#moon 20

Note - most of these cats giving him lives are dead cats from other colonies, just so no one is confused about who these characters are.

The sun was just beginning to sink below the trees as Wolfstar leapt onto the high log. A hush fell over the camp as she called out, “Let all cats old enough to swim in the tide gather for a clan meeting.”

Inside the cleric’s den, Lynxdawn prepared her bundle of herbs. Thistle sat quietly beside her, watching her paws work before finally leaving to join the crowd.

“It’s a new moon,” Wolfstar began, her voice clear and steady, “the darkest night of the moon cycle. As you all know, I plan to meet with the other clan leaders tonight. I pray to StarClan that this will be the night we finally end the terror Lostclaw has brought upon the clans.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some cats nodded. Others shifted uneasily, casting glances toward the camp’s shadows as if the spirit might crawl from them at any moment.

“I’ll be taking a small patrol,” she continued. “I don’t expect a fight, but we don’t know how the others will react. We need to be prepared.”

She paused, then added something she hadn’t shared before. “During this meeting, Lynxdawn will attempt to summon Lostclaw from the Dark Forest.”

A stunned silence fell over the clearing, broken only by a few alarmed whispers.

“Because of the risks involved, if I can’t return—or don’t—Snowspeckle will take command in my place.”

Near the front, Mallowstripe closed his eyes, his breath catching. He already knew, but hearing Wolfstar speak so plainly about her possible death still left him cold.

“Joining me will be Lynxdawn, Shadowdive, Ottersplash, and Thistle. We’ll—”

“No!”

The yowl cut through her sentence like claws through water. Nightleap was on her paws, black pelt bristling.

“You’re not taking my son!” she cried, voice raw and shaking. “This is a death march!”

Coralpaw stepped forward to comfort her, but she jerked away. Ottersplash didn’t even look at her, his gaze locked on Wolfstar.

“I won’t lie and say there’s no risk,” Wolfstar said calmly. “But this is not a suicide mission. He is a trained warrior. Unless he gives me reason not to, he’s coming.”

“You can’t just decide that—!” Nightleap began, but she was cut off.

“I am committed to this mission,” Ottersplash said, stepping forward, his voice firm and final. “I’m honored to fight for SaltClan.”

Nightleap turned desperately to face him. “Please! You don’t understand what you’ll be facing. I just lost Rippleclaw I can’t lose you too!”

Ottersplash met her eyes, then turned to Wolfstar and gave a solemn nod.

Wolfstar nodded once. “That’s enough, Nightleap. They’ve made their choice. Sit down.”

But Nightleap wasn’t done. She turned on Snowspeckle now, her voice breaking. “Please, Snow. You can’t let him do this. Don’t let her take our kit.”

Snowspeckle didn’t rise. She didn’t flinch. She simply met her mate’s gaze with sadness in her eyes.

“You would stop me?” Wolfstar asked as she dropped from the log with a solid thud, her paws sending up a soft spray of sand. She stood in front of Nightleap, close enough to feel the heat of her anger.

“If you want to stop this, then invoke your right to challenge,” she said, low and cold. “But if you’re going to, do it now and make it count. Because I won’t back down.”

Nightleap hesitated. She knew she didn’t stand a chance. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Shadowdive stepping forward—ready to intercept if she lunged.

“So again,” Wolfstar said, voice cutting like ice, “unless you’re going to fight me, sit down.”

Ottersplash stepped between them and nudged his mother back toward the crowd.

“I’m going, Nightleap,” he muttered. “You can’t stop me. Just… let it go.”

Nightleap let herself be pulled away, ears low, shame and fear dragging at her paws.

Back on the log, Wolfstar waited until she had retreated to the edge of the warriors’ den before continuing.

“We’ve lost enough time,” she said flatly. “We’ll leave as soon as Lynxdawn is ready.”

She swept her gaze across the crowd, her voice harder now.

“We may be gone until dawn. Until we return, all warriors must remain alert. If things go wrong, the camp will need to shut down. Snowspeckle will coordinate defenses and next steps. Listen to her, and trust each other.”

The clan was silent—still shaken from the exchange, but listening now.

“Have faith in SaltClan,” she finished, voice rising with certainty. “I do. I believe in every one of you. Whatever happens tonight, we’ll face it together.”

A cautious cheer rippled through the cats. Wolfstar dipped her head and leapt down from the log.

Lynxdawn met Wolfstar at the cleric den entrance, two baskets neatly set beside her.

“That was hard to watch,” she murmured, brushing their foreheads together.

Wolfstar let out a quiet breath. “I honestly expected more pushback.”

“The clan trusts you,” Lynxdawn said softly, licking her cheek. “And Nightleap, too. She still hurting from Rippleclaw’s abduction. She’ll come around.”

Wolfstar huffed, but her eyes stayed on the ground. “Maybe. But Nightleap’s a problem for another day. Right now I need to stay sharp.”

“I brewed tea earlier. It’s still warm,” Lynxdawn offered, flicking her tail toward the back of the den. “Chamomile and milky oats.”

Wolfstar pressed briefly into her side before padding over to the clay pot and taking a few slow drinks, savoring the floral warmth against her throat.

