The Luna Who Walked Away
I see it before it happens, the falter of his left foot, the hesitation before the counter.
“Your stance,” I call, and my voice carries across the field, steady and calm. “Keep your weight centered. Don’t lean in too much when you strike.”
He freezes, then straightens. “Yes, Luna—” he stops himself and lowers his gaze. “Yes, Alpha Elara.”
It’s the first day of recruitment.
The field is filled with the scent of sweat and ambition. Every corner hums with movement—men and women, some seasoned warriors, some wanderers seeking a place to belong. They’ve come to earn a spot in what the press has started calling The Rising Pack. My pack.