The Banished Luna

It was another full moon night—a sacred moment for the werewolf tribe.

Silvery moonlight cut through the darkness like a blade.

At the heart of Darkpine Forest, pine torches blazed around a circular stone platform. The flickering flames stretched the shadows of those gathered into twisted, elongated forms.

The elders stood at the platform's center, fur-robed and gripping bone staffs carved with wolf patterns. Their low, hoarse voices chanted ancient incantations—each syllable heavy with millennia of tradition.

This was the sacred, inviolable coming-of-age ceremony—and more importantly, Awakening Night, when the young wolves of the Silver Moon Pack would find their Fated Mates.

The air was thick with primal pheromones. A long line of young women stood before the platform, with Irina at the very end.

She huddled at the crowd's edge, clutching the faded hem of her skirt so tightly her fingertips went white.

As a "Wolfless"—one who had failed to awaken, who could sense no Wolf Pulse within her—she endured endless cold stares and mockery in this strength-worshipping pack.

But tonight would change everything. The Moon Goddess would bestow her miracle, guiding each pack member to their one true Fated Mate.

She stole a glance at Eason across the platform, her back already drenched in sweat.

This was her only lifeline—her one chance to escape this wretched existence and gain protection.

As the elder's incantation reached its crescendo, his bone staff thrust skyward. A silvery beam shot down from the full moon and struck the Mating Stone at the platform's center.

The Mating Stone erupted in blinding golden radiance, bathing the entire platform in warmth.

Then—something went wrong.

A domineering, aggressive aura pierced her mind without warning.

Winter pine and raging flame—the scent ignited the dormant bloodline within her.

A violent tremor erupted from the depths of her soul. Every cell screamed, submitted, recognized— Fated Mate!

Irina's head snapped up. Her wrist burned.

She raised her hand—an exquisite wolf-head mark was materializing on her skin, its golden glow more dazzling than anyone else's.

Her heart hammered. Her breath came ragged. Tears welled in her eyes as she followed the mark's pull, her gaze locking onto Eason.

Her gaze met his—and collided with eyes as cold and arrogant as polar ice.

Eason. The most brilliant wolf in the Silver Moon Pack. The undefeated Alpha heir.

Though she was merely a Wolfless who couldn't transform, she believed in the Moon Goddess's oracle. The destined bond wouldn't lie—Eason would make her his Luna.

The cheers gradually died. All eyes locked on Irina and Eason. The air solidified.

Ecstasy burst through her like floodwaters through a shattered dam, sweeping away every last trace of her inferiority and timidity.

She stumbled through the crowd and sprinted toward that tall figure, arms outstretched.

But the embrace never came.

Eason's brows furrowed sharply. His towering frame recoiled, his face devoid of joy—filled instead with disgust and impatience, as if he'd just touched something filthy.

He looked down at her, his handsome features twisted in undisguised revulsion.

"Get away from me! Don't you dare touch me with those filthy hands!"

The words hit her like a slap.

The crowd fell into dead silence. Every eye locked on the two of them.

Irina froze. Her outstretched arm hung in midair. Her blood turned to ice.

"Eason... what are you saying? This is the Moon Goddess's guidance—I'm your Luna..."

"Luna?" Eason let out a mocking sneer. "How dare you utter that sacred word?"

His voice rose, loud enough for every ear on the platform to hear. "What do you think you are? A worthless Wolfless who can't even transform—reeking of inferiority. Me, honor you as Luna? What a joke!"

Eason stepped to the platform's edge, looking down at her, his voice booming: "The Luna of the Silver Moon Pack's strongest Alpha must be the fiercest she-wolf—one who can fight for the pack and bear me the strongest heirs."

"And you, Irina? Nothing but a lowly Wolfless who can't even manage the most basic shift. Last hunt, you held us back—that stag escaped because of you, and the pack starved for three days. You contribute nothing. You waste our food and shelter. You're dead weight."

With every word, her face grew paler. Her body trembled uncontrollably.

An excruciating pain surged from the depths of her soul—the Bond Recoil, triggered by his one-sided rejection of the mate bond. It felt like being flayed alive.

Irina gasped for breath, face deathly pale, desperately searching for even a trace of pretense in his cold expression. There was none. Only disgust.

Eason turned away, extending his hand toward Solia. His voice softened. "My Luna is someone else."

Solia's alluring figure coiled around Eason's arm like a vine.

Her golden hair swayed as she pressed against the Alpha heir, her red lips curling into a venomous smirk. She raised her wrist—an identical wolf-head mark shimmered on her skin.

Eason pulled Solia into his embrace and kissed her forehead. "Solia is the woman worthy of me—the finest she-wolf in our pack. She will be my Luna."

Thunderous applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, everyone offering blessings as if nothing had happened.

Solia. Her so-called "closest friend"—the one she'd trusted without reservation, shared every tear and secret with, sworn eternal loyalty to.

The instant she recognized that face, something shattered inside Irina—the last remnants of her composure, gone.

Solia lifted her head from Eason's embrace and cast Irina an arrogant, venomous glance.