“There’s enough for the whole clan,” Wolfstar chuckled.

“I told Snowspeckle and Mallowstripe to serve it once we leave,” she added, moving to prepare the bundles of herbs. “You drink. I’ll go get the patrol. They should have a chance to sip before we go.”

Wolfstar loafed beside the pot, breathing slow and deep between swallows. The taste was soft, but the weight in her chest was not. She felt like she was free-falling, paws clawing for something solid.

Please, StarClan. Let something give.

Soon, the patrol arrived—Shadowdive, Thistle, Ottersplash at the cleric’s heels. They drank quietly from the pot while Lynxdawn handed out bundles of traveling herbs with careful paws.

“Sorrel. Daisy. Burnet,” the black queen murmured as she chewed her bundle.

“You sure you’re ok to fight?” Shadowdive asked the black molly.

Thistle didn’t seem offended. “I’ve been cleared to work, plus we need the warriors.”

He nodded, eyes solemn as he chewed.

Wolfstar chewed her herbs quickly, washing down the bitterness with the last of the tea. The silence between them all had settled thick.

When they were finished, Wolfstar rose to her full height and looked over the patrol.

“It’s time,” she said.

And without another word, they turned toward the entrance, leaving the warmth of the fire behind.

——

SaltClan was the first to arrive at the gathering place. The sun had fully dipped below the horizon, leaving the clearing bathed in blue twilight as Lynxdawn began preparing the altar. She stayed close to the base of the leader’s stone, her movements steady and deliberate.

Shadowdive and Thistle took up positions at opposite edges of the clearing, acting as sentries. They didn’t speak, just flicked their tails in silent signals as they waited.

Ottersplash stuck close to Wolfstar, eyes steely. If trouble broke out, he was to run—fast and silent—back to camp for help. He was the fastest among them, and they all knew it.

At the altar, Lynxdawn arranged the ceremonial elements: black salt, driftwood, prey bones, and a careful fan of moth wings. The breeze tugged at the fragile pieces until she pressed them into the grass with gentle force.

Thistle’s voice rang out: “OakClan approaches!”

Wolfstar turned to see Archstar at the front of the patrol, flanked by Sparrowclaw and Butterflygaze. She recognized the group vaguely—Sagecall and Inkypelt followed behind.

But it wasn’t the patrol’s composition that made her fur prickle. It was Archstar’s silence.

The OakClan leader’s eyes swept the clearing with flat intensity, but they said nothing. Not a greeting. Not a nod. Not even a twitch of recognition. That wasn’t like them. Archstar was many things, but never mute.

Butterflygaze was glued to their side, pelt pressed close, eyes scanning the shadows. Sparrowclaw looked ready to spring at the slightest word. Even Sagecall, usually unflappable, murmured to him in low tones, casting glances at the other clans. Inkypelt gave Wolfstar and Shadowdive polite nods but kept her distance, her eyes flicking to Lynxdawn with open scrutiny.

Wolfstar forced herself to break the silence. “Thank you for meeting me here. We’re still waiting on DuskClan and HoneyClan.”

Archstar offered only a single nod before sitting, curling into a tight loaf. They looked more like a cat preparing for battle than one attending a council.

Ottersplash leaned in. “HoneyClan is here,” he said, his voice low.

As if summoned, the small patrol emerged—Rookstar flanked by Moonfleck and Joltfoot. Only three. Unusual for a meeting of this importance.

Thistle pointed this out quietly to Wolfstar, but Rookstar could hear her criticisms.

“I’m not wasting more warriors on a useless mission,” the orange tom said, his voice carrying across the stone.

It wasn’t just dismissive—it was openly disrespectful.

Moonfleck, HoneyClan’s eldest historian, seemed unmoved, serene as ever. Joltfoot, by contrast, looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. He didn’t fidget, but his eyes wouldn’t settle. Neither of them seemed dangerous. But Rookstar did.

“Shows how much you care about everything that’s happening,” Sparrowclaw growled. The OakClan warrior surged to his paws, fur bristling.

“I don’t know who’s behind this darkness,” Rookstar snarled, “but it sure as crowfood isn’t HoneyClan.”

Wolfstar rose before the shouting could begin. “This affects all of us. That’s why I called this meeting.”

Sagecall’s voice cut cleanly through the tension. “Sparrowclaw, sit down. We’re still waiting on DuskClan.”

Reluctantly, he obeyed. The silence that followed was stifling. No cat spoke. Even the wind seemed to hush.

Wolfstar cast a glance toward Lynxdawn, who remained focused on the altar, her paws steady. She hadn’t acknowledged the argument—perhaps intentionally. Ritual first.

Then Archstar spoke, soft but sharp. “Jaggedstar is rarely late. I wonder what’s keeping her.”

It was the first full sentence they’d said since arriving, and the cool tone made the hairs on Wolfstar’s neck rise.

At last, Shadowdive raised his tail from the far side of the clearing—DuskClan had arrived.

