THE LUNA RISES

She thought survival was the end.

That once the bleeding stopped, the world would go still.

That peace waited at the edge of the fire.

She was wrong.

Survival was never the finish line.

It was the spark.

The beginning of something harder. Harsher. Hungrier.

Because the real story?

It lives in the scars.

The ones that never quite fade.

Lauren woke to pain.

Not soft, aching pain—but the kind that sits behind your ribs and growls.

Light bled through a crooked lantern above her. It swung lazily, casting shadows that clawed at stone walls. The room smelled like rust and smoke and sweat—like war lived here.

Her lips were cracked. Her throat, scorched.

She breathed in, and it burned.

Her body was wrecked. Her ribs screamed with every shallow inhale. Her back throbbed like a drum.

But her eyes?

Sharp. Silver. Alive.

Footsteps.

Michael entered—calm, unreadable, dangerous.

Not with flowers. Not with tenderness.

He stood like a man watching a fire decide if it would die… or explode.

"You lived," he said, voice low, flat.

No surprise. No pity.

"Good. Because this is where it starts."

She didn't answer.

She couldn't.

Her voice had been ripped out days ago. What was left was deeper, older. Rage curled in her chest like a creature waiting for permission.

It wasn't fear. It wasn't grief.

It was fury.

And it had teeth.

The days blurred.

Pain was the only measure of time.

She trained until her muscles broke, then kept going.

Alone. No applause. No guidance. No excuses.

Michael watched from the shadows, never interfering. Not once.

She didn't ask why.

She didn't need to.

He wasn't testing her.

He was waiting.

Because the girl who had crawled into this place was gone.

What rose in her place?

Something else.

When he called her back to the war room, the air changed.

The rogues—scarred, brutal men who'd once called her useless—went silent.

They remembered the Luna who cried.

Now?

They watched her like she was a blade pointed at their throats.

Michael tossed a map onto the table.

A red mark. A mission.

"Infiltrate Moon Crest," he said. "Alone."

A challenge. Not an order.

She didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

Behind her, a sneer.

"She's all perfume and palace lace."

"She won't last a night."

Lauren turned.

And gods, when her eyes met theirs—silver, unblinking—they all shut up.

"I don't need your faith," she said softly. "I just need you to stay out of my way."

She left before sunrise.

Black leathers. Blades sharp. Moonlight clinging to her like a second skin.

The forest didn't frighten her anymore.

It welcomed her.

She found the guards at the Moon Crest border. Drunk. Laughing.

"That little Luna?" one snorted. "Bet she's dead in a ditch by now."

"She was a collar," said the other. "Not a threat."

Lauren didn't speak.

She struck.

Fast. Clean. Silent.

One choked on his own blood.

The other tried to run.

She was faster.

Pinned him. Pressed steel to his neck.

Her voice was calm. Chilling.

"Tell your Alpha," she whispered, "his Luna's coming home."

"And this time—she's bringing hell with her."

She returned at dusk.

Blood dried on her skin. Smoke in her hair.

Michael stood outside the den, waiting.

His expression unreadable.

His gaze locked on her like she'd become something unrecognizable.

"So," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You chose revenge."

Lauren walked past him. Slow. Controlled.

"No," she said. "I chose clarity."

And for the first time, he didn't argue.

That night, she woke in sweat.

Her breath ragged. Her body burning.

And in the dark—

She felt it.

The Luna.

No longer a whisper.

Now a roar.

She looked in the mirror and didn't see the girl who once bowed, once begged.

She saw something else.

Glass and fire.

Power wrapped in skin.

A storm with a name.

Lauren.

Her strength grew louder each day.

She could hear the forest breathing. Feel the pulse beneath the earth. Sense things she couldn't name.

She wasn't just recovering.

She was becoming.

Michael saw it.

Felt it in the way the air changed when she entered a room.

"You're ready," he said, one night as the sky bled orange.

Her eyes met his.

No fear.

No hesitation.

"Then let him bleed."

The night of the challenge arrived like a prophecy.

Clouds cloaked the moon. The wind was sharp enough to cut.

Lauren stood at the Alpha's gate, blades strapped, silver eyes glowing like fire.

The Alpha emerged—massive, brutal, sure of himself.

Until he saw her.

She didn't cower.

She didn't growl.

She simply stood.

And that was enough.

They clashed.

Steel against bone. Fury against legacy.

He struck first.

Hard.

She struck second.

Smarter.

Every hit she landed wasn't just muscle—it was memory.

Every slash whispered: You underestimated me.

And when her claws found his throat, silence reigned.

He fell.

She didn't.

The rogues knelt.

Not because they were forced to.

But because they understood.

This wasn't a Luna reborn.

This was an Alpha risen.

Her voice rang out over the clearing.

"I am the Alpha now."

Not a declaration.

A verdict.

And a warning.

For anyone who ever thought she'd stay broken.