THE MOON'S REFLECTION
The Mirror Realm was not broken.
It was incomplete.
Aelira stood at its threshold, the wind colder here, the sky reflecting a thousand false suns, fractured in spirals above her head. The ground beneath her feet shimmered like frozen glass. Her breath was visible, glowing pale blue as it left her lips.
She had crossed the threshold a girl.
Now she walked a woman.
But in this world, even her own shadow didn't trust her.
The realm had once mirrored the world Luna saved—but over time, it had warped. In this place, the Moonborn had never risen. The Flame had never fallen. And wolves walked blind, bound to rigid hierarchies where fear reigned.
And worse?
They had no memory.
She was met at the border by a patrol.
Ten wolves. Eyes gray. Claws out.
"Name yourself," the leader growled.
"Aelira of the Circle."
Blank stares.
"I come in peace."
"You carry corrupted light," the leader snapped.
She held out her hand, showing them the silver mark—the sign of balance, the gift of the Flame.
They recoiled.
"You bring plague," one of them hissed. "You are not welcome here."
Aelira didn't fight.
She waited.
Until night.
And when the moon rose, and its light refused to touch the ground, she knew the truth:
The Moon in this realm had been silenced.
She moved through the realm alone, cloaked in veils of mist and silence. The land felt empty, even in its movement. Buildings rose like monuments to order. Streets were silent. Packs were organized, but never together. Alphas ruled without bonds.
Every wolf she saw wore a mark on their neck—a band of obsidian embedded with a rune.
The Control Sigil.
Used to bind.
Not protect.
She spoke to none. But they whispered of her. A shadow that didn't kneel. A flame that didn't burn. A girl from the sky who didn't obey.
In time, she reached the center.
A throne carved from moonstone that had long since dimmed.
Atop it sat a man.
Dressed in light.
But eyes darker than death.
"Another heretic," he said as she approached. "Another lie made flesh."
"I'm not a lie," she answered. "I'm the reflection of your forgotten truth."
He rose.
"I am Alpha Supreme," he said. "The Moon answers to me."
"No," Aelira whispered. "The Moon answers to no one."
He struck.
She didn't flinch.
His claws slashed air.
Her fire met them.
Cold. Beautiful. Balanced.
They fought through dreams and time. Through memories not theirs, and futures unwritten.
Until she touched his mind.
And saw.
He had once been like her.
A child of moonlight.
But where Luna had chosen selflessness, he had chosen fear.
"Your world needs to remember," she said.
He laughed, weak. "There is no memory left."
"Then I will give them mine."
She found the oldest stone in the realm.
A tower buried beneath ice.
Inside, a single crystal burned—a seed left behind. Perhaps by Luna. Perhaps by the Moon itself.
She bled into it.
Sang to it.
And told it everything.
Her story.
Luna's.
The world's.
When the crystal cracked open, the light returned.
Every wolf felt it.
The obsidian sigils shattered.
The moonsong returned.
The realm remembered.
Aelira stood atop the tower as dawn approached.
And in that brief moment before the sun crested the horizon, the moon shone again.
Whole.
Above both realms.
Two worlds.
One truth.
Behind her, the once-Alpha Supreme knelt.
Not in defeat.
But in awakening.
"I don't know how to fix this," he said.
"You don't have to," Aelira replied. "You just have to start listening."
He looked up at her. "And you?"
She smiled softly. "I've done what I came to do."
The Flame opened again.
She stepped through.
And Silvercrest rejoiced.
When Aelira returned, she was not celebrated as a conqueror.
She was welcomed as kin.
The Moonborn knelt.
Then rose.
The wolves who remembered Luna wept.
Asher, now old, now quiet, stood at the hill.
"I knew you'd return," he whispered.
And the sky shimmered.
A second moon rose.
A twin.
And somewhere far beyond time, Luna's voice echoed:
We are not bound by endings.
We are not ruled by fear.
We are reflections.
We are fire.
We are the moon.