Bound to the moon
“Not really.”
“Then listen closely,” she said, laying her hand on the stone. “It happens once every few centuries. When the sun, moon, and Earth align just right, turning the full moon blood red. Wolves don’t celebrate it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it binds fate. Irrevocably.”
I leaned forward. “How?”
She looked me dead in the eye. “The Alpha’s sons were born under one.”
My blood turned cold.
She went on. “The Seer at the time collapsed mid-ritual. When the Seer woke, she said only one thing: "Three lives, one thread." Untouched, they remain safe. But if one thread is pulled, the rest unravel.”
Bab Populer