Moonbound: The Rogue's Second Chance-Chapter 230: AMARA OF REDFALL (II)

Serena could barely remember what else had happened that day. Once Amara had finally taken her leave, Serena had walked back to her quarters in a daze, shut the door, and ensured the lock clicked firmly into place. She pressed her back to the door and exhaled slowly.

That conversation had been... unnerving. It was even putting that lightly, somehow she wished Charlotte had stayed with her longer.

Amara of Redfall. There had been something in her eyes, an intense curiosity cloaked beneath poise, a sense of calculation. The conversation had felt less like polite courtly talk and more like a well-disguised interrogation. Serena couldn’t place why it had left her so shaken. Perhaps it was the familiarity Amara hinted at. Perhaps it was the unnerving sense that Amara saw more than she let on.

Serena rubbed her temple and let out a breath through her nose. "Focus," she whispered.

Her stomach let out a low grumble in response.

She hadn’t eaten since dawn. After changing out of the stiff diplomatic dress and into a loose gown, Serena headed for the tray that had been left for her on the table near the hearth. A roast pheasant leg, some thick bread with herbed butter, and a chilled fruit compote that tasted faintly of honey and lavender. She sat near the open window, allowing the wind to tousle her hair as she ate slowly, savouring each bite.

Food had always helped her think. Her father used to say that an empty belly made a loud mind louder.

Still, no amount of slow chewing helped her make sense of Amara’s strange references, the way she’d said, "You are not what I expected from Crimsonclaw." Or how her gaze had lingered like she was trying to peel Serena open and find something hidden beneath.

The name Redfall echoed in her head. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

She wiped her hands with the cloth provided, stood, and made her way to the long wing of the estate that housed the modest castle library. Her footsteps echoed across the polished stone as she entered the quiet hall. The librarian, an older wolf with narrow spectacles and graying hair, offered her a stiff nod before retreating back into his records.

Serena took her time scanning the shelves. Most were dusty, organised by theme and subject, some in older dialects. Her fingers traced the spines of titles about trade law, border treaties, flora of the southern isles... and then finally she found a series of tomes about pack histories.

She brought several to the table and opened the first one with the care of someone used to fragile pages.

Dawnbreak Naming Conventions, Lineages and Mating Traditions was one of the first she browsed. It was all written in dense, flowery prose, the kind meant to deter the average reader.

Apparently, most northern packs, Dawnbreak included, used a system where names carried weight in hierarchy. Firstborns often bore names pulled from the Old Tongue, with meanings tied to celestial or seasonal omens. Riven, she noticed, was listed among names typically granted to warriors or leaders, derived from "rivaen," meaning "divided light" or "splintered flame." How poetic.

Mating conventions were stricter than she had expected. Fated mates were highly revered, but status and role still mattered, especially when one belonged to an older bloodline. This seemed all like a headache to her, these customs were strange to her. Her father in theory was even a rogue and she married the Beta of her pack. No one really care all that much, if you discovered you had a fated mate then it was thing of joy.

She flipped further along and found something that gave her pause.

Redfall: Once a recognised stronghold nestled in the northeastern frontier, Redfall was older than Dawnbreak, some say as old as the first unifications of the north. Not quite a pack in the formal sense, but more of a "clan structure," formed of several noble bloodlines with common ancestry. The wolves of Redfall were known for their striking appearances, pale-eyed, silver-haired, and prone to gifts of foresight and insight at the time but now had greatly deviated from their ancestry. They were not militarily dominant but held a powerful political sway.

Serena read on.

Redfall eventually became absorbed into the greater Dawnbreak collective when the region faced internal collapse due to famine, inter-clan feuding, and disease. Their customs were preserved in parts, and many of their bloodlines were still viewed with noble regard. Those descended from Redfall were often respected, though rarely held positions of power in modern governance. Notably, there was a single footnote at the bottom of the page:

See: Bloodshade

Serena frowned. There was no immediate reference or explanation. She sifted through the remaining pages, looking for any more mentions, but there was nothing. Just a passing phrase, no definition.

Bloodshade. What did that mean? Was that another name for the Redfall wolves? She closed the book and leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes fall shut briefly. The air in the library had grown still. Outside, the shadows were long and amber with late afternoon light.

Who are you really, Amara of Redfall? she thought.

Serena stood, stretched the stiffness from her limbs, and returned the books neatly. She lingered at the shelf for a moment before turning back toward the corridor. She had come looking for clarity, and yet she walked away with more questions.

Serena mulled over the conversation as she made her way out of the library, the word Bloodshade clinging to her thoughts like a stubborn child. Something about it gnawed at the edges of her memory, familiar, yet slippery. A name she ought to know.

She turned a corner and collided with someone. "Oh, pardon me," she said quickly, stepping back.

The man gave a polite nod and continued on.

Serena stood still a moment longer, that strange itch persisting behind her eyes. Bloodshade. It tugged at something buried deep, like a whisper from a dream half-forgotten. She pressed her lips together and kept walking.