The Alpha's Fated Outcast: Rise Of The Moonsinger.-Chapter 300: The Ritual of Rebirth

Lyla

"False alarm," Ramsey announced as he strode into the war room. "There was no breach at the northern gate."

I looked up from the ritual preparations I was reviewing with Nanny. "What about the dead sentries?"

"That part was real," he said grimly. "Three warriors, throats slit. But there's no evidence of an invading force. No tracks, no scents, nothing."

Something cold settled in my stomach. "An inside job."

Ramsey nodded. "Someone wanted to draw our attention away from something else."

"Or someone," Gamma Darius added, his eyes meeting mine. "Like the bomb in your car."

We all fell silent, the implications hanging heavy in the air. White Moon had a traitor—perhaps more than one—working for Nathan.

"The ritual must continue", I said finally. "We need those Ferals fighting for us, not against us."

"I'll increase security around the ritual grounds," Ramsey decided. "No one gets within a hundred yards except those directly involved."

I shook my head. "No, Ramsey. The ritual requires solitude. Just me and the Ferals."

"Absolutely not." His tone was firm. "Not with a traitor in our midst."

"The ritual won't work otherwise," Nanny interjected. "Ancient magic has requirements that can't be ignored. Interference from others will disrupt the energy flow."

Ramsey looked torn, his desire to protect me warring with our desperate need for the Ferals' strength.

"I'll be fine," I assured him, touching his arm. "The Ferals won't hurt me. They respond to my voice."

After much argument, we reached a compromise: guards would maintain a perimeter around the ritual grounds, far enough away not to interfere with the magic but close enough to respond if anything went wrong.

As sunset approached, I retreated to prepare myself. In my room, I bathed in water infused with sacred herbs, cleansing my body and spirit. Nanny helped me dress in the traditional ritual garb—a flowing white gown with golden embroidery that caught the light like liquid moonbeams.

"Are you certain about this?" she asked as she wove moonflowers into my hair. "Converting so many Ferals at once has never been attempted."

"What choice do we have?" I replied. "Nathan arrives by morning. We need every fighter we can get."

She nodded, her eyes sad. "I've been rereading the prophecy. The part about stepping into fire—"

"Let's focus on tonight first," I interrupted. "One impossible task at a time."

When I emerged from my room, Ramsey was waiting. His breath caught visibly when he saw me.

"You look like the Moon Goddess herself," he murmured.

I smiled, touched by the awe in his voice. "Let's hope I can channel some of her power tonight."

He walked me to the edge of the ritual grounds—a natural clearing in the heart of White Mountain territory. The full moon would pass directly overhead at midnight, bathing the space in its white light.

"I'll be right here," Ramsey promised, stopping at the perimeter line. "If anything feels wrong, call out. I'll come for you."

I nodded, though we both knew that interrupting the ritual once it began could have disastrous consequences. With a final kiss, I stepped away from him and into the clearing alone.

The Ferals were already there, three hundred and fifty of them, held in special restraints by handlers who would release them when I gave the signal. These weren't ordinary Ferals—they were the elite fighters the Dark One had been sending all along to White Mountains, and Ramsey had been wise enough to capture them. These were the ones who had killed dozens of warriors before being captured.

Through Caius's research, we discovered that only elite Ferals had a Trinax, and each Trinax could only control seven Ferals simultaneously.

I took my position in the center of the clearing, feeling the place's energy intensify as moonlight began to spill through the trees. The Ferals sensed it, too, growing restless in their restraints.

"Release them," I commanded, my voice carrying across the clearing.

The handlers hesitated, exchanging nervous glances.

"Now," I insisted.

They unlocked the restraints one by one and quickly retreated to the perimeter. The Ferals watched them go but made no move to attack. Instead, their attention focused entirely on me.

I began to hum softly, establishing a connection with them. The familiar melody calmed their restless movements. They settled into sitting positions, forming a circle around me.

As the moon rose higher, I moved to the next phase. I took a handful of crushed herbs from a golden bowl and cast them into the small fire burning before me. The flames turned blue, releasing fragrant smoke that went upward.