They entered as one. Jaggedstar at the front, her gaze steady. Greyclaw, Bluefur, Frostwhisper, and Stagtrail flanked her. No one spoke, no one hesitated. The patrol moved like a single current, fluid and quiet.

Jaggedstar gave Wolfstar a brief nod before sitting, calm and composed, as if this were just another moonlit meeting and not a confrontation on the edge of disaster.

“Care to explain your tardiness?” Rookstar asked, his tone just a little too casual, clearly picking up on DuskClan’s unsettling calm.

Jaggedstar didn’t even bother to look at him. “Care to explain where your cleric is?”

That wiped the smugness from his face. His fur rippled with irritation, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Seems there’s more than enough in attendance.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the gathered cats—quiet conversations between warriors and glances exchanged like passing shadows.

Wolfstar cleared her throat, a sharp, deliberate sound. The whispers died instantly.

“I’d hoped Junipersong or Rosedrift would be here to lend a paw,” she said evenly. “But we can make do.”

At the mention of his daughter, Rookstar’s tail gave a sharp flick, but he held his tongue.

“Not bringing a cleric to a new moon meeting with all four clans—” Stagtrail growled from the DuskClan side, “—screams of disrespect.”

“Quiet.”

The word came in unison, Wolfstar and Jaggedstar speaking as one—sharp, commanding, and unquestionable.

Stagtrail immediately fell silent, though his eyes lingered on Wolfstar with a hint of challenge.

Before anyone else could speak—before the tension could tip over the edge—Wolfstar stepped forward, voice steady.

“I believe we’ve uncovered Lostclaw’s true name… and a portion of her past. We still don’t know the full reason for the hauntings, but we’re closer.”

She looked around the clearing, holding each cat’s gaze one by one.

“It’s likely lostclaw was previously name, Mothsong. The mother of Oakclan’s founder.”

A beat of silence. Then Rookstar opened his mouth.

Jaggedstar cut him off without even looking in his direction. “You’ll wait your turn, Rookstar.”

Her tone was cold and final—so final that even the normally fire-tongued tom faltered.

Wolfstar took a breath and stepped forward. “Jaggedstar. Archstar. Rookstar. I’d like to speak with you privately now..”

She nodded toward the altar, where Lynxdawn’s ritual was still half-finished. Moth wings rustled faintly in the grass like fragile whispers. Wolfstar stepped inside the half-formed circle, and after a moment’s hesitation, the other leaders followed.

The moment they were out of earshot, murmurs flared up again.

“That looked like a planned move,” Sparrowclaw muttered to Butterflygaze.

“They’ve been too calm this whole time,” Inkypelt added, her voice sharp with suspicion. “SaltClan and DuskClan are aligned. They’re hiding something.”

Ottersplash bristled. “Watch what you say.”

Lynxdawn ignored them all, continuing her quiet, careful placement of ritual tools.

Inside the semicircle of wings, the grass muffled their pawsteps, as if the air itself was holding its breath.

“What is this really about, Wolfstar?” Archstar asked, their voice low but not unkind.

Wolfstar didn’t get a chance to answer. Rookstar’s composure cracked.

“I can’t have another TallClan,” he said, his voice sharp with frustration, but there was a tremble beneath it. “I can’t have another Rainey. I won’t let it happen again.”

Both Jaggedstar and Archstar turned to look at him, but he avoided their eyes.

“So you won’t help us?” Wolfstar asked calmly.

Archstar’s gaze narrowed slightly, but they didn’t interrupt.

“I’ll stay,” Rookstar said after a beat. “I want to know what your plan is. But I’m not helping. HoneyClan will not be dragged into another storm of shadows.”

Wolfstar nodded once. “That’s your choice. But you’ll only listen.”

Before anyone could respond, Lynxdawn pushed her way into the circle. Her eyes flicked to each of them, calm but urgent.

“The altar is ready,” she said quietly. “We need to begin.”

Jaggedstar gave a nod. Rookstar turned and left the circle without another word, his shoulders stiff as he stalked back to his patrol.

Outside the circle, whispers died as he rejoined HoneyClan, speaking to them in hushed tones a few fox lengths away. Wolfstar remained with Jaggedstar and Archstar a moment longer, the moth wings still fluttering faintly in the breeze around them.

Then, with a glance between them, the three leaders stepped just out of the circle, and the clearing braced itself for what came next. Lynxdawn’s voice was clear, but tense. “We’re nearly at the mark. The moon is almost between the second and third star—it won’t be much longer.”

She knelt inside the altar circle, paws firm on either side of the bone shard. The moth wings trembled in the grass as the wind shifted.

Jaggedstar turned to Archstar, voice low but cutting. “You’re running out of time to speak plainly.”

Wolfstar didn’t move. She watched them both.

Archstar hesitated—just long enough.

Then, they seemed to wake up, eyes animated and manic as the wind picked up.

“I knew who Lostclaw was,” they said. “I’ve known for seasons.”

Jaggedstar’s ears twitched. Wolfstar’s brow creased.

“You knew?” She asked, then shouted. “You knew this whole time?!”

Her shout caught the patrols attention and Oakclan came closer to the circle’s edge.

