When the moon bleeds and darkness devour the stars,
A child shall be born, grace with Selene's Sacred mark,
The moon goddess chosen heir, her celestial light unmatched
Her destiny woven in the threads of vengeance and salvation.
Besides her stand the one foretold,
A wolf like no other, gifted with the ability to hear the unheard
And the strength to conquer the impossible.
Bound by fate he shall be her shield, her ally and equal.
Together, they shall rise—a force beyond mortal grasp,
An unyielding beacon against the eternal darkness.
But beware, for an ancient vendetta stirs,
Older than time, born of jealousy and hatred,
Sworn to extinguish the light of Selene's lineage.
Only the chosen pair, born under the bleeding moon,
Shall stand against the void and safeguard the children of the Moon.
The child of the Moon and the wolf of destiny,
Two souls entwined to defy the flow of time,
Hold the power to preserve the Moon's legacy—or doom it to external night.
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Run, Luna, Run!
A silver-white wolf tore through the forest, its powerful paws hammering against the earth, twigs and leaves shattering beneath its weight. The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning wood, but it didn't stop—it couldn't stop.
Above, an eerie crimson moon loomed, casting an ominous glow over the world.
Between the wolf's jaws, wrapped tightly in cloth, was a bundle—small, fragile, still. The child within was more than an infant; they were a prophecy made flesh. A child born under the blood moon, destined to end the centuries-old war between the supernatural and the hunters who sought to erase them.
The baby stirred but made no sound, as if, even in sleep, they somehow seemed to understand the peril of their situation.
The forest blurred past in a streak of shadow and eerie moonlight as the wolf ran, its breath ragged, its muscles burning.
Behind it, chaos reigned.
The guttural snarls of wolves and the war cries of men clashed against the sharp crack of gunfire. Flesh met steel in sickening crunches. The earth trembled beneath the weight of battle.
But the wolf didn't look back, the wind carried the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of death. Then—
A howl, sharp and filled with agony, split the night.
The wolf faltered, its steps stuttering as its head jerked toward the sound. Recognition flashed in its amber eyes. That cry—it knew that voice.
A whimper slipped from its throat, a raw, aching sound of grief.
But there was no time. Steeling itself, the wolf surged forward, faster, harder, willing its legs to move despite the heaviness in its chest.
The trees thinned. The wild gave way to cold, unfeeling concrete. Paved roads stretched before it, bathed in the artificial glow of streetlights.
The shift was jarring—one moment, it was fleeing through untamed darkness; the next, it was in a world of steel and order.
The scent of human settlements filled the air.
The wolf hesitated for a moment, panting, its breath forming white clouds in the frigid night air. With one last glance at the forest, it sprinted forward, its paws striking the asphalt with a muted thud.
Headlights flashed. Tires screeched to a halt as drivers caught sight of the strange, otherworldly figure.
A woman gasped. "Oh my God, is that a wolf?"
"Wait—is it carrying a baby?"
The wolf ignored the onlookers, its focus unyielding as it raced toward the cluster of buildings up ahead.
When it finally arrived at its destination—an old, weathered orphanage at the end of the street—it slowed its pace, padding softly up the steps. With careful, deliberate movements, it gently set the baby down on the doorstep.
For a moment, it stood there, staring at the child with an aching tenderness. It lowered its muzzle, brushing its nose against the baby's forehead. A silent farewell.
Then, lifting a paw, it pressed the bell, the sharp chime ringing out into the quiet night, shattering the stillness.
It stepped back, slipping into a hidden spot, and watched as the door creaked open. A woman appeared, her expression softening in surprise as her gaze fell upon the swaddled infant.
She glanced around, confusion knitting her brow. "Another unfortunate child," she murmured, her voice tinged with sorrow as she scooped the baby into her arms.
The door shut with a soft thud.
Hidden in the darkness, the wolf's amber eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
It stood there, staring at the orphanage, as if memorizing every detail, every crack in the walls, every flickering light.
Then, tilting its head back, it let out a single, mournful howl—and with that, it turned and vanished into the night.
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Elsewhere…
In a vast estate, a man sat on the edge of a grand bed, watching as his wife cradled their newborn son.
The infant had woken at dawn, demanding attention. His parents tended to him with quiet devotion, their love evident in every touch, every whisper.
A knock came.
The man frowned. Who would dare disturb him at this hour—and in his private quarters, no less?
"Enter," he commanded, his gaze flicking toward the door.
It swung open. A man rushed in, breathless, eyes dark with something heavy. He fell to one knee without preamble.
"Your Majesty—Stormhowl Pack was attacked last night. No one made it out."
Silence slammed into the room like a crushing heavy weight.
The queen gasped, her arms tightening around their son. Even the baby—who moments ago had been fussing—went still, as if sensing the change in the air.
The king's voice dropped, dangerously quiet. "What did you say?"
The messenger swallowed hard. "It was a massacre, Your Majesty. They wiped out the entire pack."