All Chapters of A Luna's Vengeance : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Five years after the documents' release, the supernatural world had reorganized itself into something no single mind could fully comprehend. The confederation still existed diminished, reformed, operating primarily in urban centers where institutional coordination remained valuable. But it shared space with dozens of other models: regional cooperation networks, species-specific alliances, nomadic coordination systems, seasonal gatherings, and communities that rejected formalized cooperation entirely.Selene was forty-seven now, and felt every one of those years in her bones. The silver in her hair had spread, and lines had etched themselves around her eyes from years of reading by lamplight, squinting at maps, listening with the intensity that genuine witnessing required.The Verdant Archive had outgrown its warehouse. They now operated from a repurposed monastery in neutral territory stone buildings that had housed contemplative orders for centuries, now filled with researchers docum

Ten years after leaving the confederation, Selene woke to find she couldn't immediately remember where she was. Not the disorientation of travel she was in her own bed, in her quarters at the monastery but a deeper confusion about which version of herself she'd be today. The Luna who'd been betrayed? The founder who'd built an empire? The scholar who'd documented margins? The interpreter who bridged worlds?All of them. None of them. Something still evolving.She was fifty now. The number felt simultaneously impossible and inevitable.Her coordination abilities hummed as always, but differently than in her youth. Less urgent, more patient. They no longer sought to organize everything they touched, but simply witnessed patterns, noted connections, observed flows without needing to direct them. Age had taught her abilities the same lessons mountains and tides and forests had taught her mind: sometimes the best coordination is no coordination at all.She ros

Selene was fifty-eight when the tremors started. Subtle at first a shaking in her hands that she attributed to caffeine or fatigue. Then more pronounced, impossible to ignore. Her coordination abilities, already diminished since the collapse five years ago, began to flicker unpredictably. Sometimes she could sense the complex web of relationships in a room with perfect clarity. Other times, nothing.The diagnosis came from a confederation healer who specialized in supernatural ability degradation: progressive neurological deterioration, likely triggered by decades of pushing her coordination abilities beyond their natural limits. Not immediately fatal, but degenerative. Incurable.She had perhaps ten years left. Maybe fifteen if she was fortunate. The last few would be difficult.Selene received the news alone in the healer's office, the clinical language barely masking the reality: her body was slowly shutting down the very abilities that had defined her adult life. The coordination

Twenty years after Selene's death, the Verdant Archive had become something she wouldn't quite recognize which was exactly as it should be. The monastery housed over a hundred researchers now, its grounds expanded to include dormitories, field stations, and a new wing dedicated entirely to what they called "Cooperative Genomics" the study of how cooperation models reproduced, mutated, hybridized, and evolved. The Archive's library contained documentation of over three thousand distinct cooperation frameworks, each one a living experiment in supernatural coexistence. Dr. Maya Chen the human student who'd once struggled to translate desert scarcity cooperation was now the Archive's Director. At forty-three, she carried the particular weariness of someone who'd learned that leadership meant making decisions without sufficient information, accepting criticism from all sides, and occasionally being profoundly wrong. She stood

One hundred years after Selene's death, the Verdant Archive existed only as ruins.The monastery stood empty, its stones slowly succumbing to weather and vegetation. The research library remained, preserved by a small group of volunteer archivists, but unstaffed, unfunded, accessible only to those willing to make the journey to a building the world had largely forgotten. The satellite archives had closed decades ago, their materials absorbed into other institutions or returned to the communities they'd documented.The self-study that had begun twenty-five years ago had produced findings so devastating that the Archive had effectively dissolved itself not through formal closure, but through gradual abandonment as researchers faced the truth of what their work had wrought.Dr. Isra Okafor Kieran's granddaughter, inheriting his commitment to uncomfortable truths was among the last. At thirty-eight, she lived alone in what had been the director's quar