“I came to OakClan after a dream,” Archstar continued. “I thought it was from StarClan. I thought I was chosen. But when I reached the Moon Spring… there was no one waiting. No starry pelts. No lives. Nothing.”

“What else are you hiding, Archstar?” Sparrowclaw’s voice sliced across the clearing. “If Lostclaw’s name wasn’t news to you, then what else have you lied about?”

“We followed you for seasons!” Butterflygaze’s eyes were wide with betrayal. “You said you spoke for StarClan—did they ever even speak back?”

“You’ve led us without lives?” Inkypelt’s voice was lower, dangerous. “How many of us would’ve died to protect a leader with no stars behind them?”

OakClan warriors surged forward until only the altar’s edge kept them from crowding in. HoneyClan watched from behind, tense and silent.

“I led you as well as any cat with nine lives,” Archstar snapped. “You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed—”

Jaggedstar stepped in, voice harsh with fury. “Don’t you dare talk about sacrifice.”

Archstar turned to her. “Jagged—”

Lynxdawn didn’t lift her eyes as she began lighting the incense. “I’m starting the ritual,” she said. “We can’t delay. If the moon passes the third star—”

“Do it,” Wolfstar said, not turning her head. “This isn’t stopping us.”

Jaggedstar stepped closer to Archstar, her voice low. “You want to talk about sacrifice? What about what I’ve sacrificed!!”

That stopped Archstar in their tracks. The fight in their eyes faltered.

“You said you would join DuskClan,” Jaggedstar went on. “You said you’d raise our kits beside me. And instead, you vanished with nothing left behind. Moons later you’re in oakclan? As their leader of all things?”

“I didn’t vanish,” Archstar muttered. “I became what the dream said I had to. I had to go. For OakClan.”

“For Lostclaw,” Jaggedstar corrected.

Wolfstar stared between them, realization dawning. “What do you mean ‘our kits’?”

Neither of them answered.

“What do you mean,” she repeated, louder now. Her voice cracked with something between fury and disbelief.

Archstar looked at her. And for the first time that night, they looked… guilty.

“My name was Archer,” they said. “Before OakClan. Before the clans, really. I was a loner. Jaggedstar and I—we were mates. I agreed to join DuskClan when she found out she was expecting. But I left after the dream.”

They took a breath.

“I’m your sire, Wolfstar.”

The air dropped.

Outside the circle, even the arguing cats fell silent. The breeze caught the moth wings, making them twitch like they were alive.

Lynxdawn’s chant had begun. Low and rhythmic, it rose above the stillness like a distant tide.

Wolfstar said nothing. She didn’t move. Her claws slowly unsheathed into the dirt, but her face didn’t change.

Jaggedstar’s expression was unreadable.

And at the altar’s center, the shadows began to stir.

Lynxdawn’s chant rose in rhythm with the wind.

Archstar opened their mouth, closed it, opened it again. Their composure cracked.

“My name… before OakClan… was Archer.”

The air around the moth wings shifted.

“I thought I’d find purpose in Oakclan. That I would lead.”

“You said it was StarClan’s will,” Jaggedstar spat.

“I thought it was,” Archstar shouted back. “I believed it. But when I went to the Moon Spring after Silverstar made me deputy, Starclan wasn’t there. Not for me at least.”

A gasp rippled through the gathered cats. OakClan looked stunned. HoneyClan looked suddenly uneasy.

“How can we believe anything you say! You’re not even a true leader?” Butterflygaze hissed.

“I am your leader,” Archstar snapped, their voice hardening. “I’ve led you without nine lives, without the blessings you all take for granted. And I’ve kept us alive.”

They spun to face the patrols.

“I’ve spent every season since trying to find a way to fix it. If I can stop Lostclaw, maybe StarClan will finally—finally—acknowledge me.”

Lynxdawn’s chant rose in rhythm with the wind.

The altar pulsed faintly—first with a shimmer of starlight, then with a deep, unnatural glow.

She dropped the final pinch of salt onto the bone shard, and as it cracked beneath the weight of the ritual, a blinding flash of white light exploded outward from the circle.

Wolfstar flinched, blinking hard.

When her eyes cleared, the world was… wrong. The clearing hadn’t changed—and yet, everything had.

The air was too still. The shadows too sharp. The light of the stars was muted and wrong-colored, like they’d been soaked in blood and ash. A thin, silvery mist hung in the air like a veil, and behind it—

“Shadowdive!” Wolfstar shouted.

On the far side of the mist, Shadowdive was lunging at Ottersplash—claws flashing, teeth bared.

“Shadowdive—STOP!” But Shadowdive was already tearing into Ottersplash, and the younger tom wasn’t holding back in return.

Beyond the veil, chaos had erupted.

HoneyClan warriors clawed at each other. OakClan cats turned on their own. Screams, snarls, and yowls echoed through the space, muffled and distant, as if underwater—but brutal all the same.

“They’re fighting each other,” Wolfstar breathed. “Even their own clanmates—why?!”

Jaggedstar’s ears flattened. “They can’t see us.”

Archstar moved closer to the veil, but their paw didn’t pass through. The mist shimmered like glass, keeping them trapped in the circle.

