บททั้งหมดของ The Alpha's Lost Luna : บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

Morning arrived quietly over Embermoon.Snow drifted from a leaden sky, settling over rooftops, battlements, and the towering pines surrounding the pack. From a distance, the world looked peaceful, untouched by conflict. Inside the packhouse, however, that illusion quickly fell apart.Commander Holden had disappeared from the Alpha's room."...He what?" Evren looked up sharply from the reports spread across his desk.The young healer standing before him swallowed hard. "He left, Alpha."Evren pinched the bridge of his nose, a massive headache blooming behind his eyes. "How long ago?""Perhaps ten minutes.""Did anyone try to stop him?"The healer shifted awkwardly. "...Yes.""And?""He said if anyone touched him, he'd reopen every stitch himself."Evren closed his eyes, exhaling a long, weary breath. "...Of course he did."He dismissed the healer with a sharp wave before standing. The fool. Those wounds should have kept Holden in bed for another week at the very least. Instead, he was

Far beneath the packhouse, where the air was thick with the scent of damp stone and forgotten centuries, dust danced lazily through narrow beams of lantern light.A single, forgotten document rested carefully upon the ancient oak table, having slipped from the enormous volume resting beside it. The book's leather binding had long since cracked, its pages darkened to near-black with age, and the silver wolf embossed upon its cover was worn to a faint, ghostly shadow.Ivar handled the artifact with remarkable care, his fingers barely skimming the brittle surface. "I've never seen anything this old."Eira leaned closer, the amber glow of the lantern catching the sudden tension in her jaw. "How old?""It predates Embermoon," Ivar murmured, carefully turning the fragile first page. The ink had faded almost beyond recognition, bleeding into the fibers of the parchment.Eira blinked, leaning back slightly. "What?""It was written before the Northern packs even thought to unite. This book ex

Junior guided her horse along the narrow mountain trail with practiced ease, the beast’s hooves crunching rhythmically through the fresh, powdery drifts. The mountain air was painfully cold, a sharp frost that stung her lungs with every deep breath, yet she welcomed the bite of it. Far above her, where the sheer cliffs pierced the heavy grey clouds, enormous Icewings nested among the jagged shelves of deep blue ice. Their snow-white scales shimmered like diamonds beneath the pale winter sun, their folded wings blending so perfectly into the snowscapes that they were almost invisible until they moved.With a sudden, thunderous crack that echoed through the ravine, one magnificent beast unfurled its massive wingspan, throwing itself effortlessly into the open sky. Junior stopped her horse, shielding her eyes to watch it glide over the sleeping valley. Another answered its high-pitched, piercing cry from a distant peak. Then another. Within moments, half a dozen Icewings were circling

The little shop was unusually quiet.Normally, by this hour, the cozy space would be filled with the rich, earthy scent of crushed roots, and Boo would already be behind the counter with his sleeves rolled up, patiently helping customers while Helena scolded anyone who dared try to haggle over her prices.Today, however, the lively warmth of the shop was entirely missing. Only Helena stood behind the counter, her movements slow and distracted.Forrest and Snow wandered quietly between the heavy wooden shelves, fascinated by the rows of colorful herbs, dried flowers, and polished jars while Eira browsed the wares beside them, her mind heavy with thoughts of the volatile secrets brewing in the packhouse."Grandma Helena," Snow called out, his small voice echoing in the quiet shop as he held up a beautifully carved wooden whistle. "Can I have this?""If your mother says yes, sweetheart," Helena replied, her voice carrying a gentle but tired edge."I said ask Grandma," Eira murmured with

The mountain wind didn’t just blow through the Royal Archives; it crept in, smelling of sharp pine needles and the clean, biting promise of fresh snow.Every towering shelf was crammed into bursting with the clutter of generations—leather-bound journals with cracked spines, yellowed maps that spilled off their rollers, and ancient scrolls smelling faintly of dust and old honey.At the massive desk by the window, Royal Archivist Ivar guided his quill with practiced, steady patience. He traced the final, elegant loop of a manuscript, paused, and let out a breath he’d been holding for a lifetime."...There."He scattered a handful of fine sand over the wet ink, waiting a beat before gently blowing the excess away in a dark cloud. With careful, almost reverent fingers, he bound the stack together with a strip of frayed, dark blue ribbon. He leaned back, his joints popping, and let out a long, satisfied sigh."Twenty-three years," he murmured, his voice sounding small in the cavernous room