in his voice every time. I met his eyes one last time. There was fear there. Love. And a promise that he would never let me go. 

The Guild once told me I was built to endure anything—pain, isolation, obedience. They were wrong about one thing. They never trained me to lose him.

As the darkness closed in and the last light of the mark faded from my skin, I understood the choice I had made long before this night began. I chose him. I chose this pack. I chose to stand. 

If this was the price, it was mine to pay. The moon went silent. And I fell into the dark.

 But death was not the end of my story.