The Last Moonborn Theta

For five hundred years, the world had believed the last Theta was dead.

It was a lie.

But like most lies that survived long enough, it had become history.

Children were taught about the Thetas in whispers. Priests called them abominations. Kings called them traitors. Mothers warned their children never to wander too far into the northern forests, because monsters still lived beyond the mountains.

No one remembered what Thetas had truly been.

Not monsters.

Not kings.

Not gods.

They had been wolves.

The first wolves.

Long before the kingdoms of Valewyn divided themselves by bloodline, there had been only instinct. Wolves who shifted beneath the moon and lived according to the ancient laws of nature.

Then the bloodlines emerged.

Alphas were born with strength that could overwhelm ordinary wolves. Their voices carried command, their bodies were built for battle, and their instincts pushed them toward leadership.

Betas became the balance between them. They were less affected by the overwhelming instincts of the other bloodlines, making them diplomats, scholars, healers, merchants, and everything else kingdoms needed to survive.

And then there were Omegas.

Rare and deeply connected to emotion, Omegas possessed scents that could influence the instincts of others. Their bonds were said to be stronger than ordinary promises, sometimes lasting beyond death.

The three bloodlines built kingdoms.

They created laws.

They crowned kings.

And eventually, they created a hierarchy.

But the Thetas had existed before all of it.

Their abilities were different.

They could hear the thoughts of others.

They could hide their own.

They could control their scents completely, making themselves impossible to track.

Most importantly, they could control the instincts that ruled every other wolf.

An Alpha could command an army.

An Omega could form an unbreakable bond.

A Beta could maintain peace between them.

But a Theta could look at all of them...

and choose not to obey.

That was what frightened the kingdoms.

The Thetas could not be controlled.

So the kingdoms decided they had to disappear.

One by one, Theta settlements were destroyed.

Their homes were burned.

Their names were removed from royal records.

Their bloodline symbols were scratched from temple walls.

Books were rewritten.

Stories were changed.

Eventually, the truth became nothing more than a bedtime story.

The last Theta had died.

That was what the world believed.

Until the night the moon disappeared.

The first person to notice was an old priest in the eastern kingdom.

He had been standing on the temple steps when the silver moon above him began to darken.

At first, he thought clouds had passed over it.

Then the clouds moved.

The darkness remained.

The priest looked up.

His face slowly drained of color.

"No..."

The moon continued to disappear until only a thin silver crescent remained.

Then even that vanished.

Across Valewyn, people stepped out of their homes.

Merchants stopped in the streets.

Guards lowered their weapons.

Children clung to their parents.

And deep within the forests, wolves lifted their heads toward the empty sky.

Then they howled.

The sound traveled across the mountains.

One wolf.

Then another.

Then hundreds.

The entire northern forest seemed to come alive.

And beneath the ruined remains of an ancient temple, a line of forgotten writing began to glow.

The stone had been buried for centuries.

Yet the words remained.

A prophecy written in the language of the first wolves.

When the last Theta awakens beneath the bleeding moon,

the world shall face its greatest choice.

Will power become a crown...

or will it become a shield?

The ancient letters faded.

The moon remained gone.

And somewhere in the northern mountains...

a newborn child opened her golden eyes.

Snow covered the forest that night.

It fell so heavily that the branches of the ancient trees bent beneath its weight.

Seraphine Veyr had been riding for nearly three hours when she heard the cry.

She pulled her horse to a stop.

The animal stamped nervously beneath her.

"What was that?"

Seraphine listened.

Nothing.

Only the wind.

She frowned.

Then she heard it again.

A baby.

Her hand moved immediately to the sword at her side.

There shouldn't have been anyone out here.

The nearest village was miles away, and no sane person traveled through the northern mountains during a storm.

Yet the cry came again.

Weak.

Faint.

Almost swallowed by the wind.

Seraphine dismounted.

"Stay."

Her horse snorted.

She walked into the forest.

Snow reached her knees as she pushed between the trees. Her boots sank deeper with every step.

The crying became louder.

Then she saw it.

An ancient silver tree stood alone in a clearing.

Its branches were bare despite the season, and its bark shimmered faintly beneath the snow.

Seraphine stopped.

She had heard stories about that tree.

Everyone in the north had.

The Silver Tree.

A place where wolves supposedly gathered every hundred years.

A place no hunter was supposed to enter.

But beneath its branches...

was a child.

Seraphine stared.

The baby was wrapped in black cloth and lying directly in the snow.

Alive.

Alone.

Seraphine's heart tightened.

"Gods..."

She rushed forward and lifted the child into her arms.

The baby was freezing.

Seraphine pulled off her cloak and wrapped it around the tiny body.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I've got you."

The child stopped crying.

Then opened her eyes.

Seraphine froze.

Golden.

Not amber.

Not brown.

Gold.

The child's eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.

