The moonlight judgement
The execution was set beneath the twilight sky.
The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and iron. Wolves padded silently, their eyes reflecting the rising moon, swollen and pale, watching with the patience of predators. The pack had gathered in a circle, every Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and warrior in formation, their breaths quiet, their hearts taut.
Elena stood beside Lorenzo, pressed slightly against him. Her hands trembled just enough to show the lingering heat of fear, but her gaze was steady, clear. For the first time in months, her silence had been replaced by resolve.
Cassandra was dragged forward, her struggles weak, her face streaked with tears and dirt. "You don't understand!" she screamed, voice cracking. "He's coming! He'll destroy all of you!"
The pack shifted uneasily. Her words carried a hint of warning, but no one dared answer. Cassandra's panic made her sound human ,mortal and small.
Elena stepped forward, her cloak brushing the grass. The pack went silent, waiting. Her voice came soft, trembling, but there was power in it,an authority born of the Moon Goddess and the fire she had learned to wield.
"You chose hatred," Elena said, each word deliberate, measured. "You chose to hurt others because you felt small. Because you were afraid to be powerless. This is the consequence."
Cassandra's eyes widened, her pleas dying on her lips. She turned to her mate, desperation in her gaze, but the Rogue Alpha was nowhere in sight, his fury still seething across distant forests.
Lorenzo's hand rested on the hilt of his blade, golden eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. There was no hesitation in him now,none at all. One clean strike.
The sword fell.
Cassandra crumpled to the ground. Her last breath cut off, her body limp. The bond she had shared with her mate shattered violently. A howl ripped across the land, raw and inhuman, echoing into the forests beyond the pack's territory.
Far away, the Rogue Alpha lifted his head. His fury was silent, simmering beneath the shadows, waiting.
And deeper still, beneath the earth itself, a witch smiled. Her fingers brushed the soil, and the corpses of dead wolves stirred, clawing at the roots of the forest like marionettes pulled by her unseen hands.
The air trembled with premonition.
Elena shivered, leaning into Lorenzo. "This isn't over," she whispered, voice barely audible.
"No," he murmured, holding her tighter. His eyes scanned the horizon, golden and molten with warning. "It never is."
The moon hung over them, indifferent and eternal. Its light illuminated the cost of envy,and the first sparks of a war that was about to consume everything.