The Luna's Last Sacrifice

"You have three days left."

Shaman Dianna's voice echoed through the chamber, the moonstone in her hand flickering with ominous purple light as it illuminated the diagnosis on my medical scroll: Late-stage Lunar Blight.

My right claw trembled uncontrollably. "Can the Blood Moon Ritual save me?"

"Yes." Dianna looked away. "But this ritual's lunar crystal can only save one person."

I paused. "Keep the late-stage diagnosis from Sebastian."

"But..."

The temple doors swung open.

Sebastian strode in, his Alpha presence making even the candle flames shrink. He didn't even glance at me, walking straight to Dianna. "How is Layla?"

Dianna handed over the scroll. "Her wolf spirit is unstable. She needs the Blood Moon Ritual."

Sebastian nodded, finally turning to me. "Stella, you need to give the ritual to Layla."

The candlelight wavered before my eyes.

"Why?" My voice was calmer than I expected.

"Because you're the Luna." He moved closer, his silver-gray pupils holding no warmth. "You can endure it. She can't—she'll die, or worse, become a soulless beast."

I laughed. I seemed to have anticipated his answer all along.

"Twenty years ago," I said, "when I saved her from the hunter siege, she was covered in blood. I brought her home, taught her to hunt. My parents treated her like their own daughter."

Sebastian frowned. "What's the point of bringing this up now?"

"Because I want to know," I stared at him, "when exactly did the person I saved become someone who requires my life in exchange for hers?"

The air froze.

He looked away. "Don't be selfish, Stella. The pack needs a stable Luna. Layla needs it more than you do right now—"

"I agree."

He was stunned.

I stood up, the sharp pain in my right claw making me sway, but I didn't lean on anything. "Let her have the ritual. I give it up."

Relief flickered across Sebastian's face. "I knew you'd understand. You've changed a lot these past few years—not so stubborn anymore."

Stubborn.

The word pierced my heart like a silver thorn.

For seven years, every time I insisted on reinforcing territory borders, every time I opposed excessive hunting, every time I demanded stricter training for pups—all labeled as "stubborn."

While Layla always nodded, always smiled, always said, "Sebastian, whatever you decide."

"I'm going home," I said.

"Wait." He called after me. "Layla will move into the master bedroom's side chamber tonight, so I can take care of her. You'll stay in the guest room for now."

I didn't turn around.

When I returned, I heard laughter.

"Mom Layla! Look how high I can jump!"

My son Lewis, a five-year-old silver-gray wolf pup, leaped from the courtyard tree, landing precisely in Layla's arms. She caught him, and they rolled together on the moonlit meadow, their laughter piercing.

"Stella?" Layla saw me and immediately stood up, wearing her usual innocent expression. "You're back. How did the diagnosis go?"

Lewis hid behind her, only his eyes peeking out at me.

"Nothing serious," I said. "Lewis, come here."

He didn't move.

"Lewis," I emphasized, "come to Mom."

"No." His voice was small but clear. "I want to play with Mom Layla. You're always busy and never take me hunting."

Layla stroked his head. "Don't say that, Lewis. Your mom is the Luna—she's very busy."

"But she didn't even come see my first full moon transformation." Lewis's tail drooped. "Mom Layla practiced with me for a whole month."

My throat tightened.

That was last month, when the border patrol discovered hunter trap networks. I spent three days in the forest with the warriors clearing them. When I returned, Lewis had already completed his first full transformation. Sebastian had taken many moonstone photographs—all of them showing Layla by his side.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It's okay." Lewis took Layla's hand. "Mom Layla was with me. Can we keep playing?"

They ran toward the deeper part of the courtyard. Under the moonlight, the shadows of one large and one small silver wolf overlapped intimately.

I turned and walked into the study.

When I retrieved the Relic Hall deed scroll from the hidden compartment, my hands were shaking. Not from pain, but because every sacred artifact was something I had personally sought and authenticated.

Now, they would all belong to Layla.

I pressed my blood claw print on the transfer contract. The crimson mark spread across the parchment like a wound.

"Your turn." I handed the scroll to Layla, who had appeared in the doorway at some point.

She didn't take it, just looked at me. "Stella, what game are you playing?"

"Game?" I laughed. "Haven't you always wanted the Relic Hall? Haven't you always said that a half-blood like me doesn't deserve to guard the pack's history?"

Her pupils contracted for an instant.

"I know everything." I lowered my voice. "You secretly contacted the Council of Elders, saying my bloodline isn't pure. You even suggested to Sebastian that he should marry a 'pure-blooded Luna.'"

Layla's expression finally cracked.

"Take it." I shoved the scroll into her hands. "Consider it an early wedding gift. After I die, this would all be yours anyway."

"Stella," she tried to grab my hand.

I pulled away and headed for the stairs.

In the guest room bathroom, I turned on the faucet. The sound of running water masked the sliding of the hidden compartment. I retrieved a black obsidian vial from the deepest recess, filled with liquid as thick as night.

Dark Moon Grass extract. A forbidden drug among werewolves, capable of temporarily suppressing the pain of Lunar Blight, but at the cost of accelerating soul corruption.

I drank the entire vial.

The agony receded like a tide.

Three nights left.

I wiped the medicinal residue from my lips and whispered to my reflection in the mirror, "Let them remember a perfect Luna. When I die, the truth will surface at moonfall."