Moonstone Grove was hidden by enchantment.
Even most rogues didn't know how to find it. The forest around it shifted constantly—trees grew and withered overnight, trails vanished in mist, and the animals whispered like they were guarding secrets. Only those invited by the spirits, or blessed by the Moon Goddess herself, could enter.
Luna had no guide.
No invitation.
But still, the grove called her.
It began as a hum beneath her skin.
She had woken before sunrise, heart pounding, breath short. A wordless pull thrummed through her body, as if the earth beneath the rogue camp had spoken directly to her blood.
The others hadn't noticed—busy preparing for the next assembly, sharpening blades, arguing over territory lines and raids. Luna had slipped away before the second patrol bell rang.
She followed no map.
Only instinct.
And the grove responded.
The trees changed.
Their bark turned silver, veins of quartz glowing faintly in the morning light. The leaves shimmered with iridescence, casting pearlescent shadows on the forest floor. The air smelled different—cool and sacred, like the moment just before snowfall.
Luna's footsteps slowed.
This wasn't just forest.
This was memory.
And something older than memory lived here.
She reached the grove just as the sun crested the edge of the eastern cliffs.
The clearing opened before her like a breath being held too long. In the center, a ring of stones encircled a massive tree—its trunk white as moonlight, its leaves glowing faintly blue.
The Moonstone Tree.
Said to be the place where the Moon Goddess herself once touched the earth.
Luna stepped forward.
The moment her bare foot touched the moss inside the ring, the wind stilled.
And a voice spoke.
"You return with a heart unclaimed."
Luna froze.
The air shimmered before her.
And from the shimmer, a figure emerged.
Not entirely spirit. Not entirely solid.
A woman, tall and cloaked in white, with eyes like molten silver and hair that fell like waterfalls of moonlight. Her presence was quiet, yet all-consuming.
The Moonstone Spirit.
Luna bowed without thinking.
The spirit studied her, eyes unreadable. "You are the daughter of Aris of the Flame, and Kaelen of the Frost. Carriers of ancient gifts."
"I didn't know what they were," Luna said quietly. "I only know what I've become."
"Not what you've become," the spirit corrected. "What you've remembered."
Luna's hands curled into fists. "Then why did the Moonshadow Pack cast me aside? Why give me a mate who would reject me?"
The spirit tilted her head.
"Because the moon does not choose for comfort. She chooses for balance."
"Orion isn't balance," Luna snapped. "He's pride and fear."
"Then his journey is not yet complete."
"I don't want him," Luna said. "Not anymore."
The spirit stepped closer. "Wanting and bonding are not the same. But they are equally powerful."
Luna swallowed hard.
"What am I supposed to do with all this?" she asked. "I have no pack. No place. Only power."
The spirit's gaze softened.
"You stand at the center of a great storm. You can use your power to destroy the world that hurt you… or to remake it."
She lifted a hand, and the tree behind her shimmered brighter.
"Choose."
Luna stepped to the tree.
Placed her hand on its trunk.
Cold shot through her—then warmth.
Then clarity.
She saw visions: her mother wielding fire in battle, her father freezing a river to stop a war. She saw herself as a child, alone in the Moonshadow dens, crying to the stars. She saw her rejection—Orion's eyes—Selene's sneer—her own trembling hands.
But she did not look away.
Instead, she stood taller.
"I choose not to be their victim."
The spirit nodded. "Then you must finish your awakening."
Luna's breath caught. "How?"
The spirit extended a hand.
A silver blade formed in her palm—curved like a crescent moon, etched with runes.
"Face your echo beneath the roots."
The ground beneath the Moonstone Tree split open.
A staircase of quartz led into the earth.
Luna took the blade.
And descended.
The chamber beneath was bathed in glowing crystal light.
Water dripped from the ceiling.
And in the center stood… herself.
Or what she could become.
A mirror version—cloaked in black, eyes hard, power crackling in her hands like fire and frost warring for dominance.
The echo smiled.
"You could have burned them all."
"I didn't."
"You should have."
Luna raised the blade.
Her echo didn't flinch.
"You're afraid of what you are," the echo sneered. "Power is lonely. Mercy makes you weak."
"No," Luna whispered. "Mercy makes me free."
They clashed.
Steel against will.
Fire against restraint.
The echo struck with fury—but Luna held steady.
She remembered Kael's teachings. The words of the Seer. Vara's eyes. Thorne's warnings.
And her mother's memory.
She stepped forward—blade down.
"I don't need to fight you," she said.
"You are me," the echo hissed.
"I'm the part that chose."
With that, the echo burst into light.
And Luna stood alone—stronger.
Whole.
When she emerged, the spirit was waiting.
The moon now sat high in the sky.
"You faced your greatest enemy," the spirit said.
"Myself," Luna murmured.
"No," the spirit replied. "Your fear. And you won."
She touched Luna's forehead.
A mark bloomed—two crescent moons entwined with flame and frost—between her brows.
"The blessing is complete," the spirit said. "But beware. Power breeds hunger. The world will come for you now."
Luna nodded.
"Let them try."
As she left the grove, the trees closed behind her.
The mark on her forehead shimmered.
And for the first time in her life…
She felt claimed.
Not by a pack.
Not by a mate.
But by herself.