"Spirits of the moon," I chanted, my voice gaining power, "hear my call. These souls before me are lost between worlds, neither wolf nor human. Guide them back to wholeness."

The Ferals stirred, some whimpering as if in pain. I continued, my voice rising and falling in the ancient cadence Nanny had taught me.

"Blood of Neriah, line of the first Moonsinger, I command the darkness to release its hold."

I took a silver knife and cut across my palm, letting droplets of blood fall into the fire. The flames surged higher, illuminating the clearing with ghostly blue light. The Ferals howled in unison, their bodies beginning to shift and twitch.

Now came the most dangerous part. I stepped toward the nearest Feral—Shadow, my little protector—and placed my bleeding hand on his head.

"Return to the light," I commanded. "Remember who you were."

Shadow's body convulsed, fur rippling as the magic took hold. Before my eyes, his form began to change—not to human, but to a normal wolf. The feral madness drained from his eyes, replaced by clear intelligence.

He looked up at me and bowed his head in submission.

I moved through the circle one by one, touching each Feral and repeating the invocation. Some transformed more easily than others. The most vicious ones fought the change, snarling and snapping. But my voice held them in thrall, forcing the darkness out.

As midnight approached, my strength began to wane. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my hand throbbed where I'd cut it. Converting so many at once was draining me faster than I'd anticipated.

"Just a few more," I whispered, stumbling slightly as I approached one of the largest Ferals.

This one had killed twelve warriors during the first attack. His eyes still burned with madness as I placed my hand on his massive head.

"Return to the light," I commanded, but my voice cracked with fatigue.

The Feral sensed my weakness. With a vicious snarl, he lunged at my throat.

I fell backward, barely avoiding his attack. The ritual circle broke as the remaining uncured Ferals began to stir restlessly.

"Lyla!" Ramsey shouted from the perimeter, drawing his weapon.

"Stay back!" I ordered, knowing his interference would ruin everything. I scrambled to my feet as the aggressive Feral circled me.

Drawing on my last reserves of strength, I began to sing—not the ritual chant, but something more primal. The melody came from somewhere beyond memory, as if the blood of Neriah herself flowed through my veins, guiding me.

The attacking Feral froze, mesmerized. The others fell silent, watching.

The full moon reached its zenith directly overhead, bathing the clearing in white light so bright it rivaled day. I felt power surge through me, unlike anything I'd experienced before. My voice strengthened, the song weaving complex patterns in the air.

I extended both hands, palms out, blood from my cut hand dripping onto the ground. The earth beneath my feet began to glow with the same blue light as the fire.

"By the power of the full moon, by the blood of the Moonsinger, I command you to return," I sang, my voice echoing with unnatural resonance. "No longer beasts of darkness, but warriors of light."

A shockwave of energy exploded outward from my body, washing over the Ferals. They howled in unison—a sound of pain and release. Their bodies contorted, fur rippling, forms shifting.

And then, silence.

Where three hundred and fifty Ferals had stood, now three hundred and fifty normal wolves remained. They gazed at me with clear, intelligent eyes—no longer mindless killers, but conscious beings.

The largest one—the one who had attacked me—approached slowly. He bowed his head and then, to my astonishment, shifted into human form.

A naked man knelt before me, tears streaming down his face.

"Moonsinger," he whispered hoarsely, as if unused to human speech. "You have freed us."

I gasped and moved backwards. They were not supposed to change into human forms. These were Ferals; they were beyond reasoning and…

My eyes widened when I remembered Xander's words from long ago, in those early days when we first met. He told me he wanted me to give the Ferals a soul, to give them the ability to transform into humans.

My mouth gaped open as I stared at them.

One by one, the others shifted as well, returning to their human forms. Men and women of various ages, all bearing the physical marks of their time as Ferals—scars, eyes that retained an intelligent quality.

If they could now return to their human forms, that would mean

one thing, and that is…These were the aureans—Neriah's people – an entire generation with powers similar to mine.

The odds were in our favour.