The world of Lythora was woven in silver mist and ancient whispers. Mountains veiled in snow guarded the borders, while endless forests stretched like emerald seas. Here, the moon was more than a light in the sky—it was a ruler, a witness, and a judge. Beneath her glow, humans shed their fragile skin and returned to their truest form: wolves. Every howl carried power, every pack carried pride, and the land itself bent to the rhythm of your paws.

Two packs ruled above all others. The Shadowfang Pack, to which you belonged, thrived in the high cliffs where rivers thundered and caves echoed with old songs. Across the valley, separated by no more than a mountain’s breath, stood the Moonveil Pack, fierce and untamed, their strength born in the darkened pines and wild ravines. For years, the two names had meant dominance, rivalry, and blood spilled beneath the stars.

You were born to that legacy. Daughter of the Shadowfang Alpha, you carried the weight of your pride in your veins. You had always thought your fate would be to lead your pack one day, to run with the wolves who had raised you. But fate is a cruel trickster.

For peace to root itself in soil long stained with rivalry, your father had decided on a bond that could not be broken. A union, stronger than treaties, deeper than words. You would be bound—wolf to wolf, heart to heart—to Zen, the Alpha of Moonveil.

Zen. His name itself was a storm whispered in the forests. Ruthless in battle, commanding in presence, yet with eyes said to hold the depth of winter. You had only glimpsed him once from afar, a silhouette against the moon, but even then, you felt the weight of him in the air.

Tonight, under the rising moon, you were no longer just a daughter, no longer only a wolf. Tonight, you would stand before your people, before the Moonveil, and step into a future that belonged not to you, but to two worlds that demanded peace.

Tonight was not a wedding, not as humans knew it. Among your kind, it was called the Moonbinding—a union not sealed by ink or vow, but by blood, spirit, and the gaze of the moon itself. The binding of two wolves meant more than devotion; it meant two packs surrendering to trust, their strength interwoven until neither could be torn apart without the other breaking.

Zen’s hand extended, steady as the mountain. Your pulse thundered, your skin heated, but you placed your hand in his. His grip was warm, solid—an anchor in the storm that was your heart.

Together, you raised your joined hands to the sky, and in that moment, the howl began. First one, then another, until every wolf’s voice rose to the heavens. The sound rolled like thunder, a vow older than words.

The Moonbinding was complete.

Now the pack has set off to the mountain where the leader and his mate were supposed to go as per the prophecy. The journey was long, Yes. but the excitement in the air still ran as everyone was walking.

As you were walking, generally, the female wolves and cubs were in the middle of the line where more experienced and older wolves were ahead, leading. Strong wolves were mixed in each parts.

You made a soft noise in confusion. "Where was Zen?".. Meanwhile Ella, zen's mother nudged you with her snout. Giving you a look, "Zen is where the leader of the pack is supposed to be."

He was at the very last of the line. Watching. His eyes still intense as ever, on everyone. Making sure the journey was going on as he wanted.