Long before the altar stones of the moonfang pack had tasted Lyra's tears, and the Alpha's cold words had carved the bond from her bones to a hunch of shame.
Lyra's journey began on a night just as cruel as that of the blood moon ceremony.
Where she was crushed by Kaleen under a blood moon that watched from the edge of a silent forest.
To understand why the pack cheered her ruin and why the crown feared her breath.
One must return to the frost and shadows where a crying baby was found half-buried at the border, unwanted by the wolves, yet claimed by the moon itself and its powers.
The forest was covered under a blood moon that bled its red light through drifting mist; this night was not just a mere one but a sacred one.
Cold wind whispered through skeletal trees with little or no leaves. Three figures moved between the stones that marked the edge of Moonfang's clan territory.
Warriors embodied in their fur-lined cloaks, with their breath clouding in the frozen dark.
One of them stopped at first; he seems to be very observant. Immediately after, he saw a shape lying by his boot, with a torn blanket, stained with damp earth.
He nudged it a bit with the toe of his boot. It moved. A sound so small yet sharp sliced through the hush
He instantly knew it was a baby's cry, sounding thin and hungry, curling into the mist like smoke.
The tallest warrior, who was their captain, spat into the frost immediately, "Leave it," he growled.
His hand hovered near the hilt of his blade. "Rogues' bait. A curse left to rot us from inside."
Another, younger, knelt with a little bit of compassion in him. His fingers brushed the edge of the blanket gently
He felt a warm breath hitch in his throat when tiny fists waved weakly at the sky. Pale skin, a shock of dark hair wet against the child's cheek.
"Shouldn't…" the young one whispered. He flinched when the older man shoved him back.
The younger warrior felt something the captain could not seem to apprehend.
"Leave it for the wolves," the eldest snapped. His voice was iron over the whimper. "Better the wild eats it than it eats us."
Above them, the blood moon watched, silent.
From the darkness between the trees that night, Mira stepped into the moon's red wash, her breath swirling like mist around her.
Her hair looked as wild as her, eyes dark as ravens, she barely spoke to a lot of wolves, she looked like something the forest made and kept secret until it was needed.
Mira, although always found alone, was a powerful old female wolf; she was deeply connected to the old ways and the Moon goddess's will.
The warriors shifted, uneasy; they were a bit disturbed by her presence at that time of the night in the forest, because every wolf whispered that Mira had always been Mystical.
The eldest narrowed his eyes, one hand closing over his blade. "Mira," he growled, low as a wolf's snarl. "Step back. This is not yours to take. Alpha's law."
Mira said nothing at first. She looked at the bundle half-buried in frost. The baby's small face turned to her as if the moon pulled it toward warmth.
Tiny lips parted, breath shivering in the cold.
She knelt slowly, her knees sinking into old leaves and thin snow. Fingers weathered by years and claw scars brushed the child's cheek.
The baby's cry cut through her chest like an old wound opening.
"Look at her," Mira whispered, voice raw. The wind caught her words and carried them into the trees. "Look what the moon gives when blood runs cold."
The leader spat at the ground, a harsh sound. "Rogues' bait. A curse. We leave her."
Mira's hands slipped under the blanket. She lifted the baby against her chest, to her the baby has no curse.
But she was only as a child, the moon refused to die.
She said to the wolf's pack captain, "She breathes because the goddess wills it, I will not leave her".
The child's fist, so small and soft, curled around her finger and held tight, like a promise. Mira's heart beat once, twice, louder than the wind which blew around.
"She's Moon-touched," Mira spoke, her voice sharp as teeth. Her eyes glowed in the moon's glare, silver lines hidden in the black.
The warriors shifted. One stepped back. The eldest's jaw clenched, teeth bared in anger and fear.
They couldn't stop Mira anymore because of what they feared about her personality.
Mira rose, baby pressed to her chest, cloak wrapping them both in shadows and red light.
Above, the blood moon burned, silent and watching.
Mira pulled the rough blanket aside, moving away from the warriors, her breath clouding the air as she peeled it back from the baby's small feet.
The cloth clung to the tiny toes, damp with frost and moonlight. Her hands trembled, not from cold but something older, a knowing in her bones that rattled like winter wind.
Mira did not just gain her mystical reputation for nothing; she had the gift of dreams and visions from the moon goddess.
So when she saw the baby, she knew she was blessed by the same moon that gave her sight.
There it was, she saw her pale, beautiful skin under the smear of dirt, and on the soft curve of the baby's ankle, a thin silver crescent glowed when the blood moon's light touched it.
Like it was alive. Like it breathed with her, this confirmed her beliefs all this while.
A hiss broke from the youngest warrior's lips with uncertainty. He stepped closer, peering at the mark with eyes wide and sharp. "Oh cursed," he spat.
His boot crushed dead leaves under his heel. "Rogues leave marks, too. Blood calls to blood. This one's marked for ruin."
Mira did not flinch for any reason whatsoever. She pressed her palm over the crescent as if to guard it from their stares, which might invite trouble for the young one.
The baby's tiny foot kicked weakly, warm against her skin. She felt the pulse there, faint and stubborn.
In the shadows behind the patrol, an elder stood half-hidden by the trees, and nobody could perceive his presence easily.
His cloak blended with the bark, but the moon caught the edge of his face clearly; he was very old, and he was made of all bones and hollow eyes.
When he saw the mark, his breath hitched so softly no one heard but the trees, it seemed he saw something he couldn't just hold up.
He pulled the leaves to see clearly, a symbol shimmered silver in the blood light, it was the shape of the child's crescent like a secret whispered by old gods.
