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I am Eira. Eira Valenor. The last princess of the Valenor dynasty, rulers of the Silver Moon. The she-wolf given by treaty in the name of the Silver Moon.
And to whom, you may ask?
To the son of the last Alpha King who ruled the Black Moon—Aetheon Voidhelion, the sole heir prince of the Voidhelion dynasty.
In the Northern Hemisphere, nights were long, the moon harsh and merciless. Only black and silver wolf packs lived in these lands. According to an ancient pact, power belonged to black, wisdom to silver. When the moon rose, the blacks fought, and the silvers ruled.
…And I, Eira Valenor, was an oath made flesh for that ancient balance.
To be the she-wolf of the Silver Moon was less a crown than a chain. An invisible shackle had been fastened to my wrist the moment I was born. To be the last princess of the Valenor dynasty meant having no right to choose. When the Moon called me, I could not flee. When the pact gave me away, I could not resist.
The first night I saw Aetheon Voidhelion, the Black Moon was blood-red.
The black wolves had returned from the battlefield, their fur merging with the night beneath the moonlight. His eyes—those eyes—were like the void itself. The ancient darkness that was the symbol of the Voidhelion dynasty lived within his gaze. Power… raw, unbridled power.
But it was not his strength that frightened me.
When he greeted me, he did not kneel.
He did not bow his head.
He only looked.
He did not submit.
He showed no sign of reverence.
He only looked.
His eyes were like the heart of the void—there was neither rage nor mercy within them. As if even the moon could not rule him. My heart raced in that moment, but not from fear.
Because I understood something then:
I was not his reward.
I was not his chain.
I would be bound with him.
The ancient pact was clear and merciless:
The Silver Moon would give the Black Moon a she-wolf.
A princess.
A bond.
A sigil.
This marriage would bind not only two dynasties, but two moons.
Standing upon the silver stones of the Moon Temple, the moonlight descended upon my skin like a sigil.
The ancient mark of the Silver Moon burned into my back as it appeared. At the same moment, far away, the Black Moon rose.
Aetheon stepped beside me.
When he extended his hand, I did not pull away. Valenor blood did not flee from fear.
When his fingers closed around my wrist, the moon darkened.
“You don’t want this,” he said in a low voice.
“Wanting doesn’t matter,” I replied. “The Moon has commanded it.”
His gaze hardened.
“The Moon has never ruled me, Eira Valenor.”
And in that instant, I realized the flaw in the pact.
The Moon had bound two dynasties…
But it had forgotten to bind Aetheon Voidhelion.
- Writer
