Chapter Five: Return To Ashes
2196 Words
The Moonclaw border hadn’t changed.
Not the trees. Not the scent of the soil. Not the crisp bite of mountain air that came with twilight.
But everything else was different.
Martha crouched beneath a pine ridge just beyond the southern cliffs. The rogue border ended here, and just a few hundred yards ahead lay the very territory where she had lived, ruled, and died.
Her fingers dug into the mossy earth as she stared at the distant watchtowers rising from the treetops. Tall, spiked with iron, trimmed with lunar banners. Her former home still stood, unburned, unbothered as if her death had never mattered.
A lie preserved in stone and silence.
Behind her, Cassian stepped quietly into view, boots muffled by pine needles.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But I’m going.”
He folded his arms. “You’re risking everything. If you’re recognized, if the Council has your name, they’ll”
“They already tried to kill me once,” Martha said, rising slowly. “They don’t get another chance to forget me.”
Cassian watched her for a long moment. “You’re not doing this for justice.”
“No,” she said softly. “I’m doing this for the truth.”
She traveled alone at dusk, moving through the woods like shadow.
She knew these paths. Her body, though different, still remembered the routes Rochelle had walked in the early days before the title of Luna, before the bond, before the betrayal. Her heart ached with each step closer.
Eventually, she reached the northern ridge that overlooked the pack’s ceremonial lake.
Her breath caught.
A new monument had been built.
A tall black obelisk, trimmed with moonstone, stood near the water. Engraved in silver were the words: “In Memory of Luna Rochelle. May her spirit guide us from the stars.”
She stared at it for a long time.
There were no flowers. No offerings. No candles.
Just a monument. Cold and pretty. Like her memory had been curated, sanitized, and tucked neatly into a corner of history.
They erased me. But only the parts they didn’t fear.
She stepped forward slowly, crouching beside the edge of the lake.
The moon reflected in its waters, and for a moment, she saw her old face.
Then Martha’s face surfaced beside it, merging with the reflection.
Two women. One soul.
And neither at peace.
She didn’t plan to go to the estate. Not at first.
But her feet led her there anyway.
Just one look, she told herself.
Just one glimpse of the life she lost.
She approached from the east wall, climbing over the abandoned vineyard wall she had once helped restore. Her fingers brushed over the stone, still rough, still warm from the sun.
The estate was bustling with movement. Lights flickered from the windows. Guards patrolled in pairs. Servants moved in hushed urgency.
And in the courtyard stood Morgana.
Martha froze in the shadows of a tall cedar.
Morgana wore an elegant black gown trimmed in silver. She stood beside Elder Thane, her hand resting casually on his arm. Her laughter drifted across the courtyard like perfume. Sweet and empty.
Martha’s lips tightened.
She hadn’t aged a day. Her hair was curled perfectly. Her eyes sparkled. And she wore Rochelle’s moon pendant around her neck, the one given to the Luna during the rite of bonding.
A wave of nausea rose in Martha’s throat.
The worst part wasn’t Morgana’s presence.
It was how comfortable she looked.
As if she had always belonged here.
Inside, in the Council hall, Alpha Pearce stood at the head of the long stone table. Several Elders were seated before him, including Thane. Morgana sat to his right.
Martha watched through the high gallery window, cloaked in shadows.
Pearce looked tired. His eyes were rimmed with red, though his voice remained firm.
“The attacks near the border are increasing. The bounty wolves didn’t return. We need to assume the rogues are organizing.”
Morgana leaned in, her tone gentle. “Or perhaps someone is aiding them. We should consider expanding our surveillance.”
Pearce hesitated. “You mean among our own?”
Thane grunted. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Martha’s jaw clenched.
She could hear it in their voices, the suspicion, the fear. They were tightening their grip. And Pearce… he looked conflicted.
He wasn’t the same cold Alpha she remembered. There was something frayed in him now. A crack in his armor.
She hated that it made her heart stir.
He should have mourned her. Should have fought for the truth.
But he hadn’t.
He let Morgana in.
He let them bury her name.
She turned to leave, but not fast enough.
A servant stepped out from a side door just beneath her perch and glanced upward.
Their eyes locked.
The servant. A young girl with freckled skin and dark braids, stumbled back in shock.
Martha bolted.
She leapt down the gallery wall, hitting the ground hard before sprinting into the forest. Behind her, alarms rose. Bells rang. Guards shouted.
They would come looking. They would ask who the girl had seen. And someone maybe even Pearce would start to remember.
Let them, she thought as she ran.
Let them chase ghosts.
She didn’t stop until she was miles away, lungs heaving, skin damp with sweat. The rogue border was close now. Cassian would be waiting.
She collapsed beside a stream, drinking greedily before lying back on the moss.
Above her, the moon peeked through clouds.
And this time, it wasn’t silent.
A whisper curled in the air.
You were never meant to return unnoticed.
“I know,” she whispered.
“But I had to see it. I had to see what they became without me.”
The wind stirred through the trees like a sigh.
Now you know. So what will you do?
She closed her eyes.
“I’ll tear it down.”
Later, back at camp, Cassian met her by the fire. He didn’t speak at first, just handed her a water flask.
“You made it back,” he said finally.
She nodded. “They’re scared. They just don’t know why yet.”
He tilted his head. “And Pearce?”
She hesitated.
“He looks… haunted.”
Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Good. Let it eat him.”
Martha didn’t respond.
Cassian leaned forward, voice low. “You still feel the bond, don’t you?”
She flinched. “It’s fading. Slowly.”
“Will you kill him?”
She looked into the fire. The flames reflected in her eyes like prophecy.
“I haven’t decided.”
That night, a new rumor spread through Moonclaw.
A girl claimed to have seen a wolf on two legs silver-eyed, cloaked in shadows, watching from the high gallery. She swore it looked like the Luna.
The Council dismissed her.
Morgana ordered her reassigned.
Pearce said nothing.
But that night, he stood alone on the gallery wall.
He stared into the trees.
And for the first time in weeks, he whispered her name.
“Rochelle…”
And the wind answered with silence.
- Writer
