~Savanna's POV~
Six months pass, but Moon-Kingdom never forgets its calendar.
The general ancestral ritual comes with the season. Once a year. No delay. No excuse. Packs arrive from every direction. Some are already here. Others keep coming through the gates, banners lowered, weapons peace-bound.
The courtyard fills before the sun goes down.
It sits at the heart of Moon-Kingdom. Stone walls rise on all sides, old and scarred by time. Alpha Hall stands to the east. The barracks to the west. Everything that matters faces this place.
This ritual is bigger than us.
It gathers packs, not just families. Alliances breathe here. Old grudges sleep here. Nothing small survives this night.
I stand with the other young warriors along the outer ring.
Leather armor is tight. Weapons clean. Blades sheathed but ready.
My duty is simple. Watch. Guard. React if anything breaks.
Elite warriors move with quiet focus. Senior warriors scan the crowd without speaking. Elders drift in slow clusters, voices low. Guests from neighboring packs keep their distance, eyes alert.
The air smells of smoke, oil, and crushed leaves.
I keep my gaze moving.
That is when my father appears.
Zeph steps out of the crowd like he has been waiting for the moment I look away. His face is hard. His mouth already twisted.
"Why did you leave home without fetching water?" he demands.
People close to us go quiet.
I straighten and lower my gaze. "Father, fetching water is Amanda's duty."
The words barely leave my mouth.
His hand snaps across my face.
Pain bursts along my cheek. My ear rings.
Before I can step back, he hits me again. And again.
"You little monster," he snarls. "Demon."
My jaw locks. My teeth grind until they ache.
"How dare you speak back to me?"
Laughter ripples nearby.
Not loud. Not kind.
Some warriors turn away. Three of my own colleagues laugh openly.
Heat rushes to my face, sharper than the pain.
Since Nicholas died, my parents look at me like I am already dead. Amanda barely meets my eyes. Only Lila still stands near me when she can.
Zeph steps back at last and spits on the stone.
"Useless," he mutters, and walks away.
The laughter lingers even after he is gone.
I do not answer. I do not fight it. I turn and leave before my legs betray me.
I walk until the noise fades.
A large mango tree stands near the edge of the courtyard. Its branches stretch wide and heavy with leaves. I sit beneath it and press my fingers into the dirt.
I breathe. Slow. Counted.
I do not cry. I try to rub my hand on the tiny triangle mark near my right wrist. A mark I grew up with and no one ever explained. The tiny circle at the base of my neck feels cold under my palm.
When I stand again, the ritual is nearly ready.
I head back.
That is when I see him.
Alpha Hector crosses the courtyard, flanked by elders and guards. He moves with calm weight, like the ground knows his steps.
My wolf stirs.
Not fear. Not anger.
Something else.
My hands shake. My chest tightens.
Why now?
I have seen him countless times. He is our Alpha. Nothing about him should feel new.
Yet my body reacts as if the world has shifted.
Hector stumbles.
A wet smear of blood touches his mouth. Just a little.
My sister, Lila, the Beta of the pack, catches his arm at once. "My Alpha. What's wrong?"
He wipes his mouth and straightens. "Nothing," he says, but his voice is thin.
His eyes lift.
They found me.
He walks toward me without hesitation and stops close. His fingers brush my cheek, careful and warm.
"Little warrior," he says. "Are you well?"
My throat tightens.
"Yes," I answered. Too fast.
"Aren't you meant to be on duty?" he asks.
"I was," I say. "I just stepped away."
He studies me for a breath, then nods.
"Return," he says.
They move on.
I follow, thoughts tangled and loud.
I focus on my steps. On my breath.
Inside, I speak to my wolf.
Hello, Kora.
She answers. Faint, but real.
The sound of her shocks me.
Why did you tremble? I ask.
"I don't know," she says. "Something reached for us."
Something old.
"Important," she adds. "Or dangerous."
My stomach twists.
"Really?" I ask.
Kora replies, patient. "All is possible. You just turned eighteen. Our instincts are waking. You won't understand them yet."
***
Night settles fully.
The ritual begins.
Everyone gathers in the central courtyard beneath a waxing gibbous moon. The sky feels heavy. The firmament presses close.
We form a wide circle around the statue of ancient Luna Catherine.
She kneels in stone, hands raised, face lifted to the sky.
Ash rings her base. Candles burn steady. Bones lie arranged with care.
A great fire burns nearby, fed with scented leaves. Smoke coils upward, thick and sweet, climbing toward the firmament that restrains it.
All members of Moon-Kingdom are present. Even prisoners are brought out and bound to one side.
Alphas, betas, and elders stand together. Warriors hold the perimeter. Guests cluster by pack.
Three elders take their seats at the center.
Anders of Moon-Kingdom. Bridal and Eric from neighboring packs.
A warning carries through the crowd.
Do not look up.
Especially the pups.
Silence falls.
Candles hold their flame. Ash keeps its place. Bones stay still.
Anders raises his staff.
"The firmament is open," he declares. "The ritual is welcomed. If the firmament were closed, candles die, ash scatter, bones crack, wolves groan as one. Tonight, we are favored."
A breath moves through the crowd.
He starts the praise again.
"Ancient Luna Catherine," he intones. "Mother of our line. We honor you. Speak to the Moon Goddess to fortify us."
Bridal raises his voice. "Since the beginning of the world, we have relied on one doctrine: The firmament law. We do not know why it holds such sway. It takes us in pain, not in joy. Shifting becomes rare. Whatever sin we carry, forgive us, Moon Goddess. Fortify our strength."
Eric steps forward next. "We honor the Moon Goddess," he calls. "She gives us power."
The crowd answers as one, our ritual slogan.
"The moon gives us power. The firmament restrains it."
Seven times, we repeat it.
The chanting begins.
A drum strikes once. Deep. Hollow.
Something in me answers.
Pain blooms behind my eyes, sharp and sudden. My vision blurs.
No. Not now.
Cold rises in my chest. Cruel. Familiar.
This is not the new moon.
I look toward Lila.
She frowns, jaw working slowly, as if she is chewing words she does not speak.
The dark spirit surges.
I try to move. To shout. To warn someone.
Too late.
My body snaps forward.
My hands become claws. My mouth opens.
The first is an adult, daughter of an elder, hair braided, a pale dress, standing too close to the statue.
She never screams.
I turn on the next. And the next.
Visitors fall. Elders' kin fall.
Blades strike me. I fling them aside.
Bodies hit the ground and collapse into sand, slipping through fingers, scattering underfoot.
The courtyard erupts.
Flames leap. Candles gutter and die. Ash sails like a gray tide.
Wolves scream inside their skins.
Warriors rush me. Some fall. Others are thrown back bleeding.
Elders shout orders I cannot parse.
Anders stands frozen for a moment, staff raised, like a man who has lost the shape of his law.
Then the spirit releases me.
Just like that.
I collapse onto the ground, shaking, blood-soaked, breath tearing from my chest.
Silence crashes down.
People close in, weapons raised. Faces twisted with fear and hate.
"Kill her," someone shouts.
"This ends now," another says.
Today, they decide I will die.