The Luna's Last Sacrifice Chapter 8

Five years later, when Sebastian pushed open Lewis's bedroom door, he found his ten-year-old son crouched on the wolf-hide rug, a paw print album spread before him.

"This was hers," Lewis said without looking up.

Sebastian's throat tightened. "Your mother made those impressions during your first full moon transformation."

"Why is there one on every page?" Lewis turned page after page. From crooked pup prints to gradually forming wolf claws, each page bore dates and locations written in moon language. "Border stones, hunting ground ancient trees, Moonlight Cliff... She carried me to all these places?"

"She made one every night during patrol," Sebastian's voice was hoarse. "She said... she wanted to remember every moment of your growth."

Lewis slammed the album shut. "But Mom Layla said she found me troublesome and never wanted to take me anywhere."

The air froze.

Sebastian's nails pierced his palms. "Layla was lying."

"Then why did you all believe her back then?" Lewis stood up, his ten-year-old frame already reaching his father's chest. "Why did everyone say she 'wasn't fit to be a mother'?"

That night, Lewis dreamed.

On Moonlight Cliff, Stella in silver wolf form lowered her head to lick a trembling pup. It was five-year-old him, curled up in the snow after his first failed transformation. He saw his mother wrap him in her body heat, saw her right paw trembling in agony, saw her bite her own claw and drip moonlight-infused blood into his mouth.

"Survive, Lewis." Her voice resonated directly in his consciousness. "Whatever happens, remember I love you."

He howled in the dream. "Why didn't you ever tell me?!"

"Because love needs no explanation," her silver wolf form began to fade. "Only hate does."

Lewis woke with tears streaming down his face. He ran barefoot to the study and found that box—his mother's coming-of-age gift, sealed with moon language incantations, meant to be opened at eighteen.

He bit his thumb and pressed blood to the lock.

The spell shattered.

The box held no treasure, only three items: a bundle of baby teeth tied with silver thread, each tooth carved with dates; a roll of faded wolf hide covered with hundreds of paw prints, from infant palm-size to near-adult; a leather-bound diary.

Lewis opened to the diary's first page.

*Lunar Year 3472, Blood Moon Night. My Lewis was born. His cry was strong, claws gripping my finger tight. Sebastian says this child will be a powerful Alpha, but I only wish for his happiness.*

*Lunar Year 3477, Frost Descent. Lewis's first transformation failed, shivering in the snow. I fed him my blood. Dianna says this will accelerate Lunar Blight, but damn it. My son must survive.*

He turned trembling to the final entry.

*The diagnosis came back: late-stage Lunar Blight. Three nights left. I gave the treatment to Layla because I knew she'd expose her true nature. Lewis, when you read this, you should know the truth. Don't hate your father—he was just temporarily blinded. Don't hate yourself—you were deceived. If you must hate, hate that I couldn't live to tell you in person—being your mother was the greatest honor of my wolf life.*

The diary's last page held a strand of silver-white wolf fur, with a small line written beside it:

*If there's another life, I would still choose to be your mother, running with you under moonlight.*

Lewis clutched the diary and rushed outside.

Sebastian found him on Moonlight Cliff, kneeling at the edge, howling at the rising blood moon.

"She protected me every single night..." Lewis turned, face streaked with tears. "And I called her 'the annoying one.'"

Sebastian knelt beside him. "I called her 'stubborn' too."

"You gave up her life."

"I know."

Lewis grabbed his father's collar, then released it. He collapsed on the ground, forcing words from his throat: "How can I... make amends?"

"Live," Sebastian embraced his son. "Live proudly, as she wanted you to."

Ten years later, twenty-year-old Lewis stood at the Relic Hall reconstruction ceremony, silver-gray hair tied back, the Moonrise Circlet adorning his forehead.

Over a thousand pack members stood below, including Sebastian.

A reporter from *The Howling Moon Times* raised a recording stone: "Alpha Wolfe, many say you're rebuilding the Relic Hall to commemorate your mother. How do you respond?"

Lewis spoke calmly into the amplification array: "I'm not commemorating her. I'm completing what she couldn't finish—building a pack where all werewolves, regardless of bloodline, gender, or battle prowess, receive equal healing and education."

The crowd fell silent.

"I spent eighteen years learning regret," he continued. "She spent a lifetime teaching me how to love."

After the ceremony, he approached Sebastian in the corner. His father had aged completely, back slightly hunched, leaning on the wolf-head cane Stella once used.

"Layla died yesterday," Sebastian said quietly. "In Dark Moon Cavern, completely mentally broken before starving herself to death. Guards said... her last words were 'give me back the hunting grounds.'"

Lewis showed no expression. "Mother wouldn't care about her end."

"But I care." Moisture gathered in Sebastian's eyes.

On blood moon night, Lewis climbed Moonlight Cliff alone.

A silver wolf statue now stood at the cliff's edge, carved in Stella's battle stance. Lewis had sculpted it himself over three full years.

He sat cross-legged beside the statue, as if reporting to work.

"Mother, the 'Moonshade Arts and Healing Alliance' was officially established today. We bought all the hunting grounds on Shadowfang territory's western side and converted them into free public natural healing areas. Everything you wanted to do, I'm doing."

Wind stirred the moonlight grass at the cliff's edge.

"Father still lives alone. He says he's too ashamed to remarry, doesn't deserve it. Actually... I think this is his way of punishing himself."

"Layla is dead. Heard she died quite undignified. But I don't care."

Lewis paused for a long time, taking out the diary from his chest and turning to the last page. Moonlight illuminated those words: *If there's another life, I would still choose to be your mother.*

"Mother, I miss you so much."

When he turned to leave, Lewis didn't look back.

Some deaths aren't endings—forgetting is.

But Stella, this great mother, this great Luna, was remembered by all.