Chapter 1: The Last Flame
904 Words
The chandeliers hummed with warmth, the floor gleamed like a mirror, and the air carried the scent of citrus and vanilla. Every detail—perfect. Intentional. A place designed to make magic feel real. But to Sofia, it was all illusion.
She stood beside her mother in the grand receiving hall of the Wilson Pack, spine straight, expression unreadable. The ceiling arched high above her, cathedral-tall, dripping with gold and lantern light. Flowers spilled from the rafters like offerings. Every corner gleamed.
It was exquisite. Ornate. Carefully curated.
She hated it. Another reception. Another ballroom full of wolves who mistook heritage for consent. She’d been to enough of these to know the script, but still too few to not feel the weight of every stare.
She hated the way they looked at her—every smiling wolf in silk and gold. Not with awe, though there was always a flicker of that—but with expectation. With hunger. As if they were waiting for her to become something more. Something promised.
As if being Ixchele made her a prize. They didn’t see her as a girl. They saw her as legend wrapped in silk. A creature meant to bend, to shift, to choose.
She did not come here to be chosen.
A young wolf stepped too close, his smile polished, his eyes eager in that dangerous, boyish way. He tried for conversation—his voice low and warm, his compliments practiced. She didn’t hear the words. Only the hunger curled behind them.
She offered a polite smile. Empty. Unyielding.
“I’m not here for that,” she said at last.
He blinked. “For… what?”
Her gaze cut to him—cool, level. “Whatever you’re hoping I might be.”
His face faltered. His mouth opened, then closed. He bowed and disappeared into the crowd.
Sofia exhaled slowly. Not cruel. Just done.
The weight of her own name pressed like a hand at the base of her skull. Daughter of Eliza Moon. The last of the Moon children. The only one unclaimed. Unbonded. The crowd saw a story waiting to be written.
But Sofia was tired of being a blank page for other people’s hopes.
Across the hall, her mother stood like a carved goddess—composed, radiant, impossible to ignore. Eliza’s braid swept down one shoulder, streaked in silver like lightning caught in obsidian. Her black dress shimmered faintly, elegant in its simplicity. She smiled graciously as she spoke to a Southern diplomat—but her eyes kept returning to Sofia. Measuring. Waiting.
You’re the last.
The last to bond.
To belong.
To choose.
But Sofia didn’t want to choose. She wanted air. Silence. A world where no one looked at her like she was their prophecy incarnate.
A hand touched her arm.
It was Ariana, her niece—nearly seventeen, sharp-eyed and clever, already growing into her wolf's grace.
“You look like you’d rather set fire to the drapes,” Ariana murmured.
Sofia smirked, just slightly. “If I do, scatter the ashes somewhere nice.”
“The old greenhouse is unlocked,” Ariana offered. “Smells like cinnamon bark and orange blossoms. We could disappear.”
“Tempting,” Sofia said. “But if I vanish now, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Ariana squeezed her wrist. “You don’t owe this room anything.”
No, Sofia thought. But I owe her everything.
She stayed. Not for the wolves. Not for the aching music or the procession of names she didn’t care to remember. Not for the hopeful glances or the endless, desperate what ifs.
She stayed because her mother’s gaze still held her in place like a thread around her ribs.
Because Eliza Moon had built safety for her children with blood and bone and silence. Had carved peace from the chaos of a world that wanted to swallow them. She had burned and clawed and bled to make sure they would never have to.
And Sofia—resentful as she sometimes was of the legacy she carried—could not ignore that debt. Not when her mother still bore the scars of earning it.
The rest of the night passed in a fog. Applause. Toasts. Faces like masks. She smiled when the price was low. Laughed when silence would’ve drawn too much notice. She moved like smoke through the ballroom—untouchable, untethered.
When the music finally slowed and the room began to loosen its grip, Sofia stepped out onto the wide balcony and breathed.
The night air was cool against her skin, scented with orange blossom and damp stone. She closed her eyes. Her fingers curled over the railing.
She could shift now. Fly or run or vanish. She could become owl, or coyote, or wind.
But in that moment, she didn’t want to be anything but a girl alone in the dark, wishing the world would stop reaching for her.
“Sofia.”
Her name broke the silence—soft, but heavy.
She turned. Her mother stood in the threshold, backlit by golden light. Even in quiet, Eliza was a presence—still the Luna who walked into wars and walked out unburned.
“You ready?” Eliza asked. Not commanding. Just a mother, this time.
Sofia nodded. Her throat ached with it.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m ready.”
Eliza smiled.
And together, they stepped back into the light.
- Writer
