The moon hid behind stormclouds that night.
Luna took it as a warning.
The wind had changed direction twice in the last hour—something it hadn't done since she first stepped into the Rogue Lands. Birds were silent. The scent of blood hung faint in the air, just beneath the tang of pine and wet moss.
She tightened the wrappings around her wrists and rose from the stone she'd been resting on. Her shoulder still ached from the last skirmish with a mirewolf, but her instincts told her tonight's threat would not be a creature twisted by dark magic.
It would be wolves.
Real ones.
And they were getting closer.
She moved fast and low through the trees, every footstep calculated. The cover of darkness used to be her enemy—but now, it wrapped around her like a cloak. The whispers from the Shadow Pack still rang in her ears.
"The blood remembers."
"One path leads to vengeance."
"One leads beyond it."
She hadn't chosen a path yet.
But vengeance had certainly chosen her.
The attack came just past the stream bend.
A whistle—high and sharp—pierced the silence.
Not natural.
A rogue signal.
Luna pivoted, barely dodging the net that exploded from the treeline. It hit the ground behind her, snapping shut with metal teeth. Traps. Crafted. Not made by beasts.
They were hunting her.
She ran.
The first rogue dropped from a branch above—a lean female with soot-colored fur and eyes that shimmered green under moonlight. Luna parried her strike with a burst of wind, flinging the rogue back into a thicket of thorns.
But two more emerged from the shadows behind her.
Luna spun, called to the roots.
They answered.
Vines burst from the earth, coiling around one of the rogues and slamming him to the ground. The other charged with a blade drawn from his belt.
Luna caught his arm mid-swing—and flames erupted from her palm.
He screamed and dropped, clutching his scorched wrist.
She didn't pause to finish him.
There were more.
They moved like a pack.
But this wasn't discipline.
This was desperation.
Their scents were wrong—wild, erratic. Scarred bodies, eyes hollow. These weren't organized warriors.
These were wolves who had long abandoned their name.
Who hunted for coin, or worse… for sport.
She led them deeper into the forest, where the trees thickened and the terrain turned unfamiliar.
A ravine opened before her—steep and narrow, the edges slick with moss.
She jumped.
Mid-air, she whispered to the wind.
It caught her—not fully, but enough to slow her descent.
She hit the slope hard, rolled, and landed at the bottom with a grunt.
Her ankle twisted, but she forced herself up.
The rogues didn't hesitate.
Two leapt in pursuit.
The first landed wrong and howled as his leg shattered. The second rolled into a crouch and advanced.
Luna met him head-on.
Their blades clashed—hers stone-forged and tempered in frost, his chipped and cruel.
He hissed. "They said you were small."
She grinned. "They said I was weak, too."
She feinted left, then punched her palm into the ground.
Frost burst from her fingers, coating the rocks beneath him.
He slipped.
She didn't.
She drove her blade into the dirt beside his head and whispered, "Run."
The rogue blinked in shock.
Then fled.
It wasn't over.
From the top of the ravine, a final figure emerged.
She knew before he spoke that he was different.
He didn't rush.
He didn't raise a weapon.
He watched.
"You've improved," he said.
Luna narrowed her eyes. "You know me?"
"I knew your mother."
Her heart stopped.
He stepped forward, hands raised in mock surrender.
Tall. Ash-gray cloak. Scar beneath his lip. His scent was layered—herb, iron, smoke.
"My name is Thorne."
The name rang cold in her bones.
"You're the one who led the raid on the Eastern valley," she whispered.
He nodded, calm. "That's where I met her. She spared me."
Luna's fists clenched. "Liar."
"She was stronger than you know, Luna. She walked into Shadow territory without fear. I watched her burn five of my men with a single breath."
He took another step forward.
"And she chose not to kill me."
Luna didn't relax. "What do you want?"
"I came to warn you."
She laughed bitterly. "You send rogues to kill me, then call it a warning?"
"I sent them to test you."
He looked genuinely impressed.
"You passed."
Luna's fingers sparked. "I don't want your tests."
"You need them. The Moonshadow Pack will come for you. Orion will not let you vanish. Not after what's stirring in the rogue circuits. They know what you are now."
Luna's voice was ice. "And what am I?"
Thorne's smile was slow.
"Hope."
She didn't kill him.
Not because she forgave him.
Because she needed answers.
He gave her one:
"There's a meeting of rogue factions in three nights' time. North ridge, beyond the deadwood grove. Come, and you'll learn the truth."
"About what?"
"Your parents. Their betrayal. And the war they died trying to stop."
Thorne vanished into the trees.
Luna stared after him long after the wind erased his scent.
That night, she limped back to the clearing she had claimed days ago. Her body was bruised, scraped, aching.
But her spirit?
Unbowed.
She sat beside her fire and stared at the stars—wondering how many more lies had been woven into her story.
The Moonshadow Pack had always told her her parents died in a border skirmish.
Simple.
Tragic.
Forgettable.
But if Thorne was right…
They had fought for something.
And if she truly was hope—
Then she would not run from it.
In the shadows beyond the clearing, a single wolf watched her with glowing eyes.
Not a rogue.
Not a warg.
A scout.
And he turned silently toward Moonshadow territory.