All Chapters of Reborn Of The Moon: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The wind carried voices from a world Maelin had sworn never to interfere with. She sat alone beneath the roots of the Moonwell Tree, an ancient, gnarled guardian in the forest’s heart where the veils between magic and memory thinned like silk. The earth around her pulsed faintly, its rhythm syncing with her breath. Eighteen years, three months, and six nights. That was how long she’d kept the vow. But time didn’t mean much to someone who lived in visions. Not when you’d watched someone die twice, once in truth, and once in silence. She remembered the way Ariya fell. Not like a warrior. Like a queen who refused to kneel. Maelin had screamed in her mind. Not aloud. Her voice had already been taken by the oath. But she had seen it, her Alpha struck down, not by blade or claw, but betrayal. The red-eyed wolf hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t wept. He had whispered something in Ariya’s ear before plunging the blade through her side. And Ariya… she had smiled. That smile had haunted

The clearing Kael led her to was quiet, too quiet. No wind. No birds. Just the dense breath of the forest, and the weight of what was about to begin. “Here,” he said simply, stepping aside. Aria looked around. The trees formed a perfect ring, like watchers encircling a sacred rite. The ground was padded with soft moss and layered pine needles. She could smell old magic in the soil. “This is where you trained me before, isn’t it?” she asked. Kael nodded. “You never liked starting over.” “I still don’t.” He gave a half-smile. “Then we won’t.” He stepped closer and looked her over—not with curiosity, but precision. Like a blade being inspected before battle. “You’re strong, Aria. You feel it. But strength without control is a wildfire.” She frowned. “And you’re the extinguisher?” He shook his head. “No. I’m the one who teaches you how to aim it.” She swallowed. “Then let’s begin.” The shift came easier now. Her body remembered before her mind caught up, bones sliding into

They still spoke of her in fragments Whispers in rogue camps. Quiet prayers in sacred caves smudged with lunar ash. Around fires where elder wolves told stories they weren’t supposed to tell. They called her the Moon Queen. The last blood heir of an ancient line. A she,wolf born of prophecy, fallen to betrayal. To them, she was a legend. To Ember, she was everything. Ember moved quietly through the forest, boots crushing frostbitten leaves, her breath ghosting in the cold. The horizon bled pale gold into the dark, dawn trying to break through heavy clouds. Eighteen years. Eighteen years since Ariya was murderd. Eighteen years since Ember failed the only soul who saw her as more than a weapon. She could still hear the scream that tore open the night. The silence that followed, a wound that never healed. Their pack. Shadow Fang wasn’t just a pack. It was a promise. Ariya built it from ashes and broken oaths, gathering wolves no one else wanted. witch born,

Rain dripped from the roof as Aria stepped back into the house, Ember’s warmth still clinging to her hand even though Ember was gone. Her mother glanced up from the kitchen, her eyes narrowing as she wiped her hands on a towel. “Aria Moon, where have you been?” Damien leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, tension in his shoulders. His eyes, so much like their father’s, flicked over her, searching for answers. Aria opened her mouth, closing it again, the weight of the red thread Ember had given her still heavy in her pocket. “Just needed some air,” she said softly. Damien’s jaw tightened. “At this hour? In the rain?” Her mother stepped forward, cupping Aria’s cheek, feeling for fever. “You’re freezing. Go take a hot bath, okay? We’ll talk after.” Aria nodded, relief and guilt tangling in her chest as she slipped past them, climbing the stairs to her room. She shut the door, leaning against it, the breath she had been holding finally escaping in a shaky exhale. She tur

Rain drummed softly against the windows of the Moonspire’s east wing, where young Ariya stood barefoot, the cold stone seeping into her toes as she held her stance, fists raised, eyes fixed on the woman in front of her. “Again,” her mother said, her voice calm, almost gentle, but her eyes sharp as moonlight. Ariya sucked in a breath and attacked. Her mother stepped aside, catching her wrist with practiced ease, flipping her over her hip and onto the padded mat with a thud. The impact knocked the wind from Ariya’s lungs, but she clenched her jaw, rolled to her feet, and faced her mother again. “Better,” her mother said, nodding once. “But don’t lift your left shoulder before you strike. Watch me.” Her mother moved like water, each strike precise, each dodge effortless. Ariya memorized the shift of feet, the coiled tension in her mother’s frame, the way she used breath to guide each move. They trained until sweat soaked Ariya’s hair and her limbs trembled, but when her mother