A Cursed Moon

(Blackthorn Pack) The river gurgled quietly, winding like a silver snake through the forest, its waters dark and cold under the pale morning light. Beside it lay a small figure, soaked to the bone, limp and barely breathing. His clothes clung to him like a second skin, and his face, pale and streaked with mud, hinted at how close he had come to death. Alpha Thorne stood over the boy, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene. Beside him, his daughter, Nyra, clutched his hand tightly, her small frame trembling with curiosity and concern. She could not have been more than ten, yet there was a fire in her gaze that made even the Alpha pause. “Father…” she whispered, her voice soft but insistent. “Please…can’t we save him? He looks…he looks so scared.” A Beta patrol stepped forward, nodding toward the boy. “Found him like this at the riverbank. He was drifting downstream, barely conscious. Pulled him out…fought to keep him alive until we reached you, sir.” Alpha Thorne’s jaw tightened. He had seen enough tragedies on these borders to know that not every life was worth saving, especially when the packs were stretched thin. He was about to give the order to discard the boy, to leave him where he was, but then he looked down at his daughter. Nyra’s eyes were wide and pleading, her small hand squeezing his with quiet desperation. “Please…please don’t let him die. Can’t we…help him? I want to help him.” Her voice, laced with innocence and determination, tugged at something deep within him. The curiosity, the concern, the unspoken hope in her eyes, it was impossible to resist. Alpha Thorne exhaled, a long, slow sigh. “Very well,” he said, his tone gruff but yielding. “Take him. Bring him back to the packhouse.” A Beta stepped forward, carefully lifting the boy’s limp body. The water had left him chilled to the bone, his breathing shallow, but the movement stirred him slightly, a faint shiver running through his frame. Nyra’s face lit up immediately. “Thank you! Thank you, Father!” she exclaimed, her voice bright, pure, and uncontainable. She broke free of his hand and began skipping along the path as they made their way home, her laughter like wind chimes through the forest. Alpha Thorne watched her go, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rare, small smile. Seeing his daughter so happy, so alive, put him in a good mood. For a moment, the weight of leadership, of boundaries, of prophecy, felt distant. Things were about to change drastically, the Alpha could feel it, a storm brewing. *** (13 Years Later) The rapid pounding on the door shattered the quiet morning, each knock loud and relentless. Darian stirred under the covers, groaning as sunlight seeped through his window and hit his face. “f**k…” he muttered under his breath, voice thick with sleep. The banging didn’t stop. Even before opening his eyes, he already knew who it was. Her aura, fiery, commanding, impossible to ignore, hit him first, followed by her scent, sharp and familiar. Groaning, Darian rolled out of bed, shirtless, his night trousers hanging loosely on his hips. His hair fell messily over his eyes, and he rubbed his face as he trudged to the door. As he opened it, Nyra was there, fist raised midair as if ready to strike. Her piercing gaze immediately swept over him, and for a fraction of a second, she noticed the obvious, his body, lean, hard, and sculpted, abs and pecs defined beneath skin tanned by countless hours of training and battles. He stood six foot two, she barely reached five foot eight, but she had trained long enough not to let that intimidate her. “Morning, Princess” Darian said, voice lazy, smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sleep well?” Nyra’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as she stepped closer, hands on her hips. “You’re still asleep?” she barked. “Training starts in ten minutes! Commander sent me to drag your lazy ass out of bed. Seriously, Darian! How are you always….” She paused mid-rant as Darian casually picked up a towel, draping it over his shoulder, and began heading to the bathroom. His movements were slow, deliberate, teasingly nonchalant. “I’ll be back, Princess” he called over his shoulder, smirk widening as he disappeared behind the bathroom door. Nyra groaned, frustration bubbling over. “You have five minutes, Darian!” she yelled after him, her voice echoing down the hallway. Her long, curly red hair bounced with every sharp step as she stormed out, leaving the door swinging lightly in the morning breeze. The room fell silent again, except for the faint sound of running water and Darian’s chuckle from inside the bathroom. *** (Hidden Coven) In the heart of the dense woods, a cabin sat shrouded in shadows, hidden among towering trees. