Return of the Rejected Luna

The Last Ember Of Hope

“Alpha, we…we have searched all the neighboring packs around the mountain.” The guard reported, his voice trembling as his hand tightened over the edge of his jacket, “But… there’s still no sign of the Luna’s body.”

Arvis stilled, and the room suddenly grew colder as he lifted his gaze from the documents scattered before him. The purple hue of his eyes shifted into a vivid crimson, glowing with a raw fury.

“Body?” The word dripped from his lips like venom as his expression darkened.

The air grew thick with tension as the other guards exchanged alarmed glances, their faces pale. Even those in the back could feel the heat of his rage.

The guard who had misspoken froze, feeling the weight of Arvis’s gaze pierce through his skin and sink deep into his bones. He dropped to his knees, trembling uncontrollably as fear gripped his every nerve. 

“F-forgive my audacity, Alpha!” he stammered, his voice barely holding together.

But Arvis’s fury seemed to wane, replaced by a cold detachment. He rubbed his temples and exhaled heavily, weariness seeping into his posture. Despite everything, he knew Aerith was alive—the mate bond still pulsed within him. His restless and agitated wolf howled inside his mind, straining against the leash of his control.

Arvis wrestled with the storm of emotions tearing at his chest. It wasn’t just the wolf inside him—something far deeper gnawed at his core. Could he have ever imagined Aerith’s disappearance would cripple him like this? No. He had taken her for granted, hadn’t he?

From childhood, she had always been the one to chase him. He had assumed, without question, that she would always be there. His confidence in protecting her had been purely physical—his strength, a shield he believed could ward off any threat. But he had never stopped to think about her heart, her desires, and her unspoken needs.

“What about the kidnappers?” Arvis asked, his voice cold as he strode toward the glass wall, staring at the sprawling city beneath him.

“We have surrounded all their allied packs, Sir,” the guard promptly answered, an undertone of fear apparent. “They can’t evade us for much longer.” 

Arvis’s jaw tightened. “Evade?” He snapped, his voice laced with venom. He pressed his fist against the glass, the cool surface doing little to quell the fire that had ignited within him. “Burn them, burn their allies, burn anyone with a shred of suspicion tied to the k********g!” His voice darkened low and dangerous. “If that coward doesn’t surface, I will set fire to every inch of land he might crawl upon.” 

“Lady Elenora has regained consciousness, Sir,” a guard reported, stepping forward. “She’s been asking for the Alpha since she woke.”

Arvis exhaled sharply, turning his attention toward the guards. “Was she hurt anywhere?”

“No, Sir. Aside from mild sedation overdose, Lady Elenora shows no signs of injury,” the guard replied. “The doctor believes she’s just unsettled from the ordeal.”

Arvis frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Unsettled? She wasn’t even awake during the attack.”

The guard hesitated, glancing down nervously. “The doctor suggested that… if the Alpha visits her, it might help her calm down,” he added quickly, flinching under Arvis’s icy stare.

“If Elenora’s condition is stable, escort her safely to her family and always keep an eye on her. The daughter of the Raven Claw pack alpha must not come to harm again, not under our watch.” Arvis’s voice was steady, but the weight of his words pressed heavily on the room. 

He leaned over the table, fingers curling into the paper beneath his palm, crumpling the edges as his frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I can’t afford delays,” he muttered, barely audible. “I need to find my Luna before it’s too late.” His wolf stirred within him, a low, restless growl rising in his chest, echoing his urgency.

* * * 

Matthias’s hands slipped around Aerith’s body, steady yet firm, guiding her toward the towering mutant. Aerith’s breath quickened her chest’s rapid rise and fall, betraying the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

“Is he... relying on me?” The thought rattled her, clashing with everything she had grown up believing. Being labeled as ‘Talentless’— no one had ever looked to her for help in such a crucial moment, and now a man she had barely known was entrusting her with the responsibility of saving them both.

Her gaze locked on the mutant, its writhing mass of tentacles clawing at the earth, regenerating faster than they could strike. Would her abilities be enough? Her mind raced, doubts swirling like a storm. “We will never reach it alive.” 

Her knees buckled under uncertainty, and every inch of her body screamed that she was incapable and unworthy. What if her power failed? What if they died because of her?

A sudden surge of cold energy snapped her from the downward spiral. It radiated from her forearms, creeping into her palms. Matthias was beside her, pressing a dagger into her hand. His talent flowed through the weapon, the blade shimmering as frost began to coat its edges. 

“Is he…?” Her eyes widened. “He’s blending his energy with mine...” The realization hit hard, a jolt to her sinking resolve. He trusted her, even though she couldn’t trust herself. She had been so used to walking alone that the idea of others standing with her was foreign, unreal.

Aerith closed her eyes shut—she couldn’t give up now. With Matthias channeling his talent into the blade, she pushed herself to focus, reaching deep within to summon whatever remnants of power she had left. A faint warmth flickered in her chest, then surged down her arm. Slowly, the icy knife in her hand began to shimmer, enveloped in a jade-green aura. Her power intertwined with Matthias’s, their combined energy creating something new, something more dangerous.

Matthias moved with liquid precision, each step slicing through the mutant’s writhing tentacles, freezing them upon contact and denying them regeneration. They were closing in on the core. 

Aerith’s eyes snapped open, her breath catching as she realized they were almost there. The mutant’s grotesque form loomed before them, its core pulsating. The overwhelming fear that had consumed her was now replaced by a fierce confidence she had never known.

With a final push, Matthias drove them forward. The knife in Aerith’s hand sliced through the mutant’s core with a sickening crunch. The mutant’s body convulsed as it thrashed in vain, making a dying sound that reverberated through the battlefield—until, at last, its movements stilled, its form collapsing in on itself. With a grunt, Matthias released Aerith, shoving her clear of the mutant’s flailing appendages.

Aerith stumbled to the side, gasping for air as she watched Matthias collapse a few feet away, breath ragged. The battlefield was silent, filled with only the sounds of heavy breathing. The other Talents exchanged bewildered glances, their eyes wide with disbelief. Gasping for breath, everyone rushed to the injured woman. 

“Melena!” Matthias’s voice trembled with worry as he knelt, pulling the girl’s limp body into his lap. His eyes brimmed with fear as he gently cradled her head. “Can you hear me?” he pleaded, his hands shaking as he lightly patted her pale cheeks, willing her to wake.

Her once radiant, rosy skin had drained of color, leaving her complexion ashen. The wound near her shoulder, where the mutant had struck, had withered into a brittle, dried patch, steadily creeping through her body. 

Aerith crouched beside her, heart pounding in her chest. A storm of thoughts raced through her mind. She owed this woman her life. Her gaze flickered to the others, their faces etched with worry and drained of hope.

“If only we had someone with purification abilities...” one of the men whispered, his voice cracking as tears brimmed in his eyes.

“Are we going to lose her?” another asked, choking on the words.

“Get a grip!” Matthias snapped, his voice sharp with determination. “She’s still alive! We need to find Winslie. He must know someone who can save her.”

Suddenly, a calm, melodious voice sliced through the panic. “Why should my children need to find me? It is I who will never lose sight of them.”

Aerith’s head snapped toward the source, her breath catching as she saw the towering figure of a blond man standing a few feet away. In his early thirties, he was impeccably dressed in a blue shirt with sleeves neatly rolled to his forearms and black trousers complemented by polished shoes. His presence radiated a quiet authority, yet his warm, familiar aura brought a wave of relief to the group.

“Winslie,” Matthias muttered, barely containing the edge in his voice.