Only Lynxdawn, Wolfstar, Jaggedstar, and Archstar remained in the eye of the storm. The circle of moth wings was untouched, glowing faintly now with an eerie silver-blue hue.

A voice slithered through the clearing.

Soft. Cold. Female. Wrong.

“What do they fight for, I wonder? Territory? Glory? Fear? No. They fight because I’ve unmade them.”

The voice went on. “I take what makes them whole and leave the hunger behind.”

Wolfstar spun, eyes wide. “Who’s there?!”

The mist thickened, and from it, a shape began to form.

A long, gaunt she-cat, made of black smoke and ash. Her eyes gleamed red and green. Her face was familiar and unfamiliar all at once—as if it had been built from fragments of other cats, none of them living.

Lostclaw.

Her presence felt like a deep infection in the heart of the world.

“You call me like I’m some wandering spirit. A ghost. A warning. But I am the consequence. I am the thing you let happen.”

Jaggedstar growled low in her throat, stepping protectively in front of Wolfstar and Lynxdawn.

Archstar was frozen.

Wolfstar’s claws dug into the dirt.

“Why are they fighting each other?” she demanded. “What did you do?”

Lostclaw tilted her head, slow and terrible.

“I just showed them what I see.”

The mist churned, swallowing the screams from beyond the veil into a ghostly murmur. Blood splattered on the other side—real or not, Wolfstar couldn’t tell—but she felt it.

Lostclaw stood at the heart of it, tall and thin, more absence than form. Her face never stopped shifting, mouth curling at angles that didn’t belong on a cat. Her eyes—fractured like shattered crystal—locked on Lynxdawn, who was still standing firm at the ritual’s center.

“You think you can stop me?You’re already too late.” Her voice was unlike any Wolfstar had heard before. Feline yet foreign and strange.

“You used your power to start this chaos,” Wolfstar said. “You’re burning through it. Eventually, you’ll run dry.”

Jaggedstar squared her shoulders beside her. “You’ll fade, and we’ll still be standing.”

Lostclaw’s grin was slow, splitting her face unnaturally long.

“Do you even know how long I can keep them like this? Do you know what happens the longer they stay in it?”

She stepped toward the edge of the ritual circle, mist curling at her feet.

“It’s not just claws. It’s memory. Trust. Names. Every second they forget what they’re fighting for. All that will remain is pain.”

Wolfstar looked again at the cats beyond the veil—Snowspeckle now brawling with Moonfleck. Claws flashing, pelts torn. No recognition in their eyes. Only rage.

“Why?” Lynxdawn asked quietly. “Why are you doing this?”

Lostclaw’s voice turned colder.

“Because I remember what you want to forget. I was the cat no one listened to. The cat they cast out.”

She bared her fangs, though they barely looked real.

“And I will not be forgotten.”

Jaggedstar lunged without warning. Her claws slashed through the air—but before they could reach, a tendril of darkness struck.

It slammed Jaggedstar into the stones at the edge of the circle. She hit hard—her side crumpling with a sickening crack.

“Jaggedstar!” Wolfstar bolted to her, catching her weight just as she slumped. “Stay down—don’t move, I’ve got you.”

She dragged her mother behind the altar, shielding her with her body. Jaggedstar’s chest heaved in shallow gasps. Blood soaked the grass.

Lostclaw watched, calm and cold, still grinning.

“What a sweet little daughter. So quick to protect a mother who couldn’t protect her.”

Wolfstar’s eyes widened.

Lostclaw’s grin twisted further.

“Tell me, Wolfstar—did she ever tell you how close she came to abandoning you as a kit?”

Wolfstar’s breath caught.

“Poor, pathetic Jaggedstar. So haunted. So fragile. Leader of a clan of ghosts, mother of a child she nearly threw away. All because her beloved was so easily away by dreams of grandeur.”

She stepped closer.

“You think she’s strong? She’s nothing but a broken shell. And now she bleeds for it.”

Wolfstar didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But her claws sank deep into the dirt—and the fire building in her chest was not fear.

Jaggedstar groaned but pushed herself upright with a snarl. Blood darkened her muzzle, but her eyes burned.

“You think I’ll take insults from one of the oldest ghosts in the Dark Forest?”

Lostclaw stopped smiling.

“I’m not one of the oldest,” she said, voice flat and dangerous. “I was the first.”

Her body began to warp again—elongating, swelling like smoke forced into a shape. Her face peeled away to show the skull beneath. Her voice deepened, echoing strangely in the mist.

“I was there when StarClan formed. When the first cats crawled from loner dens and tried to name the stars they didn’t understand. I watched as they carved law into each other and thought it would save them.”

She stepped forward. Her face cracked wide open in a grin.

“And I laughed.”

Archstar’s pelt bristled. “Then you’ve always been nothing but rot.”

She lunged.

Archstar moved without hesitation, leaping toward the shadowy figure.

They didn’t make it. The shadowy tendrils knocking them back to the ground with a sick thud.

Then Lostclaw screamed.

The sound was nothing like a cat—it was like stone being ripped apart, like bones snapping in the belly of the world. A blast of black force slammed into her and Jaggedstar, throwing them to the dirt.

