Lahat ng Kabanata ng Moonbound Hearts: Kabanata 91 - Kabanata 100

Silvercrest did not sleep after the Moon Trial.It staggered.It limped into morning like a wounded beast that had bitten its own throat.The ritual grounds were no longer sacred stone and carved law. They were rubble. The ancient circle had fractured and split open in the middle, as if the ground had rejected the brutality of the council. Ash covered the broken markings. Dust clung to everything, dulling the pack’s colors, turning fur and cloth into the same gray shade of ruin.Blood stained the stone.Not a ceremonial smear.Real blood.Thick and dark, dried in streaks across shattered rock where Tobias had fallen. The scent lingered in the air even after dawn, heavy enough to make wolves flinch when they passed.No one spoke of the night openly.Not with truth.Not with clarity.Only whispers moved through Silvercrest now, curling between cabins and training grounds like smoke.“She broke the circle.”“It wasn’t possible.”“The fire died in one breath.”“Tobias took a spear meant f

The healer’s chamber smelled like crushed herbs and iron.Lyra tasted it in the back of her throat the moment Ronan guided her through the doorway. The air was warm, thick with smoke from burning roots meant to cleanse poison. Yet the scent of blood still pushed through everything, stubborn and raw.Tobias lay on a narrow cot near the far wall.His body looked smaller than Lyra remembered, like the spear had stolen more than flesh. His gray hair was damp with sweat, his face drawn tight, and his lips pale. A heavy bandage wrapped his ribs, stained dark where the wound refused to stop seeping.The spear was gone.The damage remained.Lyra moved closer, each step careful. Her ankle still ached, but she ignored it. Pain meant nothing compared to the sight of Tobias lying so still.Ronan stayed behind her, silent, watchful.The healer, an elderly woman named Selene, was standing next to a table covered in bowls of cloth and paste. Her hands were stained with dried red, her expression grim

Ronan did not lead Lyra through Silvercrest’s main paths.He moved like he expected eyes in every window and ears behind every door. He guided her between storage sheds, past the riverbank where reeds grew tall enough to hide footprints, and then into the trees where the forest swallowed sound and scent alike.Lyra limped slightly, refusing to complain. Her ankle still burned where the silver-thread chain had sliced. Her throat ached from the scream that had shattered stone. Every breath reminded her of the trial’s smoke and blood.Ronan never slowed.His silence was sharper than anger.When they reached the edge of the patrol boundary, he stopped and turned his head, listening. Stretching his senses, he looked for movement. Only after the forest remained still did he motion her forward again.They walked deeper until the familiar scent of pack territory faded. The air grew colder, cleaner, and filled with damp pine and soil. Moss covered old stones. Fallen branches formed crooked bar

Silvercrest no longer slept the way it used to.The silence between dusk and dawn had changed: less rest, more waiting. Wolves moved differently now, slower near the outer paths, sharper in gaze, as if every shadow might be carrying news.Ronan noticed it first without being told.He always did.Lyra felt it too, though hers arrived as pressure beneath the skin, a constant awareness that something unseen was tightening around them.They had stopped going to the clearing.Not because training ended, but because the forest itself no longer felt hidden.Now they stayed closer to the inner boundary, shifting between abandoned storage corridors and unused watch alcoves where scent trails were harder to follow.Still, it was not enough.Whispers traveled faster than footsteps.Lyra caught fragments wherever she passed.“Hidden…”“…Alpha keeps her near…”“…marked magic…”“…not natural…”She kept her face still, but each word sank deeper than the last.By midday, Ronan returned from council p

Silvercrest woke under a sky that looked unchanged yet felt fundamentally altered.The pack moved through its routines with forced normalcy: training drills, supply runs, and border patrols, but everything carried an undercurrent of anticipation. Like breath held too long. Like something waiting to snap.Lyra felt it before she saw it.The pressure of judgment had shifted from distant observation to imminent decision.Ronan was already awake when she entered the outer chamber.He stood near the map table, hands braced on its edge, staring at markings that represented territory lines and patrol routes. His posture was controlled, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed what he was holding back.Lyra approached carefully. “You didn’t sleep.”Ronan didn’t look up. “Neither did you.”She didn’t deny it.The night had been restless: visions of shifting wolves, council chambers filling with cold voices, and an unseen weight pressing closer each hour.Ronan finally turned.His gaze settled