Anything For The Alpha

The night was unusually quiet in the village of Lyria. Crickets chirped softly, and the wind whispered through the leaves of the old oak trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and wildflowers. Most of the village slept, the lanterns dim and flickering, but Arin lay awake on her thin straw mattress, her thoughts racing like restless fire.

She had always felt different. Even as a child, she noticed things others didn’t—small flickers of light that danced in the corner of her vision, whispers in the wind that seemed to call her name, and a strange warmth that sometimes spread through her chest when the moon rose high. Her mother said it was a gift. Her father said it was a curse. Arin didn’t know which was true, only that it set her apart, and that sometimes, being apart felt unbearably lonely.

Tonight, she felt it stronger than ever. The moon hung low, full and silver, spilling light across her modest room. Its glow streamed through the small window, illuminating her simple wooden floor and the cracked plaster walls. But as she reached instinctively toward the moonlight, something strange happened—a pull, sharp and sudden, that made her stomach twist.

Her hands trembled. She tried to grasp the glow, to feel it fill her the way it usually did, but the warmth seemed to recoil. The air around her chest felt cold. Panic prickled her spine. “No,” she whispered, clutching her arms to herself. “Not now… not tonight.”

Suddenly, a shadow flickered at the corner of the room. Arin froze. Her pulse raced. For a moment, she thought it was just her imagination, the night playing tricks. But the shadow moved again, solid this time, and a soft voice murmured from the darkness.

“Arin…”

Her heart jumped. She turned, eyes wide, searching the room. No one was there. Only the faint glimmer of moonlight spilling across the walls.

A chill ran down her spine. “Who’s there?” she demanded, though her voice shook.

The shadow stepped closer, and a hand, pale as the moon itself, brushed the edge of her bed. A whisper of power coursed through the air, stirring the small hairs on her arms. Arin felt something she had never felt before—fear, yes, but also… recognition.

“You have it,” the voice said again, softer now. “The moonlight. But it is fading.”

Arin’s stomach clenched. “What do you mean? What’s fading?”

Before the shadow could answer, a violent gust of wind tore through the open window. Lanterns flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness. Arin’s pulse thundered in her ears. Something in the air felt… wrong. The familiar warmth of the moon was gone, replaced by a hollow, empty chill that gnawed at her chest.

Then she saw it—a hand, almost transparent, reaching toward her. She tried to pull back, but her arms felt heavy, as though the air itself had thickened. The moonlight dimmed further, and a sharp, piercing sound rang in her ears.

Arin cried out. Pain shot through her chest, and suddenly, everything went black.

When she awoke, it was morning. Sunlight streamed weakly through the window. The familiar smells of straw, wood, and wildflowers greeted her, but the world felt… different. Her hands were empty. The warmth she had always felt from the moonlight was gone.

Panic set in. She leapt from her bed, scanning her room, her heart hammering. “No… no, it can’t be gone,” she whispered.

Her father’s voice boomed from the courtyard outside. “Arin! Come help with the morning chores!”

She ignored him, her mind racing. The moonlight… it was stolen. She could feel it in the hollow ache of her chest, the emptiness that no sunlight could fill. She didn’t know who—or what—had taken it, but she knew one thing with certainty: her life had changed forever.

Arin ran outside, the village already bustling with activity. Farmers worked in the fields, children played in the dirt paths, and merchants prepared their stalls. Yet she noticed something others did not: small shadows moving unnaturally among the people, as if they were watching her, waiting.

Her heart sank. The pull she had felt last night was not just her own magic—it was a warning. And somewhere, someone or something had taken her moonlight, leaving her powerless and vulnerable.

A figure appeared at the edge of the village. Cloaked in darkness, with eyes that glimmered faintly, it watched her silently. Arin felt a shiver run down her spine. She wanted to run, to hide, but her legs refused. The figure tilted its head, almost curiously, and then vanished among the trees.

Arin knew she couldn’t stay. She had to leave. She had to find her power. She had to understand the pull of the moon again before it was too late.

Packing a small satchel with the few belongings she could carry, Arin paused for one last look at the village she had called home. She felt a mixture of sorrow, fear, and determination. Her journey had begun. The moonlight would not stay stolen forever, and she would not be the same girl who had woken this morning.

With one last glance at the silver moon hanging low in the sky, she stepped into the forest at the edge of Lyria, unaware of the dangers, the guardians, and the truths waiting for her beyond the trees.

And far above, the moon watched silently, waiting for its child to reclaim the light that had been taken.