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of burning incense and old parchment. A lone woman stood in the center, her fingers interlaced in front of her, the folds of a crimson cloak falling gracefully around her. The hood rested heavily on her head, masking her features in darkness. Slowly, she lifted the hood. Her long, dark hair tumbled down her back, the sides intricately braided, framing a face both beautiful and sharp, her eyes glinting with a mixture of fear and determination. Across from her sat an older woman, regal and imposing, seated in a high-backed chair that gave her the air of authority. Her presence alone commanded silence. The younger woman’s voice broke the stillness. “Regent…” Isabella began, hesitation lacing her words, “A prophecy has been revealed.” The older woman’s expression shifted instantly, the calm veneer giving way to something far darker. She leaned forward slightly, her piercing gaze fixed on the young woman. “Yes…” she murmured, voice low but weighted with dread. “I received the same prophecy long ago. A dark one.” She paused, letting the words settle like a chill through the cabin. “The Prophecy of Doom has come again. This is not a warning to be ignored. We must inform the Moonwalkers and the Coven immediately. The supernatural world is in danger…doom is upon us.” Isabella nodded, her jaw tight, eyes wide. Fear and determination warred within her, but she did not flinch. Outside, the wind rustled the trees like a whisper of warning, as if the forest itself had heard the words and was bracing for the storm to come. *** The heavy door of the training room groaned as Darian pushed it open. The smell of sweat, and blood filled the air, mixed with the faint tang of magic that lingered in the stone walls. He stepped inside, clad in his black long-sleeve compression shirt, the fabric clinging to his lean, hardened muscles, and fitted combat trousers. Every eye in the room fell on him the moment he entered. At the center of the room, Beta Deacon, the commander of the wolf soldiers, sparred with Nyra, who moved with precision and fire. Around them, other Betas watched, alert and disciplined. Darian’s boots clicked against the floor as he walked toward the center. Deacon didn’t miss a beat. “Square up with Nyra!” Deacon barked. Darian smirked, approaching the furious Nyra who glared at him, rolling her eyes in irritation. “Touch fists and start” Deacon ordered. Darian and Nyra stepped closer. Their fists collided in a firm, ritualistic touch, and instantly, pain flared. A sharp, stabbing sensation shot through their skulls as if invisible claws dug into their minds. Both of them dropped to their knees with low, pained growls. ——- (500 Years Ago) The night air was thick with smoke and fury. Two wooden poles stood at the center of a wide clearing, bound together by a pyre built high with dry timber and straw. Tied to them were two figures, a young man and a young woman, neither older than twenty five. Their wrists were bound. Their bodies trembling. Around them stood more than two hundred people, a chaotic sea of faces illuminated by flame. Witches and werewolves alike. Torches burned in their hands, anger burning brighter in their eyes. “Monsters!” “Abominations!” “They will end us all!” The young woman sobbed openly, tears streaking down her soot-stained face. “Please…” she cried, her voice breaking as she strained against the ropes. “We didn’t choose this. We only….” Her words were drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Beside her, the young man struggled too, blood trickling from his lip where someone had struck him earlier. His voice was hoarse but steady as he shouted, “If you kill us, you condemn yourselves! This isn’t the end…it’s the beginning!” “No mercy for prophecy-born filth!” someone yelled. Without ceremony, without trial, a torch was hurled forward. Fire caught instantly. Flames climbed the wood, hungry and fast, licking at their legs, their clothes, their skin. The girl screamed, a sound so raw it tore through the night. The boy’s roar followed, defiant even as agony consumed him. The crowd cheered. They watched, witch and wolf alike, as the fire swallowed the two young lovers whole. As their cries echoed and then broke. As their voices faded into nothing but the crackle of burning wood. —— Both of them snapped back to reality, eyes immediately finding each other’s. Both of them, Darian and Nyra stared at each other knowingly. A silence that was understood by both of them. But then the question crept into their head. “What the f**k just happened?”