She jumped 24

The amphitheater cracked open like thunder.

“Blasphemy!” High Matron Ivera’s voice split the air, shrill with fury. Her hands clawed toward the sky like she could drag the moon itself back into obedience. “You cannot simply dissolve centuries of tradition!”

“Arrest her!” Elder Thane bellowed from the marble seats, spit flying from his snarling mouth. “Guards, seize this pretender!”

But the guards didn’t move. Not a single step.

Their eyes were locked on me—on the sigils burning across my exposed skin, the crescent moons etched in silver fire across my collarbone, my shoulders, my wrists. The crown of lunar glass pulsed in my hands, throwing light across stone and blood alike. The flames reflected in their eyes, not with fear—but reverence.

Then Hector landed beside me.

One powerful leap and he was there, boots slamming into stone, his presence grounding me like a second spine. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. Just stood with me, shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart.

“Stand down,” he commanded, voice like steel striking steel. “You face the High Luna Matriarch.”

“She has no authority!” Matron Vex screeched. “The Council has not recognized—”

“The Council?” The Oracle’s voice sliced through the uproar like a blade of winter air. She stepped forward from the shadows, each tap of her walking stick echoing like a heartbeat. “The same Council that twisted sacred rites into shackles? That made murder ceremonial and called it honor?”

She faced them all—Elders, Matrons, lords clinging to their seats like drowning men. “This girl carries the blood of the First Luna Queens. You will either silence your wolves, or be silenced by them.”

Silence crashed down like judgment.

I lifted the crown high, and its light fractured the dark.

“I issue my first decree as High Luna Matriarch,” I said, my voice carrying to the farthest reaches of the stone gallery. “All forced trials, ceremonial bonds, and ritualized submission are abolished. The Virgin Games end tonight.”

The amphitheater exploded.

Cheering rose from the ranks of servants, from weeping girls in torn gowns, from wolves who had seen their daughters buried by this very system. But hatred flared too—from nobles whose power was cracking like the marble beneath their feet, from the old guard who couldn’t imagine a world where they weren’t gods.

And then Darius moved.

He leapt from the Alpha gallery like a beast unhinged, his face twisted in rage. “You destroy everything! Guards, arrest Lord Hector for treason!”

Steel hissed. A few guards moved—but it was habit, not loyalty.

And then—

“Stop.”

The voice struck the air like thunder.

Lord Garrett Veylor walked into the arena, slow and deliberate. His shoulders were square, his face unreadable, but in his hands he carried something more dangerous than any weapon—a leather satchel. He tossed it at the feet of the Elders.

Parchment scattered like falling leaves. Seals. Contracts. Blood signatures. Death orders.

“Twenty years of evidence,” he said calmly. “Every bride buried. Every bloodline silenced. Every lie you built this empire on.”

Elder Thane went white. “These documents are forgeries—”

“Signed in your own hand.” Garrett’s voice hardened. “You killed my wife. You tried to use my son. But he chose her.” His gaze flicked to me, then back to the Elders. “And I choose him.”

Darius screamed.

He lunged at Hector, claws half-shifted. Hector didn’t flinch. He moved like lightning—one step, one pivot, and Darius was airborne. He slammed into the stone rim of the ceremonial pit.

And fell.

His scream echoed as he vanished into darkness. Then—nothing.

I turned to the crowd.

“Cressa is hereby exiled for poisoning the sacred trials,” I announced. “Let her carry her shame beyond these borders.”

She was dragged from the gallery, sobbing, the burned side of her face still raw and glistening. No one looked away. That was part of her punishment—being seen.

And still… one more step remained.

Vaela.

She emerged from the spectators like a viper uncoiling, sword drawn, eyes wild with righteous fury.

“I will not let bastard blood destroy my ancestors’ legacy!” she shrieked.

She charged.

I stood my ground. I didn’t raise a weapon. I didn’t need to.

The new guard—wolves forged from pain, loyal to fire instead of fear—struck her down mid-stride. Their blades found her heart before she could finish her final scream.

Her body collapsed at the foot of the stage. Her sword clattered uselessly to the stone.

A soldier stepped forward. “Let that be a lesson. The old ways die with those who cling to them.”

The Oracle approached slowly, arms outstretched. “The crown is yours, High Luna Matriarch. Rule as you see fit.”

I stared down at the lunar glass.

It shimmered like moonlight made solid, humming with ancestral power. But it felt wrong in my hands. Heavy with centuries of silencing, gilded with grief.

The crowd held its breath.

I turned to the Oracle, our eyes locking.

“You knew I’d burn it.”

Her smile was faint. “I hoped you would.”

I walked to the edge of the pit. Where Darius had fallen. Where flames had once consumed girls like me and called it ceremony.

And I hurled the crown into the dark.

It shattered against stone with a sound like breaking stars—silver shards raining down like snow, like memory, like freedom.

“The Luna doesn’t wear a crown,” I said, my voice rising like wildfire. “She leads it.