Seraphine had seen thousands of wolves during her years as an Alpha soldier.

She had seen rare bloodlines.

She had seen powerful Alphas whose eyes changed color when they shifted.

But she had never seen eyes like these.

Something cold moved through her.

No.

It couldn't be.

She looked down at the child's wrist.

There, beneath the thin skin, was a tiny silver mark.

A crescent wrapped around a wolf's eye.

Seraphine's breath caught.

She knew that symbol.

Every warrior did.

The symbol had been carved into the weapons of the soldiers who hunted Thetas centuries ago.

Her grip tightened around the child.

"No."

The word escaped her before she could stop it.

The baby looked up at her.

Seraphine stared back.

The stories came rushing into her mind.

The last Theta.

The strongest bloodline.

The mind-reader.

The monster.

The destroyer.

Seraphine looked at the helpless child in her arms.

The baby yawned.

Then reached up and wrapped her tiny fingers around Seraphine's thumb.

The former soldier felt something inside her break.

She had spent years believing the stories.

Now, looking into those innocent golden eyes, she understood something.

The world had been afraid of Thetas because it never bothered to understand them.

This child wasn't a monster.

She was just a baby.

And someone had abandoned her in the snow.

Seraphine pulled the child closer.

"You're coming with me."

A howl echoed through the forest.

Seraphine looked toward the trees.

Dozens of wolves stood between the trunks.

Watching.

None moved.

None growled.

They simply stared at the child.

Then, one by one, they lowered their heads.

Seraphine's eyes widened.

The wolves were bowing.

Not to her.

To the baby.

She looked down again.

The child's golden eyes had closed.

She was asleep.

Seraphine smiled despite herself.

"You have quite an entrance."

By dawn, Seraphine had returned to the small village where she lived.

She entered her cottage carrying the child.

An elderly woman named Mara nearly dropped the bowl in her hands.

"Where did you get that?"

Seraphine shut the door behind her.

"I found her."

"Found her?"

"In the northern forest."

Mara stared at the baby.

Then at Seraphine.

"You went beyond the mountains?"

"Yes."

"During a storm?"

"Yes."

Mara sighed.

"You've always had a talent for making terrible decisions."

Seraphine almost laughed.

Almost.

Then Mara noticed the baby's eyes.

Her expression changed.

She stepped backward.

"Seraphine..."

"I know."

"Is she—"

"Yes."

Mara covered her mouth.

For several seconds, neither woman spoke.

Then Mara whispered,

"She's a Theta."

Seraphine looked down at the sleeping child.

"Yes."

"You know what will happen if the kingdom finds out."

"I know."

"They'll come for her."

"I know."

"They'll kill her."

Seraphine's jaw tightened.

"Not while I'm alive."

Mara stared at her.

"You can't protect her forever."

"No."

Seraphine gently adjusted the blanket around the baby.

"But I can protect her long enough for her to grow up."

"And then?"

Seraphine looked into those golden eyes.

"Then she'll decide what happens next."

Mara shook her head.

"You're going to raise her."

It wasn't a question.

Seraphine looked at the child for a long moment.

Then she smiled.

"Yes."

"What will you call her?"

Seraphine thought about the silver tree.

The moon that had disappeared.

The strange golden eyes.

And the feeling that fate had placed this child in her arms for a reason.

"Lyra."

Mara raised an eyebrow.

"Lyra?"

"Lyra Veyr."

The baby stirred.

Seraphine looked down.

"Welcome home, Lyra."

That night, while the village slept, something far away opened its eyes.

Inside Moonspire Castle, an old man stood before a wall covered in ancient maps.

A soldier knelt behind him.

"My lord."

The old man didn't turn.

"Speak."

"The reports from the north have been confirmed."

Silence.

"The moon disappeared."

Still nothing.

"And the wolves have been gathering."

The old man's fingers tightened around the map.

"Anything else?"

The soldier hesitated.

"We found tracks."

"Whose?"

The soldier swallowed.

"Not tracks, my lord."

He slowly raised his eyes.

"Footprints."

The old man finally turned.

"And?"

"They belonged to a child."

For the first time that night, the old man's expression changed.

Fear.

Real fear.

"Find her."

"My lord—"

"Before anyone else does."

The soldier bowed.

"And if she is truly a Theta?"

The old man stared toward the dark window.

Outside, the moon was still missing.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Then the prophecy has begun."

Eighteen years later, Lyra Veyr would learn that the world had been searching for her since the night she was born.

She would learn why the moon disappeared.

She would learn why wolves bowed before her.

She would learn that the blood running through her veins was more dangerous than any crown.

But she would also learn something the ancient prophecies had failed to mention.

Sometimes the person who changes the world...

isn't the person who wants to rule it.

Sometimes...

she is the person who refuses the crown.

And everything began with a girl who simply wanted to be left alone.