POV: Everly
The announcement came at dawn. A bell, low and resonant, rang through Ironfang's stone halls just as the mist lifted from the trees. Three notes. Sharp. Measured.
The Seer was summoning the pack.
Everly had only heard it once before, years ago, when the Beta's child fell into a spirit-sick fever. The Seer never spoke publicly unless the veil between worlds thinned.
And now it was thinning again.
Not for illness.
But for the Red Moon.
Even the air felt different. Denser. Expectant.
The high courtyard filled with wolves in silence. Ranked warriors formed an inner circle near the sacred stone, while Omegas lined the outer edges like shadows stitched into the earth. Everly stood half-hidden behind a pillar, sleeves bunched tight in her hands.
Selene hadn't spoken, not aloud but her presence pressed heavier than usual, as if the wolf inside her was coiling for a blow that hadn't landed yet.
The Seer emerged from the archway in silence. Ancient. Blind. Robed in bone-threaded fabric that shimmered faintly with runes older than the pack itself.
She didn't need eyes to see.
She paused before the firepit, lifting her chin to the pale sky. "I speak now," she said, voice like dry leaves stirring across stone, "because the Moon draws near, and it does not come in peace."
No one moved. Even the Alpha watched with careful stillness.
"The Red Moon," the Seer continued, "does not choose. It reveals. What is frayed shall unravel. What is false shall burn. And what is buried…" her head turned, slow and precise, until her clouded gaze landed on Everly "…will stir."
Everly's breath caught. She shouldn't have been seen. She was behind others, half-hunched in shadow and yet the Seer's gaze locked on her.
For one breath.
Two.
Then turned away.
Selene pulsed inside her. Cold and sharp. "She knows," the wolf whispered. "She remembers what others forget."
The Seer said no more. She simply raised her hands, and the courtyard dispersed like mist in sunlight. Ritual preparations began before noon.
Everly expected another day of ash duty. Or maybe herb sorting. Something safe. Something forgettable. Instead, her name was called.
Reassigned.
She was to assist the ritual attendants.
Her, an unmarked omega. A slave with no rank, no wolf, and no voice.
They gave her no explanation.
Only a linen apron, a carved list of rites, and a room full of ceremonial objects that thrummed with power like heartbeat drums.
She polished the moonroot blades.
She sorted dried wolfsage and holy salt.
She arranged the firestones in sacred triads until her fingers blistered.
No one looked at her. But every object she touched felt her. She could sense it… the way the stones pulsed when her fingers passed, how the blades tingled faintly with ancient judgment. The veil was already thinning, and it was pressing against her.
At one point, while lighting a row of night candles, her fingers brushed a carved obsidian ring. The heat that jolted up her arm wasn't natural. She gasped and jerked back.
A searing line crawled from her palm to her shoulder, heat and pressure and something like recognition. It wasn't pain; Not exactly.
It was… awareness. Like the ring knew her and disapproved.
She turned away quickly, face flushed, but none of the attendants noticed.
Except one.
From the far corner, a figure stood behind a column.
Half-shadowed. Hooded. Still.
Spirit.
Plain robes. Bare feet and just… watching. She didn't speak at first.
Didn't move.
Only when Everly passed her again did she whisper—barely audible. "This moon won't break you, Everly. It'll mark you."
Everly spun, heart thudding, but Spirit was already gone.
By twilight, the courtyard had shifted.
Warriors carried bundles of treated leathers. Ritualists traced symbols in chalk around the sanctum's entrance. Lyra hadn't been seen, but her name floated like smoke… chosen for the inner circle. The Alpha family was fasting. The Seer had retreated into her sanctum to prepare.
No one told Everly where to go next, so she kept working.
Quiet.
Useful.
Invisible.
Still, whispers caught at her ears.
"She touched the ring…"
"Didn't flinch when the moonroot pulsed…"
"The Seer looked* at her…"
Selene pressed forward, thick as blood in her bones.
Not angry.
Not afraid.
Ready.
Nightfall came in streaks of violet. Everly tucked herself at the courtyard's far edge, just outside the ceremonial circle, behind a cart half-draped in ritual cloth. From here, she could watch without being watched.
The sky was cloudy. Heavy. Threatening rain but holding back. The moon had not yet risen, but it was coming. She could feel it.
Across the clearing, the firestones flared with the first spark of the pre-ceremony chant. Drummers began their slow rhythm. The Alpha stepped forward to lead the opening verses.
But Everly's eyes weren't on him.
They flicked past the circle.
To the shadows just beyond the gate.
Where a figure stood.
Not a warrior.
Not a servant.
Spirit.
This time not in robes, but in black armor.
Elegant. Sharp. Etched with runes that shimmered faintly. Armor not built for battle but for ceremony. Her expression was unreadable while she lifted a single hand.
Not to the moon.
Not to the Alpha.
To Everly.
Then the torchlight flickered, and she was gone.
Everly didn't speak for the rest of the night, nor did she return to her cot. She sat in the garden wall's shadow as the wind picked up, carrying hints of thunder. When she finally blinked, hours later, her cheeks were wet.
And Selene murmured softly, "It hasn't begun yet. But it will."