Wolfstar hit the ground hard—but it wasn’t the impact that made her scream.

It was the pain.

Her front paws burned. Then tore. Then split.

She watched—eyes wide in horror—as her claws curled backward, ripped from their beds, and fell one by one into the grass.

She screamed. Her whole body seized.

Beside her, Archstar howled—legs kicking against the earth, paws soaked in blood as their claws were ripped free.

Jaggedstar thrashed, biting down on her own leg to keep from screaming.

The pain was wrong. Too much. Too deep. Not just injury—it was like something had reached into their very selves and peeled away a part that was never meant to be touched.

Wolfstar gasped, barely able to breathe. “What… what did you do to us…”

Lostclaw smiled again, somehow her skull face shifted to a grin.

“I had mine ripped from me—and now so will you.”

Another shadow came and flung Archstar again, knocking them into the veil wall. They slumped down to the ground unmoving, barely breathing as they lost consciousness.

Wolfstar couldn’t stand. Her legs shook too hard.

But through the mist, Lynxdawn stepped toward her—eyes wide.

Wolfstar felt her head swim from the pain as she spoke. “You didn’t scream. Why didn’t you scream?”

Lynxdawn stepped closer now, Then her breath caught. Her eyes dropped to Wolfstar’s paws. Archstar’s. Jaggedstar’s.

“Oh… stars,” she whispered. “She took your claws…”

Lynxdawn was the only cat standing.

Whole.

Untouched.

Glowing in the shadow-light like something sacred.

Wolfstar stared up at her, wide-eyed and raw.

“…You’re the only thing that makes sense,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Everything’s wrong and gone, and you’re…Are you even real?”

Her chin wobbled. She tried to laugh and choked on it.

Lynxdawn blinked down at her own paws, testing them in the dirt. Her claws slid out, clean and unbroken.

“I haven’t tried to attack,” she whispered. “Maybe that’s why.”

Wolfstar clenched her jaw. Blood smeared the inside of her mouth. She looked at Lynxdawn—not with suspicion, but with something closer to awe… and something quieter beneath it.

“Maybe…she can’t…” she muttered, not quite meaning to say it. “… maybe you’re sacred.”“Mothsong!” Lynxdawn’s voice rang out over the ritual circle. “That’s your real name, isn’t it?”

She trembled, wishing she could press into her leader’s side like a kit. But she spoke like the sea.

Lostclaw’s body rippled, her features twisting. The shadowy mist pulsed around her.

“You don’t get to call me that,” she hissed.

“I want to see you,” Lynxdawn said, taking a cautious step closer to the altar. “The real you. Not this… thing.”

Lostclaw let out a bone-deep screech that made the altar stones tremble.

“This is me!”

Jaggedstar, still slumped but upright, looked at the creature in front of them with a grim, heavy gaze. “Why me?”

The twin green and red flames in Lostclaw’s eyes flared.

“I wasn’t warm, but I was good.” Jaggedstar’s voice cracked. “I did what I thought was right. I raised her alone. I led my clan. I protected them.”

“It wasn’t personal,” Mothsong snapped.

Then her voice dropped to something more venomous. “I’ve had a paw in every betrayal the clans have ever known. I was the whisper behind every claw in the dark. Talltail’s rise. Rainfur’s vengeance. The exile of every outcast who ever came back stronger.”

Her mouth twisted into a savage grin. “I breathed life into your monsters.”

Jaggedstar bared her teeth. “Then you’re even stronger than we feared.”

She stood, swaying slightly.

“You don’t even need to move,” she muttered. “Your voice throws cats like pebbles.”

A flick of shadow. A cold jolt.

Jaggedstar was airborne.

She hit the earth with a horrible sound and didn’t rise. Her ribs barely moved with her breathing.

Wolfstar screamed, the shock clearing the fog of pain as she scrambled towards her.

“You monster!” Her voice cracked with fury. “You’d really break the bond between a mother and her kit?”

Lostclaw turned toward her.

Wolfstar’s whole body shook. “You’re the reason I was in the den that night as a paw! I was supposed to go to bed. You made me stay up, didn’t you?”

Lostclaw’s smile returned. Smaller now. Almost sweet.

“You never wondered?” she crooned. “Why that white hare walked right into your paws?”

Wolfstar froze.

“You thought you caught it on your own. Your first solo kill. You were so proud. So you crept into mommy’s den, just for a moment. Just long enough to hear her.”

Her eyes glinted like fangs.

“Just long enough to learn what kind of cat she really was.”

Without provocation, Lostclaw twitched.

Her body shimmered again—form blurring between smoke and flesh—and then she flinched. Her shoulder locked mid-motion, and a terrible stiffness rippled through her forelegs. Her eyes narrowed in pain.

Even here, even in death, she still felt it.

The ache. The cold. The pain.

Lynxdawn stepped closer. “You’re in pain,” she said softly.

Lostclaw turned her head away, jaw tight.

“…How did you lose your claws?” Lynxdawn asked, gently. “You said you had lost yours. That you knew what it felt like.”

