Moonfire Queen

The night air smelled of pine and smoke as the village gathered in the heart of the clearing. Lanterns strung between the trees glowed with golden light, swaying in the summer breeze. Music drifted through the air-drums, flutes, and the steady beat of the pack's ritual heart. Tonight was the Festival of the Moonfire, and for every wolf in Eldermere, it was the most sacred night of the year.

For everyone, except Lyra.

She stood at the edge of the crowd, arms folded across her chest, a hood pulled low to hide her face. It wasn't that anyone didn't recognize her-they did. That was the problem. Lyra Thorn was the only wolf in Eldermere who had never shifted. Seventeen years old, nearing her eighteenth birthday, and still no wolf.

"Look," someone whispered near the bonfire. "She actually came."

"She's hoping the Moonfire will take pity on her," another voice snickered.

"Or maybe she's just here to mope. Again."

Laughter rippled through the group, sharp and cutting. Lyra's jaw tightened, but she kept her gaze fixed on the flames that licked high into the night sky. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.

The Moonfire festival was meant to be a celebration. Once every ten years, the packs gathered to honor the Moon Goddess. On this night, the stars seemed brighter, the moon fuller, and sometimes-just sometimes-the Moonfire itself appeared. A column of white flame that descended from the heavens, touching one wolf and marking them for greatness. Legend said those chosen by Moonfire carried the blessing of the Goddess herself.

Lyra had never hoped for such a miracle. All she had ever wanted was to shift. To feel her wolf's paws hit the earth, to hear her soul sing in harmony with the beast inside her. But the years had passed, and nothing. She was a Thorn without thorns, a wolf without a wolf.

The drums grew louder. Alpha Rowan, her uncle, stepped into the center of the clearing. He was tall and broad, his presence commanding silence from the crowd. His silver-streaked hair gleamed under the torchlight, and his amber eyes burned with authority.

"Brothers. Sisters," he began, his voice echoing across the trees. "Tonight, we honor the Moon Goddess, who gave us strength, who gave us the bond of pack, who gave us the fire in our blood. Tonight, we await her blessing."

Cheers erupted, howls rising into the air. Lyra felt the vibration deep in her chest, though her own throat stayed silent.

"Let the Moonfire guide us," Rowan finished, raising his arms to the sky.

The bonfire roared higher, embers scattering like stars. The music swelled, wolves shifted all around her-bones cracking, fur sprouting, snarls filling the air. Dozens of wolves stood on four legs now, their pelts gleaming in the firelight, their eyes glowing with feral light. The clearing pulsed with energy, magic humming so strong it raised the hair on Lyra's arms.

And she... stood alone. Human. Small. Empty.

She turned to slip away before anyone noticed her shame, but a voice stopped her.

"Running again, Thorn?"

Her cousin, Elara, blocked her path. Elara was everything Lyra was not-already a powerful wolf, her pelt pure white, her presence commanding. She shifted back to human form effortlessly, her long braid gleaming like spun silver. A smirk curved her lips.

"You should be used to watching by now," Elara said, circling her like a predator. "Or maybe you're still waiting for a miracle? Maybe tonight, the Moonfire will take pity on the cripple."

Lyra's hands curled into fists. "Move."

Elara tilted her head. "Or what? You'll glare at me until I burst into flames?"

Before Lyra could answer, the air changed.

A silence swept through the clearing, so sudden it cut the laughter short. The drums faltered. The howls ceased. Every head turned skyward.

The moon shone brighter, impossibly bright, until the night itself seemed to bow before it. And then-like lightning without thunder-a column of white fire tore across the heavens and struck the earth.

The ground trembled. Wolves yelped and staggered back. The bonfire hissed and guttered, its orange flames paling beside the celestial blaze. The Moonfire had come.

Gasps filled the clearing. Eyes widened, voices whispered, hearts pounded. Every wolf had dreamed of this moment, prayed to be chosen. They craned their necks, waiting to see who would be marked.

The flame swirled, alive, searching. Lyra's breath caught as it swept over the clearing like a living thing, brushing across fur and flesh. Wolves bowed their heads in reverence, whispering prayers. The flame pulsed, spun, and-