Bloodmoon forsaken

The night was too quiet. Rhea sat at the edge of the cliffs, her legs dangling over the side, the wind cold against her skin. Below, the Blackwood Forest stretched into the horizon, a vast, endless sea of shadows. The moon hung low, bathing the treetops in silver light, but even that could not soften the darkness waiting beneath. She had heard the stories since she was a child—of the wolves who were cast into those woods, of the things that lurked beyond the trees. None of them ever came back. A fitting grave for the pack’s greatest disappointment. Behind her, the Bloodfang Stronghold loomed against the sky, its stone walls carved into the cliffs. The fires from the main hall still burned, and from here, she could hear the distant sound of laughter. They were celebrating. Tomorrow, the final trial would take place. Her trial. The last chance to prove she was worthy of her father’s name. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. Her entire life had been spent trying to be enough. Strong enough. Fast enough. Ruthless enough. But no matter how hard she trained, no matter how much she bled, it was never enough for them. For him. A wolf born weak was not a wolf at all. That was what Alpha Darius had always said. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of pine and the distant trace of rain. Somewhere in the fortress behind her, a door slammed open. Footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful. Coming straight toward her. She knew who it was before he spoke. “You should be inside,” said Lucien, her eldest brother. His voice was sharp, edged with impatience. “The others are waiting.” Rhea didn’t move. “The others don’t care if I’m there or not.” Lucien exhaled, stepping closer. “Father wants you at the gathering.” She stiffened. It wasn’t a request. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, turning to face him. Lucien stood tall, his posture straight, every bit the warrior their father had molded him to be. He had the same sharp features as Darius, the same piercing gaze that made others lower their heads. Everything Rhea was not. She glanced toward the stronghold, where the sounds of celebration continued. “What’s the point?” she muttered. “We both know how tomorrow will end.” Lucien’s expression didn’t change. “Then don’t fail.” A bitter laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “Is that what you tell yourself before every fight? Just don’t fail?” “It works.” Rhea shook her head. “Not for me.” Lucien studied her for a long moment, then sighed. “Look, Rhea. Just—” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “If you fight like you did last week, you won’t walk away from this.” She met his gaze. “Maybe that would be easier for everyone.” His jaw tightened. “Father won’t tolerate another loss.” “I know.” Lucien held her stare for a second longer, then turned away. “Get inside.” Rhea watched as he walked back toward the stronghold, disappearing into the torchlight. She lingered a moment longer before following. Tomorrow, she would fight. Tomorrow, she would either prove herself— Or be cast out. The hall was crowded, filled with warriors and their families, their laughter echoing against the stone walls. Meat and ale spilled across the long tables, the air thick with the scent of roasting venison and smoke. Rhea stepped inside, unnoticed. She moved toward the edge of the room, avoiding the center where her father sat at the head of the table. Alpha Darius. He was speaking with the elders, his presence commanding, his voice low and unreadable. He had not looked at her once. She found an empty seat near the wall and sank into it, wishing she were anywhere else. “Already hiding?” Rhea tensed at the voice. Garrick. She glanced up to see the warrior standing over her, a smirk tugging at his lips. His broad frame cast a shadow over the table, the firelight glinting off the scar along his jaw—the same scar he had earned from training with her two years ago. He had never forgiven her for that. She forced herself to stay calm. “Just enjoying the view.” Garrick chuckled, shaking his head. “You should be enjoying your last meal instead.” The words were light, but the meaning wasn’t. Around them, a few other warriors snickered. Rhea ignored them, keeping her expression blank. “Big talk for someone who hasn’t won yet.” Garrick’s smirk widened. “You and I both know tomorrow isn’t about winning. It’s about proving who deserves to be here.” He leaned in, his voice dropping. “And you? You don’t.” Rhea’s stomach twisted, but she refused to let it show. Garrick straightened, clapping a hand on her shoulder hard enough to make her flinch. “Sleep well, little wolf. It’ll be your last night in Bloodfang.” She waited until he was gone before exhaling. Her hands trembled as she clenched them under the table. This wasn’t just a fight. It was a death sentence. And everyone knew it. The moon hung high in the sky when Rhea stepped outside. The night air was sharp, cooling the heat from the crowded hall. She walked without thinking, her feet carrying her back toward the cliffs, toward the place where the world felt bigger. The wind whispered through the trees. The Blackwood Forest stretched before her, dark and endless. She closed her eyes. What if I ran? The thought came suddenly, unbidden. If she left now, before the trial, before the humiliation of failure— No. She would not run. She would not give them that satisfaction. If tomorrow was the end, then she would face it. She turned away from the cliffs, forcing herself to breathe, to steady the storm inside her. She didn’t know that deep in the Blackwood, something had already taken notice of her. That fate had already shifted. And that before the next moon, she would no longer be the girl who had spent her life begging for a place in the pack. She would become something else entirely