Lostclaw’s eyes closed.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

Then the world held its breath.

The mist didn’t part. The clearing didn’t change.

But the cats—Lynxdawn, Wolfstar, Jaggedstar—saw through her eyes.

Their eyes flashed with a glimmer of silver. And through them, the past flooded in.

Flash images cut through the dark like lightning:

Mothsong—not Lostclaw yet—steps onto a road. The sound of a car horn. Headlights. Then the sickening, crunching blow. Her body flips, hits the concrete. Everything goes black.

Then—cold metal. A cage. Gentle hands.

She is brought to a twoleg den, the cutter. The inside cold and sterile. Bright white lights. Barking. Screaming. The sharp sting of needles and disinfectant. She curls against a towel, flinching.

Time stretches.

The days blur.

Wolfstar gasps softly. She’s seen this place. In her dreams. That red-tinged nightmare. She never knew it was real. A real place.

Mothsong opens her eyes. Red and green blurs swirl above her. The colors focus.

She’s looking at the cage wall, shiny and mirrored. It’s her own reflection.

Her eyes—once soft—are shattered, one cloudy, one ringed in blood. Glassy. Forever changed by the accident.

Then the mirror fades. Another room.

Her belly is shaved. Stitches line her skin—she’s been cut. She curls into herself.

The fur grows back slowly.

Then hands again. A box. A new ride.

Mothsong is inside again.

There are two kits— lovely kits. Young, small. They swarm her with affection. She adores them. Her tail winds around them like she was their mother.

The images soften.

She scratches at the couch. A normal instinct.

The kits’ faces shift—concern, warning.

Mothsong’s voice—now overlaying the images—whispers:

“I didn’t think it mattered. But they understood twolegs more than me.”

Next flash, angry twoleg paws reaching.

Back in the box.

Back to the cutter’s.

But this time it’s not the same place. It’s grimier. The lights flicker. No warmth in the hands that hold her.

She cries. No one hears.

She comes home again. Her paws are wrapped in bandages.

The kits stare but don’t come close. Not for days. Their twoleg hovers between them.

“They didn’t recognize me,” Mothsong murmurs. “Not really. Not after what they did to me.”

She limps when she walks. Her movements are stiff. Her body always aches.

One day, the window is cracked open.

She climbs up slowly.

Freedom whispers to her. She calls for the kits.

They stand across the room. Scared.

They don’t come.

The window in her face.

Final flash:

Mothsong stumbles through woods.

Alone. Ragged. Her paws are split and bleeding again. Her tail droops. She limps, but she keeps moving. One step. Another. Her body won’t stop hurting.

Pain is her only companion.

She sees trees—familiar. A scent.

A memory.

She lifts her head and sees a tom on patrol.

Oakstar.

Her son.

His face twists to anger. Then he lifts a heavy paw.

“I almost didn’t recognize him,” Mothsong whispers aloud, as the memory plays. As her son strikes her.

Their eyes flicker back to the present.

The vision ends, distorted reality snapping back into focus. It makes Wolfstar dizzy, the pain in her paws unbearable.

“I came back because I had nowhere else to go,” Lostclaw said quietly. “But he didnt want me, he blamed me. Like I’d wanted all of this to happen.”

She shuddered. “As I died he told me he wouldn’t bury me with his father. After death he forbade anyone to talk about me, that any cat who abandoned the clan didn’t deserve to come back. He made everyone forget me.”

She smiled.

“So I made them remember.”

The mist trembled.

Lostclaw stood with her head low, her breath ragged, her body barely holding its monstrous form. Her clouded eyes glistened.

Lynxdawn stepped toward her again. There was no fear on her face now—only sorrow.

“That must’ve been… unbearable.”

Lostclaw didn’t answer, but the mist around her stilled—listening.

“I think about my kits all the time,” Lynxdawn went on, voice thick. “Even now, when they’re almost warriors. If they ever looked at me like I was a stranger, if they turned their backs… I’d die. I would die.”

Lostclaw’s body twitched, like she’d been struck—but she didn’t turn away.

“And you,” Lynx whispered, “you didn’t leave him. You didn’t abandon him. You were stolen. Hurt. Caged. Tortured.”

The silence was overpowering.

Then Lostclaw whispered, quiet as wind. “My claws have never come back.”

Wolfstar flinched.

Lostclaw raised her forepaw slowly—shaking, ancient, trembling with power and pain. The pads were scarred, misshapen. The toes bent wrong. Where claws once should have been… nothing. Not even stubs.

“They took them,” she said. “And I… I kept waiting. But even now, in death… I’m still broken.”

Gasps rippled through the others. Horror flickered across every face.

Jaggedstar lay stiff and silent, eyes wide with disbelief. Wolfstar trembled, her own bloodied paws aching in sympathy.

“I’m so sorry,” She said. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

Mothsong broke.

The sob that tore from her chest was no longer dark or warped or monstrous. It was the cry of a mother who had buried herself a thousand times and never been mourned once.

She collapsed to the dirt, shoulders heaving. The shadows peeled back from her like shedding skin. Her form flickered—still long and twisted, but less monstrous. Her voice cracked, losing that wrong echo.

