The Ironclaw stronghold stood like a monolith on the cliffside of BlackPine Hollow, carved from obsidian rock and shadowed by trees that whispered secrets. Cold wind howled through the forest, but within the fortress walls, fire roared in iron pits and wolves walked as kings.
Twenty-five years old Alana Lupa stood on the highest balcony, the hunting winds raking her silver-streaked hair into chaos. The moon had yet to rise, but already she felt its tug, a hum beneath her skin, a wildness in her blood.
Behind her, a voice as sharp as a blade broke the silence.
“You’re brooding again,” Elena said, stepping onto the balcony, her dark curls dancing. “Let me guess. Dreaming of being the next Alpha, tearing down our father’s rule one claw at a time?”
Alana didn’t turn. “Why would I dream of leading a pack that never wanted me in the first place?”
“Not true,” Elena said, folding her arms. “They fear you. That’s not the same as rejection.”
“They fear her,” Alana muttered. “Mother.”
A silence settled between them, thick, bitter and cold. Their mother, Luna Mira of Ironclaw, had been admired. A warrior, a visionary. Killed in a war no one liked to speak of, against the Silverhowl Pack.
Alana bore her mother’s eyes, golden and sharp as a dagger. Elena, born mere minutes later, bore none of them. Only the Lupa name.
Elena leaned on the stone rail beside her. “I think about her too,” she said in a low tone.
“No, you don’t,” Alana said. “You think about how to survive this family. I think about how to become her.”
A howl pierced the air. Deep, mournful. From the edge of the forest.
“Elk patrol,” Elena said.
“Too early for patrol.” Alana narrowed her eyes toward the dark trees. “That was a warning.”
Inside the Ironclaw war hall, Alpha Thorne Lupa addressed the High Circle. His silver eyes scanned the crescent table, his two wives seated at opposite ends: Lady Salira, stern and calculating, and Lady Myra, delicate and devoted. His daughters entered from the rear arch.
“Elena. Alana,” he said, voice like gravel. “Take your seats.”
They obeyed, opposite each other as always.
“We received a scent line breach near the southern ridge,” Beta Malric growled. “Silverhowl scouts. Testing us again.”
Alana’s fingers twitched. Of course.
Elena leaned close. “Don’t react. They want you to lash out.”
“I want to,” Alana whispered.
“And that’s the problem,” Elena anchored.
Alpha Thorne stood. “The Silverhowl pack seeks weakness. They remember the Blood Treaty. They remember Mira.” His voice dipped. “We lost our Luna to their betrayal. We will not lose again.”
A flare of pain shot through Alana’s chest. She clenched her fists under the table. Mira had died protecting the treaty. That much was truth. The rest shrouded in smoke and rumors. She had heard the whispers: "Alana was born during that battle: born under the blood moon, born with a curse.
Her father’s eyes rested briefly on her. Cold. Distant. Then moved on.
The meeting dragged on strategies, border lines and alliances. Elena asked careful questions. Alana remained silent. Calculating. Waiting. Analyzing and ready to dish out results.
That night, Alana wandered to the Moon Archives, a library carved into the cliffside beneath the fortress. No one came here anymore. Not since Mira died.
She lit a torch and descended the spiral stairs, each footstep echoing light through the stone.
Shelves towered over her, filled with scrolls, runes, faded tomes in leather bindings. She moved like a shadow until she reached the far wall.
Section M. Mira’s records.
Alana ran her fingers across a weathered ledger, opening to the final pages.
“The Blood Moon fast approaches. My child stirs. The Oracle warned me, she will not be like the others. Her soul is bound twice. Her destiny written in teeth and fire. Surrendered to the gaze and claws of the enemies."
Alana froze.
Bound twice?
The sound of a breath behind her made her whirl. Elena stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
“You shouldn’t read those,” she said softly.
“You followed me?”
“I always do.”
Alana stared down at the page again, heart pounding.
“Did you know?” she asked.
Elena’s expression didn’t change. “I know they whisper about you. That some say you're cursed. That others say you're chosen, blah blah blah..."
“Chosen for what?”
Elena looked her straight in the eye. “To change everything.”
A shiver ran through Alana. From the woods came another distant howl, not mournful this time, but watching and waiting.
Somewhere beyond BlackPine Hollow… something had awakened.
What ancient truth lies beneath Alana’s birth? And what does it mean to be ‘soul-bound twice’?
