All Chapters of The White Wolf Luna: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The temple had no doors. It had no windows. Its walls were carved from obsidian veined with blood-red ore, pulsing faintly with a rhythm that did not match any known heartbeat. Deep beneath the mountains, beyond the reach of wolves and moonlight, the forgotten place stirred awake after centuries of silence.And so did she.A girl sat upright on the stone altar, her breath shallow, her body still. Her eyes adjusted to the dark without effort. Her skin was pale as bone, smooth and flawless, untouched by sun or fang. She bore no scent. No warmth. No sound followed her movement. But her teeth, sharp and narrow, a hybrid between predator and something far more ancient, caught the faint light and glimmered like silver blades.She had no memory of birth. No sense of age. But as her feet touched the stone floor, the symbols etched beneath her lit with a crimson glow, reacting to her presence like blood rushing back to a stopped heart.From the shadows, a figure emerged. Tall. Shrouded. Not wo

The forest did not follow him. The trees watched, but made no sound. Fenric walked beside Syra, though neither of them spoke. The Bonebinder moved behind them, silent, his chains rattling softly like wind through hollow bone. The moonlight, dim and thin as dust, did not touch them here. This path did not belong to the sky.It belonged to memory.They passed between stones carved with forgotten glyphs, through arches made not by builders but by something older—roots, time, and silence. The air grew cold, but not in temperature. It was the kind of cold that came from absence, from something long buried deciding not to stay dead.Syra stopped before a pool of still water. Its surface was black, but not with depth. It did not reflect. It consumed.“This is where it begins,” she said, her voice not soft, but reverent. “Not your story. Theirs.”Fenric stepped closer, but he did not kneel. “Whose?”She gestured to the water. “The ones you’ve carried without knowing. The ones the Elders silen

The moon had dimmed, but it had not disappeared. It watched from behind a veil of thin clouds, not hidden exposed. As if it no longer had the strength to pretend it was above the blood below.Kaela had not slept.Neither had Sira.The glade was quiet now, but not peaceful. The scent of burned leaves still clung to the air. The silence wasn’t calm. It was the kind that came when everything sacred had cracked and the world was too afraid to move.Kaela sat by the cold fire, staring into the ash.Sira stood beside her, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the path Fenric had taken.“He’s still inside the thread,” Kaela said, her voice dry, hollow around the edges.Sira nodded. “And the longer he stays, the harder it will be for him to come back.”Kaela didn’t answer.The branches above shifted slightly, though no wind touched them. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called once sharp, brief, then gone. A warning, not a song.“I keep thinking,” Kaela said, after a long pause, “what if we were wrong

The path to the Den was older than any trail on the maps. It had no markers, no scentline. The trees grew close here, their trunks thick with moss and old names carved by teeth, not hands. Every root Fenric stepped over carried stories too old for memory and too dangerous for retelling.The Pack followed without speaking.Kaela stayed just behind him, her blades sheathed but close. Her breath was steady, but her thoughts were not. She had once believed the Elders were the spine of their world. Now she wondered if they had always been the fracture.Sira walked to Fenric’s left, her eyes sharp, her light dimmed to avoid notice. Her silence said more than her words would have. She didn’t speak truth until she could verify it—and what she’d seen in Fenric’s return had unsettled her in ways she had not admitted.Raelin flanked the right, still bruised from what she had seen inside the thread. She hadn’t spoken since Fenric emerged. Not out of anger, but because part of her was afraid to kn

The first challenge came before the sun rose.The wolves from Ashfen Hollow arrived in silence, their presence announced not by howls or calls but by the sudden disappearance of birdsong, the vanishing of small forest things, and the unmistakable shift in the wind that always came before confrontation. They wore no banners, bore no signal of alliance, and yet the way they moved tight, coordinated, eyes always scanning for the slightest wrongness marked them as soldiers of an old order that had not yet accepted its death.Fenric stood at the edge of the Den, the last of the ash still clinging to his boots from the chamber below, his body stilled not by hesitation but by calculation, because even without speaking to them he could see that they had not come to listen. They had come to weigh.And wolves who weigh before they speak are rarely here for peace.Sira was the first to step beside him, her silverlight restrained, her expression unreadable, her voice quiet enough to be private bu