Luna was an orphan—and a lycanthrope.
Having just seen sixteen winters pass, her figure would change no further: short in stature, solid, strong without excess, as if the forest itself had shaped her with ancient patience. Her pale skin contrasted with the silver hair that flowed down her back, and her blue eyes—far too alert for someone so young—watched the world with caution learned far too early.
The village belonged to an ancient clan of lycanthropes who relied not only on fang and claw, but also on mana. From childhood, they were guided by the elders, who taught them to sense the world's energy and, when the time came, to open their mana veins and form a core within.
That ritual, performed only once in a lifetime, marked the true beginning of the path to strength.
Some were born prodigies and achieved it in a single day.
Others needed years.
Some never succeeded.
That night, however, was different.
Newly discovered mana crystals saturated the air with energy almost visible—dense, vibrant. The entire village sat in meditation. The young struggled to open their inner veins; others, after years of frustration, finally felt the shape of a core forming within them. Even the adults seized the blessing to strengthen themselves.
What was meant to be a magical night, filled with hope and expectation for those about to change their fate… shattered in an instant.
First came a tremor in the air.
Then the screams.
The alarm howl of the guards cut through the silence like a blade.
Dark elves.
They had not chosen just any night. They attacked on a moonless one—when the lycanthropes were deprived of their greatest racial advantage: transformation.
Panic spread like wildfire through dry woods. Improvised weapons. Spells cast in desperation. Defenders running toward a death they already sensed was likely.
The dark elves showed no mercy.
Not to children.
Not to elders.
Only blood in their wake.
Luna awoke from meditation with her heart pounding. Around her, other youths opened their eyes in confusion. Fear and disbelief were written across their faces.
But soon they understood.
Their home was being destroyed.
They had only just begun the magical path. They were not ready to fight. The clan elders knew it.
The order was clear and merciless:
"The young ones run! Now!"
Luna did not hesitate.
She ran.
She ran with children and adolescents into the forest, terror breathing down her neck.
Branches lashed at her skin. The damp ground made her slip. Stones tore at her feet, but fear was a whip that drove her forward.
The screams faded behind her.
The group scattered among the trees.
When she finally stopped, gasping for breath, she thought she had survived.
Then she heard footsteps.
Small. Fast. Accompanied by rough growls.
Three goblins emerged from the darkness.
Perhaps it was simple misfortune. In her desperate flight, she had stumbled into their hunting grounds.
Terror froze her blood. She had never faced a true monster before.
But fear did not rob her of reason.
She drew the small dagger at her waist and met their gaze.
Their twisted green faces made her stomach churn. Their crooked smiles sent a chill down her spine. Still, she forced herself to breathe.
This was no time for panic.
She took a fighting stance and shouted—more to steady herself than to intimidate them.
The goblins did not retreat.
Luna struck first.
The blade found flesh. One of them fell shrieking. Blood splashed across her hands.
It was the first time she had drawn blood. The world tilted for a heartbeat… but something inside her responded. Perhaps her lycanthrope instinct.
Her pulse steadied.
Her grip tightened.
But the other two did not hesitate.
They charged. Luna tried to resist, but exhaustion dragged her down. The frantic escape had drained her strength.
They overwhelmed her. The dagger flew from her hand. Sharp teeth closed around her wrist.
After that, there were only blows.
Pain.
Darkness.
And a deeper fear than the physical one—she knew what often became of captives taken by such creatures.
She fought. She resisted.
It was useless.
Exhaustion finally claimed her.
Blackness swallowed her whole.
When she awoke, she was being dragged.
The goblin den lay hidden within a network of narrow, damp caves. The creatures moved like rats—counting loot, shoving prisoners, laughing in low, rasping tones.
There were other captives. Different races. Some wept in silence. Others screamed.
On a raised stone platform stood the leader.
Unlike the others, he did not move with restless hunger. He watched.
His gaze was cold. Calculating.
And when it settled on Luna, something shifted.
An unnatural pink glimmer flickered in his eyes.
He pointed at her.
A short command.
The others understood.
Despite her struggle, Luna was separated from the group.
As they dragged her down a side tunnel, she heard sobbing behind her… and rough laughter that chilled her blood.
She did not know why she had been singled out.
But she knew it meant nothing good.
They threw her into a smaller chamber. Dark. Damp. A crude bed of straw in the center.
Trembling, she shut her eyes.
She had imagined her future many times. A mate. A place within her clan. Something honorable.
Never this.
The door burst open.
The leader entered.
Luna instinctively backed away.
Then she saw it—the pink smoke began to seep from his body, spreading through the room until it surrounded her.
When it touched her, something shifted.
The fear did not vanish… but it grew distant. Blurred. As if a veil had fallen between her mind and reality.
A strange warmth spread through her body.
She tried to resist. Tried to scream.
But her thoughts grew heavy.
Confused.
The last thing she felt was not clarity—but a dark certainty:
Her fate had just veered onto a path from which there might be no return.
And the door closed.