Moonlit Secrets의 모든 챕터: 챕터 121 - 챕터 130

The mountaintop was silent except for the wind, a thin, haunting cry that seemed to rise from the bones of the earth itself. All day, a hush had settled over the valley below—a hush of expectation, fear, and the brittle hope that had become the only shield left to the pack. They had drawn the unity circle the night before, bound bloodlines with magic and will, and for a heartbeat, it had felt enough.But as dusk bled into night, the sky was painted in colors no artist’s brush could conjure. A shivering red, deep and furious, spread from the horizon until even the stars seemed to hide. The blood eclipse, foretold by Watchers and whispered in nightmares, had begun.Aria stood on the highest ledge with Xander, their daughter clutched between them, her small hand trembling in Aria’s own. The three moons—white, gold, and ghostly blue—hung for a breath together, then faded behind a tidal wave of crimson. The air grew sharp with the tang of ozone and old, wild magic. Each breath was like dri

By dawn, the mountaintop was still. But peace, like prophecy, was never permanent.Aria woke slowly, her back aching from the stone, her arms wrapped tightly around her daughter. Xander sat beside them, bleary-eyed, his hand resting over hers. The temple’s broken roof had given them a view of the red-hued sky, now softening to bruised purple as the eclipse waned.But the light that returned felt hollow.The air itself carried a weight. It was not just magic—it was history unearthed.Below, the valley remained intact, the unity circle still glowing. Yet something had changed. People walked differently. Spoke less. Looked over their shoulders as if expecting echoes. And when the wind shifted, it carried not spring warmth—but mourning.Scouts were the first to notice. Then the children.Shadows were seen moving through the camps—too large for wolves, too still for men. The mist did not burn off with sunrise. Voices called from empty corners, and some who answered returned confused, cold,

Moonrise glittered beneath the stars, quiet in a way that felt like waiting.The great council chamber—once a place of solemn decisions and shared strength—had become brittle with unease. The flickering of the moon-glass lanterns cast long, wavering shadows, making every figure around the table seem both more and less than they were.Aria sat at one end, her hands wrapped tightly around a cooling mug. The lines on her face had deepened in recent weeks—etched by loss, love, and the weight of leadership she never asked for but bore all the same.Xander stood at the opposite end, his broad shoulders rigid, his expression unreadable.Between them sat Mira, Rowan, Lysa, Danica, and Varek—leaders of clans who had once shed blood across borders and now shared tents and stories. But peace, they were learning, was not a spell. It was a choice—one that had to be made again, and again, and again.“We’ve had more sightings,” Rowan reported quietly. “The mist is thickening again near the broken ed

The fire-scorched training field had barely cooled when the summons came.Rowan’s message passed through the valley like a whispered storm: Tonight, at the ritual grove, all marked by magic and memory must gather.The meaning was clear. The entity stirred beneath the stone again. The blood eclipse had shattered the veil. And now, only those chosen—those willing—could prepare for the next ritual: the binding.As dusk painted the sky in rose and gold, the grove bloomed to life.It was a sacred place—older than any pack, ringed in living stone and ancient oak. Fires burned at the four compass points, smoke curling skyward. The Watchers stood in full regalia, cloaks dark as nightfall, their carved masks expressionless but heavy with purpose.Aria stepped into the grove beside Xander, her daughter wrapped in a thick wool cloak between them. The wind smelled of pine, ash, and distant storm.Rowan’s voice rang clear. “Tonight, we summon the Marked—those whose blood bears prophecy, whose live

The days after the whispering storm did not settle into peace—only into a taut, watchful rhythm.The Marked trained harder, the council’s debates stretched into the night, and the pack learned to glance not just toward the mountains but toward the shadows between the trees.There were whispers of danger every dawn. Scouts returned with news of enemy symbols carved into sacred groves, runes inked in ash and blood along the border stones. Children woke from dreams they couldn’t explain—visions of dark hands reaching from the ground.Aria could not sleep.She walked the outskirts of camp at night, her steps soft in the frost-hardened grass, healer’s satchel resting heavy against her hip. She told herself it was a habit, a healer’s vigilance—but it was more than that. It was the feeling of the entity’s eyes pressing from somewhere unseen.Xander took the opposite burden—command. His days were spent in the heart of the war camp, mapping patrol routes, drilling defenses, and making decision