The Alpha’s Fall, the Luna’s Rise

“Mommy .…” Althea whimpered faintly.

“Althea.” I whispered, brushing her hair back. “Hold on, my little moon. Just a little longer.”

She gave me a fragile smile. Her eyes were dull. Her skin colorless.

“I’m okay … I … I love you.” She murmured.

Her body was freezing. The moment I reached the healer den, I screamed like I had lost my mind. "Clear the way!"

The healer helper ran to me with a stretcher, then took her from my grasp and wheeled her away.

I tried to follow them into the emergency chamber, but they blocked my way.

“Please wait outside, Luna,” one of them told me.

Those forty-five minutes stretched into the longest of my life. I paced the corridor, sat, stood, cried, prayed— again and again.

At last, the healer emerged with one of the helpers.

“She’s stable now,” he told me.

“How is she? Can I see her?” I asked, forcing down the panic.

"He was depressed and out of oxygen today." The healer explained in patience. "She needs rest and so do you. Please come back tomorrow — she’ll be better then.”

Better?

I wasn’t sure anything ever would be.

Still, I nodded. “Alright. I’ll come back tonight.”

The healer urged me to rest, to come back tomorrow. Yet the moment I left the healer den, I didn’t go back to the den, I didn't even notice fear was still driving me.

All I could think of was Althea wanting her stuffed rabbit, her wooden melody box, her knitted pink quilt—warm with the scent of our den.

I needed to bring those things for her. I needed to matter. I needed to feel like her mother again.

I rode back to the Alpha den, my body aching from the fall, my thoughts shattered.

I slipped through the doors, expecting silence.

But when I went upstairs and stepped into Althea’s chamber…

My breath caught.

Her chamber was empty. No wall panel. No bed. No shelves. Her toys, her books, the starry lamps, the rug—gone.

The crackling of flame drew my gaze to the window. Outside, at the edge of the garden … smoke curled into the air.

I staggered down the corridor, down the stairs and through the rattan doors to the back garden.

Seeing her belongings burning. Her dolls, knitted blankets, drawings, books—Althea’s entire world turned to ash.

“No … no … what’s going on?” I asked in panic.

A soft voice drifted up behind me.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind.…”

I turned—and there she stood.

Nyxara, standing in Althea’s chamber, a measuring cord in her hand, paint samples scattered across the floor. “She’s been in the healer’s den for so long,” Nyxara replied calm, her head tilted. “I thought it was the perfect time to start setting up the nursery.”

I could only stare, stunned.

“Nursery?”

Her smile widened as she rested a hand over her stomach.

“Theros and I are going to bring a pup into the pack.”

Her words struck deep and brutal.

The pain coiled in my gut, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing it.

"Here, has countless chambers," I said, my voice shaking, "Why Althea's?"

She gave a nauseating, innocent shrug.

“Because everyone in the pack knows the wretched little thing won’t live much longer anyway.”

Her words struck like a thunder bolt.

I lay a hard slap on her face.

Her head jerked to the side. She gasped, then lifted her gaze to me, a light flashing in her eyes.

She smirked.

“You’ll pay for that,” she murmured.

Then, in one smooth move, she hurled herself backward and slammed her head against the stone wall.

Blood ran down her forehead. I froze.

“What are you—?”

She screamed, high, piercing ripped through the den. “Stop! Lucielle, please!” she wailed. “I swear I never ordered them to burn Althea’s things—don't hurt me!”

What?

“Please! Stop!”

The chamber doors burst open. And Theros stormed in. His eyes locked on Nyxara—bleeding, shaking, sobbing.

“What did you do to her?!” he roared.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

A slap knocked me to the floor.

My cheek burned. My lips bleed.

“Theros, I didn’t. She did this to herself. I swear…”

“Shut up!” He thundered. “I warned you—if you ever laid a hand on her again—”

He seized my wrist and hauled me toward our chambers.

I tried to explain, but he refused to hear me.

He threw open my wardrobe, ripping out every gown, every pair of shoes, every gift—every fragment of the life we once shared.

He tore our bonded-moon portraits from the walls, shredded my letters, piled it all together and set it ablaze.

“Burn it all.” He spat. “Every gift I ever give you, every memory we ever shared. “Since you harmed Nyxara over your bastard pup, you don’t deserve a single thing from me.”

I stood silence and watched as our past vanish into flame.

He instructed the guards.

“Lock her into the lower cells. Let the cold and dark night break her into obedience.”

“No, no, Theros, please! I have to see Althea! She needs me!”

But the guards were already on me, dragging me away.

He knew.

He knew I feared the narrow and dark place.

I screamed, struggled and scratched until my nails burned, until the iron door crashed closed. The cells were suffocating — narrow, airless, no windows, no torchlight and then a strong scent hit my nose.

Jasmine.

Hundreds of it—hanging, scattered, forced into every surface.

My throat choked. My eyes stung. I was suffocating.

He had done this on purpose—filled the cell with jasmine, the only flower that could kill me.

“No … please .…”

I hit the door with my fist, scratched it with my claw. My chest felt tight. “Please—let me out! My pup, she needs me!"

My throat was choking. My lung was tightening. I collapsed to the floor.

“Althea… Althea…”

The world blurred, fading in and out of focus.

“Please … I have to … see her …”

And then…

Darkness swallowed everything.

My last thought was that they would kill me before I ever escaped.