“I didn’t mean to become this,” she whispered. “I just wanted to come home.”

Wolfstar stepped forward, eyes wide and teary. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. Any of it. Not the pain. Not the claws. Not… not the fear they gave you.”

Mothsong looked at her, stunned.

Lynxdawn lowered herself gently beside her. “You made it all the way back. You survived. You’re still here.”

“You came home,” Wolfstar said.

There was a long silence.

Then, Jaggedstar, hoarse but clear. “You were a good mother. It’s not your fault what happened..”

Mothsong closed her eyes.

And for the first time in her unlife, she wept like someone who had finally been seen.

Archstar stirred.

They groaned, shifting slightly, eyes fluttering open. Blood still crusted their paws, but the pain in the clearing had dulled. The shadows were thinner now. The mist, thinner still.

Wolfstar knelt beside them, then slowly looked back toward Mothsong.

“…Can I see you?” Lynxdawn asked softly. “Not Lostclaw. You. The way you were… before everything.”

Mothsong blinked, and the shadows unraveled around her once more.

The hulking, twisted specter shrank, shimmered—and standing in her place was a tortie she-cat with soft fur and a tired, gentle face. Her eyes—still flawed from the accident—no longer seemed monstrous. Just old. Just worn.

Wolfstar stared at her, breath caught in her throat.

“You deserved to be remembered,” she said. “You deserved to be seen.”

Mothsong looked like she might cry again—but she only smiled, tremulous.

Lynxdawn approached, her voice gentle but sure. “How can we help you?” she asked. “What can we do… to ease your pain?”

Mothsong’s expression flickered—shock, longing, disbelief—and she opened her mouth to answer…

But her legs buckled beneath her.

She crumpled to the earth, fragile and small.

And then—burst.

A cloud of soft, shimmering silver smoke rushed upward, shaped like wings, like wind, like flight. Tiny lights—moth-shaped, star-touched—fluttered through the clearing in utter silence.

One by one, they floated toward the battlefield beyond the veil, to the still fighting cats.

They passed through the mist like it wasn’t there.

They touched bloodied pelts, slashed flanks, wide, terrified eyes—and one by one, the cats dropped to the ground. The wounds began to close. The snarls faded. Tension melted into stillness.

And the wings continued to flutter.

Some touched the cats in the circle, the pain of losing claws erased in a moment. Wolfstar looked to her paws, they were in bloodied and whole again.

Then she watched the starry moths.

One passed over Ottersplash’s head—his eyes fluttered closed as it grazed him.

Another brushed Shadowdive’s shoulder—his claws retracted, and he slumped to the ground.

Then the lights drifted back to the alter—swirling gently in the air before dissolving like moonlight in water.

The mist faded.

The clearing was quiet again.

Wolfstar sank to her knees, her breath shaking, tears falling freely now.

“Mothsong,” she whispered, voice hoarse as she addressed the only conscious cats. “will be SaltClan’s patron of mothers. Of those who are lost, forgotten, and still come home.”

The stars above them flickered softly.

And for the first time in moons, Wolfstar felt peace.

Cat Allegiances:

Wolfstar- 26 moons. Leader. Responsible. Compassionate. Natural intuition. Apprentice-Dropletpaw.

Lynxdawn- 21 moons. Lead Cleric. Thoughtful. Faithful. Good teacher.

Snowspeckle- 37 moons. Deputy. Artisan. Loving. Thoughtful. Great singer. Apprentice- Kelppaw

Nighthowl- 77 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Lonesome. Watches humans. Condition: Recovering from birth & torn pelt.

Nightleap- 41 moons. Warrior. Insecure. Sneaky. Incredible runner. Apprentice- Coralpaw

Thistle-31 moons. Warrior. Troublesome. Thoughtful. Keen eye.

Mallowstripe- 27 moons. Camp keeper. Nervous. Careful. Strange dreamer.

Shadowdive- 25 moons. Warrior. Blood thirsty. Loyal. Good swimmer. Apprentice-Sandpaw.

Rippleclaw- 13 moons. Warrior apprentice. Troublesome. Adventurous. Fast runner. Permanent condition: Partial hearing loss. Missing.

Ottersplash-13 moons. Warrior apprentice. Competitive. Childish. Good swimmer.

Dropletpaw- 8 moons. Historian apprentice. Nervous. Lonesome. Interested in clan history→learner of lore. Mentor- Wolfstar

Kelppaw- 8 moons. Artisan apprentice. Charismatic. Responsible. Good potter. Mentor- Snowspeckle

Coralpaw- 8 moons. Mediator apprentice. Flamboyant. Confident. Never sits still→fast runner. Mentor- Nightleap.

Sandpaw- 8 moons. Warrior apprentice. Fierce. Confident. Moss ball hunter→good hunter. Mentor- Shadowdive. Condition- Bruises.

Briarkit- 2 moons. Inquisitive. Shy. Picky nest builder.

+Leopardkit- 0 moons. Inquisitive. Daring. Always wandering.

+Pantherkit- 0 moons. Fearless. Unruly. Avid play fighter.

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