Chains of Betrayal: Spirit of A Rider Luna

Justice

I stood on the balcony, observing the training field growing busier with warriors and riders. The morning air was biting, yet it didn’t deter them from their routines. My gaze fixed on one figure among them—Cerys. She was smaller than most riders, a woman whose movements were still stiff as she wielded her weapon. And yet, there was something in the way she persisted, a resilience that was impossible to ignore.

I heard Beta Marcus approaching behind me. “She won’t last long,” he remarked, his eyes following mine.

I didn’t reply, only raised an eyebrow. They all doubted her—a former Luna candidate trying to become a rider at Crimson Claw. They didn’t know the full story of what had happened to her, and I only had fragmented pieces of it myself. But I knew one thing: she wasn’t here to give up.

From my vantage point, I watched Cerys struggle to master the combination of her motorcycle and handgun. Her bike moved at a moderate speed, weaving through obstacles made of steel barrels. Now and then, the rear wheel skidded, but she quickly regained her balance, though her movements were awkward. Beads of sweat rolled down her temple, dampening her auburn hair, which clung to her forehead.

At one point, she stopped momentarily, taking a deep breath before continuing. Drawing the handgun strapped to her hip, she aimed at wooden targets at the end of the course. One shot missed widely, striking the ground. A few chuckles echoed from the sidelines, but Cerys didn’t waver.

She lowered her gun, revved her bike, and sped back onto the track. At a sharp turn, her body leaned slightly too far to the left, causing the bike to wobble dangerously. Yet, she managed to steady the handlebars quickly, straightening herself and refocusing. Later, she halted at a smaller obstacle, raised the handgun again, and this time, her shot hit the target, though it didn’t land in the center.

Her face showed no satisfaction, but determination radiated from her. She wiped the sweat from her brow with her arm, holstered the gun, and prepared to ride again. Her gestures were rough, a bit clumsy, but I could see her effort to maintain a tough exterior in front of the werewolves watching.

Then, she fell. Her bike tipped, and her weapon clattered to the ground with a loud thud. A few riders laughed softly, but I watched as she rose without hesitation, dusting herself off. She retrieved the weapon and righted her motorcycle, climbing back onto it with a fierce resolve.

“Enough,” I finally said, my voice cutting through the laughter. The training field fell silent, all eyes turning to me. “Cerys, come with me.”

She looked at me, hesitation flickering in her eyes, but she obeyed, stepping away from the group and following me to a secluded corner of the field.

I studied her as she stood before me, trying to mask the exhaustion evident in her posture. “Why are you pushing yourself like this?” I asked directly.

She lifted her gaze to meet mine, her eyes cold and guarded. “Am I not allowed to try?”

Her flat tone tugged at the corner of my mouth, almost coaxing a smile. “This isn’t about permission. I want to know your reason.”

She shifted her focus away, her eyes drifting toward the trees beyond the field. I saw her wrestling with an answer, but all she said was, “My reasons are my own, Alpha.”

Her response was sharp yet tinged with bitterness, and I could sense there was more beneath the surface—a wound yet to heal. I resisted the urge to press further. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” I said, trying a gentler approach.

She let out a small, bitter laugh that stung more than it should have. “Sometimes, the only person you can rely on is yourself.”

Her words settled heavily in my chest. I wanted to say something, but the way she closed herself off again made me realize this conversation wouldn’t go anywhere. I gave her a slight nod, allowing her to return to her training.

I watched her walk away, her back straight and proud despite the weight she clearly carried. There was something about her that lingered in my mind, refusing to let go.

That night, I sat in my study, trying to focus on the day’s reports. But Cerys’s image haunted my thoughts. The way she spoke, her unwavering determination, and that bitter smile—all of it played over and over in my mind.

I sighed, setting down the pen I had been using to scribble aimlessly on a blank sheet of paper. “Am I pitying her?” I murmured to myself. But no, this wasn’t pity. This feeling was deeper, more complex.

I rubbed my temples, trying to suppress the thoughts that began to surface. She was new here, someone who simply wanted to prove herself. So why did I feel like she was more than that?

From my desk, I could see the riders’ and warriors’ quarters. That’s where she would be now, likely tending to her wounds from today’s training. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. But somehow, she had managed to take up residence in my thoughts in a way I couldn’t explain.

I sighed again, staring out the window. “Cerys…” I murmured, her name strange yet familiar on my lips. There was something about her—something that made me want to know more, even if I knew it might only lead to trouble.