FATED BUT FORSAKEN

1 Year Ago Luna Zephyra stepped out of her daughter’s room. She paused at the doorway, casting one last look over her shoulder at the tiny figure lying peacefully in the crib. Her baby girl—so perfect, so innocent. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, “I’m sorry,” then turned and walked away, her heart breaking with each step. “Luna, you can’t just leave the princess and go to war. She’s only one year old!” Ayla’s voice trembled as she rushed after her friend. Zephyra didn’t stop walking. “I have no choice,” she said softly. “My mate needs me. I can’t let him go into battle alone.” “But what about princess Elara? She needs you too.” “She has you,” Zephyra replied, her voice barely audible. “You’ve always been like a sister to me. I trust you with her life.” Ayla's chest tightened with fear and unspoken responsibility. “I just hope nothing happens to the Alpha and Luna,” she muttered to herself as Zephyra disappeared into the darkness. With the Alpha and Luna gone, the Moonblight Pack was left in the hands of Lucian, the Beta, and Ayla, his wife. The responsibility weighed heavily on them—especially with a baby princess now in their care. The first day passed in quiet chaos. Elara cried often, her tiny arms reaching out for comfort she didn’t understand. Ayla did her best to keep her fed, changed, and warm, whispering lullabies in shaky tones and brushing her fingers through the baby’s soft curls to soothe her to sleep. Lucian tried to remain strong for the pack. He held strategy meetings, reassured the warriors, and patrolled the borders—always hoping for a sign, a message, any news at all. But there was nothing. The silence from the Alpha and Luna was deafening. On the second day, the mood across the pack shifted. Worry turned into fear, and fear into whispers. The pack members began to question—where were their leaders? Why hadn’t they returned? What if they never did? Ayla carried princess Elara in her arms, rocking her gently as she stood by the window. “They’ll come back,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince—herself or the baby. That night, Elara wouldn't sleep. She cried for hours, refusing to be comforted. Ayla walked the halls with her wrapped in a blanket, whispering stories of her mother and father—tales of strength and love, told through a shaky, hopeful voice. By the third day, the weight of uncertainty became unbearable. Ayla hadn’t slept more than an hour, and Lucian’s frustration grew sharper by the minute. Still, he remained outwardly composed, never showing his doubt—only quiet determination. “Is there no way to contact the Alpha?” Ayla asked, her voice thin with exhaustion and fear. “If there was,” Lucian snapped, “do you think I’d be sitting here doing nothing?” His tone was harsh, but the fear in his eyes betrayed him. Ayla said nothing more. She understood. They were both trying to hold on—for the pack, for each other, and for Elara. Just as the silence settled in again, a sharp cry broke through the air. “Whnn—whunn!” It was princess Elara. Ayla rushed to the nursery, her heart pounding. She pushed open the door, expecting to find the baby distressed again. But what she saw made her freeze in place. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught. She blinked once. Twice. Then her voice shattered the stillness. “Are my eyes deceiving me? Lucian!!” Her scream echoed through the halls—sharp and urgent.