She walked up to Irina and whispered—a voice meant only for the two of them: "I'm sorry, Irina. I didn't want to tell you this, but... while you had your little crush on Eason, we were together the whole time. He just loves me too much. He chose today to go public."

Then she raised her voice for all to hear: "Irina is nothing but a Wolfless—how could she ever deserve Eason? The truth is, he and I have been together all along."

"Did you all know? Eason never liked her. He always found her annoying—like some clingy pest following him around. If not for his pity, he'd have ignored her long ago."

Irina stared in disbelief. She grabbed Solia's hand. "Solia, how could you say that? We were best friends! You told me—you told me that if the Moon Goddess paired me with Eason, he wouldn't defy the divine decree. That he'd stay with me!"

Solia sneered and shook off her hand. "Best friends? You think you deserve that? I never considered you a friend. I was just using you."

"You think I didn't know all your pathetic little secrets? Crying under the covers because you couldn't shift. Practicing archery in secret only to shoot yourself in the foot. Pining after Eason for ten years—filling an entire diary with his name."

She pulled a tattered diary from her pocket and held it up for the crowd. "Look! Her diary. How ridiculous—a Wolfless who dared to dream of becoming an Alpha's mate."

The crowd burst into laughter. Whistles. Jeers. "Throw it away! Toss that worthless diary!"

Solia threw the diary to the ground and stomped on it. "Wake up, Irina. You and Eason are from completely different worlds. Your existence is a joke—one for me and the rest of the pack to laugh at!"

Irina watched her diary crushed underfoot and felt her heart trampled with it. That diary had been her only refuge—all her thoughts and dreams, ground into the dirt.

Her body swayed. She reached out for something to hold—but found nothing solid, as if the ground itself had dissolved beneath her.

She watched the entwined couple before her, heard the roaring laughter from the crowd, and the world began to spin—tilting, whirling without end.

Humiliation and agony swept over her like an Arctic blizzard, numbing all sensation. Her eyes went hollow. Her face emptied of all expression.

She stopped trembling. She no longer registered the commotion around her. She made no attempt to argue, standing motionless on the stage like a scarecrow in an open field—unresisting as countless arrows of gossip rained down upon her.

She didn't cry. Her tears had already dried up. All that remained was numbness and despair.

The crowd watched her stillness like spectators denied a show. Unsatisfied, they escalated—insults growing louder, more unrestrained.

A young male wolf shot to his feet, pointing at Irina. "You! Wolfless! Get out of the Silver Moon Pack! Don't disgrace our tribe!"

Others chimed in: "Get out! Get out! We won't raise useless trash like you! You should be thrown into the deepest part of Darkpine Forest to fend for yourself—bitten to death by snakes! Your parents were shamed because they gave birth to garbage like you, and now it's your turn!"

The malicious words came without end, wave after wave crashing against her—yet she showed no reaction whatsoever.

Someone hurled a hard clod of dirt. It struck her forehead, leaving a vivid red mark.

More followed—fruit peels, pebbles, dirt, rotten leaves.

A pebble struck the corner of her mouth. Blood trickled down her chin, dripping onto her white linen dress like blooming crimson flowers.

Irina swayed, on the verge of collapse. Solia, nestled in Eason's embrace, watched with a satisfied smile.

Eason watched without expression—not stopping, not speaking. His eyes held not a trace of pity, as though he were watching livestock led to the butcher.

The elders stood silently at the platform's center. No one spoke a word in Irina's defense. Their silence was approval.

Eason raised his hand. The crowd stilled instantly—the clamor dying as if cut by a blade.

He looked at Irina and declared in the coldest voice: "As Alpha heir of the Silver Moon Pack, I hereby banish Irina. From this moment, she is no longer a member of this pack. No one shall provide her food, shelter, or aid. No one shall contact her. Violators will be deemed traitors and exiled with her. She has ten minutes to gather her belongings and leave. If she hasn't gone by then—I will personally throw her into the depths of Darkpine Forest."

He turned, wrapping his arm around Solia's waist, and strode off the platform without a backward glance. The crowd erupted in cheers once more, as if the ceremony had reached its grand finale.

Irina slowly raised her head. She looked at Eason and Solia's retreating figures, then at the familiar-yet-alien faces below. All her enemies now.

She didn't go to pack. She had nothing here—not even herself. She no longer belonged to the Silver Moon Pack.

She turned and walked, step by step, toward the territory's edge—toward the depths of Darkpine Forest.

The crowd parted to let her pass, their eyes filled with scorn and disgust. No one dared speak to her—Eason's command held absolute.

She walked out of the ceremonial grounds, leaving behind the territory where she had lived for eighteen years.

The full moon bathed her in silver light, casting a long shadow behind her. Her silhouette looked so lonely, so broken—yet utterly resigned.

Two werewolf soldiers escorted her forward. As she disappeared into the darkness of Darkpine Forest, the golden wolf-head mark on her wrist suddenly blazed with unprecedented light—then slowly transformed into a deep, ominous black.

From deep within the forest came a low, commanding howl—as if something was calling to her.