The Last Luna of Ashmoor

THE LAST LUNA OF ASHMOOR The moon was bleeding. At least that was what the people would call it later. A Blood Moon. An omen. A curse. A warning. Tonight, it hung above Ashmoor like a wound carved into the sky. And beneath it... A kingdom died. The screams reached the heavens. Mothers clutched children. Warriors fell in rivers of silver blood. The ancient banners of Ashmoor burned one by one, swallowed by fire until nothing remained but ash drifting through the night. Everything was ending. Everything. Queen Selene stood upon the highest balcony of Moonspire Palace. She did not look away. Queens were not allowed that luxury. Not when their people were dying. Not when history was being erased. Not when the world she loved was crumbling stone by stone beneath her feet. The wind carried the smell of smoke. Of blood. Of loss. Her chest tightened. Every street below held a memory. There. The marketplace where she had first met her mate. There. The fountain where children played during summer festivals. There. The temple where her people sang beneath the moon. Gone. All of it gone. A kingdom was not stone. A kingdom was people. And tonight her people were being slaughtered. A tear escaped. Just one. The Queen brushed it away quickly. Not because she was ashamed. But because if she allowed herself to cry now— She would never stop. A distant explosion shook the palace. The marble beneath her feet cracked. The enemy had reached the inner walls. Time was running out. A sharp ache spread through her chest. The mate bond. Broken. Fresh. Raw. Her knees almost buckled. For a moment she closed her eyes. And saw him. Her mate. Her king. Her greatest love. Dead. The image stabbed through her heart. She remembered his smile. His laugh. The way he looked at her as though she were the only woman beneath the moon. The way he kissed her forehead whenever she worried too much. The way he promised— "I will always come back to you." A broken sound escaped her throat. Not quite a sob. Not quite a scream. Something worse. The sound a heart makes when it loses its home. He wasn't coming back. Not this time. Not ever again. The realization hollowed her from the inside out. Grief was strange. People imagined it arrived like a storm. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it arrived quietly. Like a knife. And stayed there. Buried. Twisting with every breath. A soft laugh suddenly echoed behind her. Tiny. Innocent. Selene turned. And her heart shattered all over again. A little girl sat wrapped in silver blankets . Barely two years old. Wide silver eyes. Dark curls. Tiny fingers reaching toward the moonlight. Princess Lyanna. The last heir of Ashmoor. Too young to understand death. Too young to understand war. Too young to understand that everyone she loved was disappearing. The child smiled when she saw her mother. The kind of smile that only children possess. Pure. Trusting. Certain that the world is good. Selene nearly broke. Gods. She had never wanted a throne. Never wanted power. Never wanted prophecy. She had only wanted this. This little girl. This tiny person who called her Mama. This child who stole flowers from palace gardens because she thought they looked lonely. This child who climbed into her bed during thunderstorms. This child who still believed monsters lived under furniture. How was she supposed to say goodbye? How? Her daughter stretched out tiny arms. "Mama." One word. One innocent word. And suddenly the Queen could no longer breathe. Because no prophecy had ever warned her about this. No legend had prepared her for the agony of leaving behind the person she loved most. Selene crossed the room immediately. Gathering her daughter into trembling arms. The little girl giggled. Giggled. As though the world wasn't ending. As though death wasn't standing outside the door. Selene buried her face in her daughter's hair. Breathing her in. Trying desperately to memorize everything. The scent. The warmth. The softness. Anything. Everything. Something she could take with her into death. "I love you." Her voice cracked. "I love you so much." The little girl patted her cheek. Confused by the tears. Children always hated seeing their parents cry. "Mama sad?" The question destroyed her. Completely. A sob escaped before she could stop it. The Queen of Ashmoor. The woman feared by kings. The Luna blessed by the Moon Goddess herself. Cried. Not for her kingdom. Not for her throne. But for her child. Because every mother dreams of watching her daughter grow. And she would never get that chance. Never see her first love. Never see her first heartbreak. Never hear her call her mother again. The cruelty of it was unbearable. A low growl suddenly filled the room. Ancient. Powerful. Familiar. The shadows shifted. Then she appeared. Ash. The first wolf. The guardian of Ashmoor. Moonlight flowed across silver fur older than history itself. The wolf's eyes carried centuries within them. Ash approached silently. Then lowered her head before the little girl. The child laughed immediately. Fearless. Innocent. Ash's gaze softened. The old wolf already knew. This child was the future. The last spark. The final hope. Outside— The palace gates collapsed. The sound thundered through the kingdom. The enemy had arrived. Time was over. Selene's tears stopped. A strange calm settled over her. This was the thing about mothers. When it came time to protect their children... Fear no longer mattered. Death no longer mattered. Nothing mattered. Except the child. She kissed her daughter's forehead. Once. Twice. Three times. Trying desperately to hold on. Trying desperately to let go. "Live." The word trembled. The child smiled. Not understanding. Never understanding. And somehow that hurt most of all. Ash stepped forward. Silver light erupted across the room. The ancient wolf pressed her nose against the child's forehead. A glowing crescent moon appeared. Then vanished. Hidden. Sleeping. Waiting. One day it would awaken again. One day the blood of Ashmoor would return. One day the world would remember. But not today. Today belonged to grief. Today belonged to loss. Today belonged to endings. The Queen watched her daughter disappear into the hidden tunnels. Into history. Into legend. Into the future. Then she turned toward the doors. Toward the army that had come to erase her bloodline. Toward her death. A sad smile touched her lips. Because despite everything— They had failed. The enemy believed they were ending a story. They were wrong. They were only writing the first chapter. And beneath the bleeding moon… The Last Luna of Ashmoor began.