His eyes flicked to Mira, sharp and dark. Then he pulled down the leaves. He folded his arms, mouth a thin line, and said nothing.
The elder knew that the baby was blessed by the moon goddess after seeing her mark and could rise one day to be an enemy of the pack since she was found in the borderlands.
The forest seemed to lean closer, branches creaking under the heavy sky.
Mira lifted the baby higher, her eyes meeting the elder's shadow.
Neither spoke. The wind carried a promise between them, and the blood moon watched, silent and red.
The wind rose that night as if it heard the baby's faint cry.
Cold claws tore at cloaks and hair, made the old pines moan above their heads.
The warriors circled closer to themselves with their boots sinking in frost and dead leaves. Their shadows twitched like restless spirits under the red moon.
They knew that they would be breaking pack laws if they let Mira leave with that baby.
"She's bait, Mira," the biggest spat, voice low but sharp as his teeth. "A rogue trap. Leave her here before the curse spreads, remembers it's the Alpha's law."
Mira's lip curled with a gaze that looked so unforgiving and full of confidence mixed with fury.
Her arms cradled the bundle tightly. The baby's breath ghosted against her skin, warm and alive.
"She's no trap," Mira said, voice rough with rage. "She's moon-touched. A gift, not some snare for cowards."
A branch snapped immediately after she said this. The elder who saw the moon goddess mark on the baby stepped forward.
His cloak brought the frost he moved past behind him. His eyes found hers, and it felt cold and so dark with pits swallowing the moonlight.
"Old law binds you, Mira," he rasped. "The foundling stays. The border keeps what the wild gives. That is our way."
Mira's heart slammed against her ribs, but her wolf was as ductile as metal.
The baby squirmed, a soft sigh that cut deeper than any blade. Her feet dug into the cold earth.
Mira felt the blood in her veins stir like a wolf waking. She lowered her head for a breath, then lifted her chin to the stars.
She needed to do something to keep her from the borderlands and the wild.
One breath. Then her voice ripped the silence apart.
A howl which sounded so raw, broken, fierce was out, it tore through the trees.
The warriors flinched back, eyes wide, steps lost in the hush her voice carved through the night.
Somewhere, deep in the woods, the wind shifted. Branches bent low. The forest listened.
After howling to scare away the warriors, Mira held the tiny bundle that held the baby closely, feeling the heartbeat under her palm.
Soft and stubborn like a spark refusing to die. The cold of the night tried to creep in, biting at her cheeks and numbing her fingers, but the baby's warmth pushed it back.
She pressed her lips to the child's forehead just like a mother would to a child. Breathing in the faint, wild scent of rain, earth, and something older, something holy.
"Lyra," she murmured with sheer fulfillment, her voice just for the child and the moon to hear.
"That's your name, little star. You'll have a name. You'll never be left alone in this dark."
The baby stirred on her with a lovely smile, her small fingers uncurling to catch at a strand of Mira's hair.
Her breath hitched as those tiny fingers clung tight, so strong for a life so new. The wind sighed through the branches, carrying her promise deeper into the night.
Lyra's eyes fluttered open, wide and clear under the blood moon's glow.
She saw Mira first as her guardian wolf in such a cruel and unpredictable world.
Immediately after seeing Lyra's eyes for the first time, Mira swore they held a reflection of that crimson sky, deep, knowing, too big for such a small face.
The baby's lips parted in a quiet, curious sound, no longer a cry but something like a question the night couldn't answer.
Mira brushed her thumb over the silver crescent on Lyra's ankle, hidden now under the cloth so it wouldn't expose her.
She rocked her gently, stepping away from the old stones as the warriors watched in silence.
"You'll live," she whispered again, voice fierce through the hush. "You'll live, Lyra. And the moon will know your name."
Mira's boots pressed into the frost, and each step felt like a promise the night would not break for Mira and her.
The baby slept in her arms, with her warm breath against Mira's collarbone.
Behind them, the patrol dragged their feet, heads down, as if the shadows might snap at their heels if they moved too fast.
The forest seemed to close in, branches heavy with mist and old secrets. Wind hissed through black pines, rattling dead leaves like bones.
Mira needed nobody to tell her that there is a problem coming.
But regardlessly Mira didn't flinch, but her fingers flexed around the small bundle, feeling the faint heartbeat under the cloth.
They passed the last boundary stone, which would lead to the legendary moonfang pack.
Its surface was rough, carved with runes that once meant safety but now only whispered warnings when the moon turned red.
At the line where trees thickened, darkness pooled like spilled ink.
One warrior who dared and turned to look had his breath caught, with mist curling from his lips as his mouth moved around a prayer he'd long forgotten.
Mira didn't turn at all at any point. She felt the stare like claws on her back, digging under her skin, but she never allowed the pressure to get to her.
A low rasp broke from the back of the trail, which was led by warriors which was meant to take them back to pack lands.
A voice not meant for living ears, the voice spoke, and Mira heard it through her inner wolf. "She lives…"
The eyes glowed brighter for a heartbeat, then flicked out like dying embers.
The mist swallowed the shape behind them whole. The patrol stood frozen, listening to the wind drag the words between the trees.
Mira pressed her lips to Lyra's brow, whispering a vow only the dark could hear. The baby sighed, tiny fingers curling around Mira's cloak.
Somewhere beyond the treeline, another shape moved. A second pair of eyes opened this time a bit closer, waiting, patient as the grave.
The forest held its breath. The wind went still. And far ahead, something whispered her name.
But Mira held her tightly to her cloak.