The wind carried an ancient chill as Seraphina and Lucien emerged from the Hollow Sanctum. The taste of old magic clung to her tongue like smoke, thick and bitter. Around them, the trees grew denser, gnarled like they were cursed, their branches twisting upward like pleading arms. The very soil beneath their feet hummed with life—old, restless, and waiting.
Lucien walked ahead, his gait tense. He was no longer the rogue protector who had caught her from the pyre. Now, he moved with the weight of prophecy, of legacy. A wolf king returning to the edge of exile. Seraphina followed, her mark pulsing beneath her skin like a second heart.
"Where are we going?" she asked finally, her voice hushed by the looming canopy above.
Lucien didn't turn. "To the border of their land. The Wolf Border. They need to see what you've become."
"Who are they?"
He stopped at the foot of a massive stone arch—ancient and half-swallowed by ivy. Strange glyphs shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
"The Elders of the Fang. The true bloodline of the Moonbound. They do not accept outsiders. They do not accept witches. But they must accept you now."
Seraphina frowned. Her fingers curled slightly. The warmth of her magic was always there now—coiled and ready.
"And if they don't?"
Lucien finally looked at her. "Then war isn't coming. It's already begun."
The arch pulsed once, sensing Lucien's bloodline. The barrier dissolved like mist parting at dawn, revealing a wild land beyond. Hills covered in silver mist. Massive stones like fangs jutting from the ground. And wolves.
Dozens of them.
Larger than any she'd seen before. Their fur shimmered with hues of stormcloud and starlight. They stood on the ridges, unmoving, watching.
Lucien strode forward with Seraphina at his side. The ground seemed to shift underfoot—alive, aware of their presence. The air thickened, pressing against her skin like water.
One of the wolves moved. Then another.
They stepped aside as Lucien passed, allowing him entry.
But when Seraphina reached the line, they growled—a sound so low it vibrated in her bones.
Lucien stopped. "Stand down! She's marked!"
An elder wolf shifted. His form shimmered before it dissolved into a towering man with silver hair and eyes like cut glass. His chest bore an ancient scar in the shape of the moon.
"She carries the mark," the Elder said, voice deep and cold. "But her blood reeks of ash and prophecy."
"She is Moonforged," Lucien said. "The Sanctum accepted her."
The Elder walked closer. "That does not mean we will."
The others shifted into human form—noble, fierce, and unwelcoming. One woman bore twin blades on her back. Another held a staff carved from bone.
"The last time a witch crossed this border, blood flooded our rivers," said the woman. "You bring another?"
Seraphina stepped forward. "I didn't choose the mark. But it chose me."
The elder woman's eyes narrowed. "That mark carries the memory of every fallen moon priestess. Do you even know the weight you bear?"
"Enough to burn for it," Seraphina said. "And enough to rise again."
There was a moment of silence. Then a crack of laughter from another Elder. This one was younger, eyes mischievous.
"Let her prove it. Let the Moon's Trial judge her."
Murmurs rippled through the gathering. The elder male looked to Lucien. "Do you understand what that means?"
Lucien's jaw clenched. "If she passes, she is one of us. If she fails—"
"She dies," the female Elder finished.
Seraphina raised her chin. "Then show me where the trial begins."
---
They led her through the sacred woods, deeper into the forest where no light reached. The air grew colder. The trees bowed as if mourning. At the center of a wide glade stood three stone pillars. Around them, runes hovered, whispering in languages she couldn't understand.
Lucien stood at the edge, forbidden to follow.
"I'll be here when it ends," he said softly.
Seraphina stepped into the circle. The runes flared to life, and suddenly—
Everything changed.
She was no longer in the forest.
The sky above her was red. Blood red. The trees were gone, replaced by burning ash fields. She stood alone on a floating island of stone in a void of endless flame.
"This is the Moon's Trial," a voice boomed from nowhere. "Three paths. Three truths. Survive, or be unmade."
A forked path appeared before her.
To the left, a path of bone. To the right, a path of fire. And before her, a path of water that shimmered like memory.
She chose the fire.
The heat seared her skin, but she kept walking. Visions rose from the flames—her mother's death, the burning of her village, the Cradle Child's scream. Each memory pierced her with guilt, with pain.
"Do you regret?" the voice asked.
"No," she whispered.
The fire parted.
The second path was waiting: the path of bone.
Skulls lined the trail. She walked slowly, carefully. Whispers followed her. Doubts. Fears. The bones turned into people she had failed—faces of the dead staring with empty eyes.
"Do you break?" the voice asked.
"No," she growled.
The final path shimmered—liquid and flowing. The path of water.
Here, she saw Lucien—bleeding, broken. She saw herself, consumed by magic. She saw a throne of wolves and a crown of flame.
"Do you accept what you are?" the voice asked.
Seraphina raised her eyes to the illusion of herself.
"I am fire. I am ash. I am the moon's howl. I accept."
The illusion shattered.
She was back in the glade, kneeling in the center of the runes. Her body was whole. Her mark blazed across her skin like a golden flame. Her eyes shimmered like molten silver.
The Elders stared.
Lucien stepped forward. "Well?"
The female Elder dropped to one knee. "Moonforged."
The others followed.
Seraphina stood, her voice a whisper. "The trial is done. I have walked the flame, the bone, and the mirror."
The elder male nodded. "Then the Wolf Border is yours. But remember, Seraphina... beyond this line lies war."
She turned to Lucien. "Let them come."
He took her hand.
And as the moon rose, casting silver over the glade, the witch and the wolf king stood united. Beyond the border, shadows gathered.
But Seraphina no longer feared the dark.
She was the dark.