The Last of the True Luna

There was a rumor circulating throughout the quiet, sleepy town—one that had been whispered from generation to generation, often passed off as mere folklore. Stories of strange beings lurking in the shadows, watching from the forest’s edge, waiting for the right time to emerge. Some said they were wolves that could walk like men. Others spoke of pale, elegant creatures who thrived in the night and fed on the living. And some, with a glint of fear in their eyes, mentioned witches—ancient spellcasters who walked among the townspeople, their power hidden behind charming smiles and innocent eyes. Supernaturals, they called them. Be it wolves, vampires, or witches—those stories captivated children and stirred the imagination of the curious. But for most adults, they were nothing more than fantasies—fairy tales to entertain or scare misbehaving children. After all, who would believe such things in an age of science and reason? Government institutions issued countless reports that there was no scientific evidence supporting the existence of such beings. Prominent researchers and scholars confirmed with confidence that there were no anomalies, no creatures beyond human understanding. Documentaries were made to debunk supernatural myths, books published to trace the origins of such folklore to ancient fears and misunderstandings. With each passing decade, society became more assured: they do not exist. Or so they thought. Hidden deep within the forest at the far end of the town, where no paved road could reach and the sunlight barely touched the forest floor, there existed a territory unknown to most. It was cloaked in an ancient illusion, a veil woven from old magic and older secrets. There, nestled in the thick woods, was the Zoldrikh Union—home to werewolves, vampires, and witches who had once ruled alongside mankind. Long ago, before history was written in ink and stone, the world was different. The supernatural and the human coexisted, bound by a sacred agreement forged in the presence of the gods. A pact sealed under the blood-red full moon, promising peace and balance among all races. The forest became neutral ground, where no blood would be shed and no boundary crossed. And for a time, the world lived in harmony. It was during the largest full moon in recorded history that all the races—humans, witches, wolves, and vampires—gathered in unity to celebrate the birth of a child. Not just any child, but the daughter of the Human King, the only heir to the throne that had united the human kingdoms. Under the glowing moonlight, the Witch Queen, resplendent in her emerald robes, stepped forward. She raised her hands, her voice echoing across the valley like a song carried on the wind. “I bless thee, thy sweetest child. Thou shall have a beauty like no other,” she proclaimed, her magic swirling around the infant like golden mist. The people cheered, and the goddesses smiled down from the heavens. The child, now blessed by ancient magic, would be the thread binding their races together. Years passed. The child grew into a young woman whose beauty was rivaled only by the grace she carried herself with. Her laughter was music; her kindness was known throughout every corner of the land. It was no surprise when suitors began to arrive from distant regions—princes, warriors, scholars, and kings—each seeking her hand. But none were as bold as the supernatural kings. The Alpha King of the Wolves, a fierce and noble leader, declared the princess as his fated mate—the one destiny had chosen for him. He claimed that the pull he felt toward her was not just longing but the sacred bond of the moon. The Vampire King, cold and calculating, saw the princess not only as a partner but as a rare gift—his eternal link to humanity. If she became his, their bond would anchor him to the mortal world, stabilizing his dark urges. But the Human King, deeply protective of his only daughter, would have none of it. He feared what would become of her if she fell into supernatural hands. Whether it was out of love, control, or something else, no one truly knew. But his decision was swift—he spirited her away and hid her deep among the witches, guarded by wards and enchantments no one could break. Time passed. And as time does, it changed everything. What once was unity slowly rotted into distrust. The races began to question one another’s motives. Whispers turned into arguments. Arguments turned into fights. And soon enough, peace unraveled at the seams. Jealousy burned bright—who would control the princess? Who deserved her love? Who had been betrayed? Greed followed. Then wrath. The pact was broken. Blood painted the land, and the wind carried the cries of the dying. The forests burned. The rivers ran red. The balance that had been so delicately maintained shattered in the blink of an eye. The princess was never seen again. The gods, furious and heartbroken by the devastation their children had caused, descended onto the land to stop the madness before nothing remained. Three goddesses stood above all: Luna, Sol, and Hecate. With sorrow in their hearts and fire in their eyes, they imposed a new world order.