The forest greeted her like a stranger.
Luna stood at the edge of Moonshadow territory, the ceremonial path behind her. The crescent-shaped border stone sat silently among moss and leaves, marking the edge of the only home she'd ever known. Beyond it, the trees stretched on endlessly—untamed, unknown, free.
The wind blew through her tangled hair, tugging gently, as if urging her forward.
She didn't look back.
Not once.
The echoes of the Moon Ceremony still haunted her.
The bond. The moonlight. The look on Orion's face when he rejected her before them all.
She had wanted to believe the worst was over. That life had exhausted its cruelties. But instead, it had revealed the truth: she had never belonged to them.
Not the pack.
Not the alpha.
Not the future they'd carved without her.
And yet, even in the pain, something inside her had remained intact.
Her will.
Her pride.
Her name.
She whispered it to herself now like a vow: "Luna."
The world beyond Moonshadow was a wilderness of silence and instinct.
Each step she took over the boundary stone marked a new chapter. There were no paths, no patrols, no familiar scents to follow—just forest and sky and the uncertainty of freedom.
She carried nothing with her but a satchel of dried meat Mira had secretly slipped into her hand the night of the Ceremony, a water pouch, and a thin blanket she'd sewn herself during winter seasons.
Her first night as a rogue, she made a fire beneath the roots of a large elm tree. It took her nearly two hours to get the spark to catch. Her fingers bled. Her breath fogged. Her stomach ached.
But when the flame finally flared to life, casting warm flickers on her bruised hands, she smiled.
It wasn't much.
But it was hers.
In the days that followed, Luna wandered.
She moved through ravines, up narrow ridges, across mist-soaked valleys. She learned to read bird calls for signs of predators. She learned which roots burned her tongue and which soothed her joints. She built lean-tos from pine boughs, hid her scent near running water, and listened—always listened—to the voice of the land.
There was no one to mock her.
No one to push her down or watch her fail.
But no one to help her either.
When her ankle twisted during a climb, she bit a leather strap to keep from screaming. When a black bear charged too close, she ran faster than she thought possible. When hunger clawed at her belly, she chewed bitter leaves and counted stars.
It was not easy.
But it was hers.
And with each passing day, her body grew leaner, harder. Her steps quieter. Her reflexes sharper. The forest didn't give second chances—but neither had her pack.
At least now, her survival meant something.
One night, two weeks after the Ceremony, she sat by a fire near the edge of a narrow ravine. The moon above her was half-full, casting silver light across the cliffs. She chewed on roasted roots and stared into the flame.
She could feel it again—that pull. Faint, distant, like a rope stretched across time and space.
The bond wasn't fully gone.
It pulsed like an old scar, aching when she least expected it.
She hated that.
Hated that some part of her still felt him.
Orion.
His name tightened her throat.
She didn't miss his presence.
She missed the idea of him.
The promise the Moon Goddess had made. The dream she'd nurtured silently for years—that maybe, just maybe, she would be chosen. Loved. Fated.
But dreams could be cruel.
And so could the gods.
She closed her eyes and whispered into the fire, "I am no one's burden. No one's castoff. I am not weak."
The flames stirred.
And from somewhere deep in the trees, a strange howl echoed—unlike any she'd heard before. Low. Resonant. Ancient.
She sat up sharply, eyes scanning the shadows.
But no threat emerged.
The forest watched.
And she, for the first time, didn't feel like prey.
A week later, she encountered her first true challenge.
A rogue wolf—a male, older, with a ragged scar across his throat—emerged near the riverbend. She hadn't heard him until he was too close.
"Well, look what wandered out of the nursery," he said, smirking. His teeth were yellow, his fur patchy. "Did your pack toss you out, girl?"
Luna didn't answer.
He stepped closer. "What's a little thing like you doing out here alone?"
"Living," she said.
He chuckled. "You won't last long. Not without a mate. Or protection."
She straightened her spine. "I don't need either."
His eyes darkened. "Is that right?"
He lunged.
Luna dodged just in time, her elbow catching him in the ribs. He snarled and came again, but this time, she was ready.
She fought dirty. Clawed at his face. Kicked his knees. Bit his shoulder. She had no technique—only fury, instinct, and memory.
Selene's voice in her ear.
Orion's rejection.
Every sneer.
Every bruise.
They poured out of her in a storm of survival.
When he stumbled away bleeding and panting, he didn't laugh anymore.
"You're mad," he hissed.
"No," she said, her chest heaving. "I'm free."
That night, she stood in the river to wash the blood from her arms.
The moon watched her in silence.
And for the first time, she didn't feel like she was beneath it.
She felt level with it.
A reflection.
A shadow.
A name whispered through the wind, soft and secret: Moonshadow.
Not the pack.
Her.
She didn't know what it meant yet.
But it was a start.
Back in Moonshadow territory, wolves began to notice something.
The scent of Luna had vanished from their lands.
The bond that had once lingered faintly on Orion was weakening.
Not fading.
Changing.
Orion stood at the cliffs again, looking out at the land, the wind tugging at his cloak. Something in his chest felt… wrong. Off-balance. Hollow.
Selene approached from behind, smiling tightly.
"She's gone," she said.
He didn't turn.
"She'll die out there," she added. "She was never meant to survive."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he whispered, too softly for her to hear:
"Then why do I still feel her?"