Crowned by the moon goddess

Ronan Blackfang stood at the edge of the grand balcony, his gaze sweeping over the vast expanse of the Blackfang kingdom. Below him, the dense forests of the southern borders stretched far and wide, darkened by the setting sun. The distant howls of wolves echoed through the trees, a reminder of the pack's untamed nature. It was beautiful-untamed, just like the people he ruled over. But the beauty was lost on him today.

His fingers curled around the stone railing, his knuckles white. His heart drummed against his chest, as if trying to break free from the chains that bound him to his future. Ronan had never wanted to be king. It wasn't that he wasn't capable; he just didn't care for the politics, the pressure, or the endless expectations that came with the crown.

Ronan was the youngest of three sons, and he had always been content in the shadow of his older brothers. Darius, the firstborn, had the strength and command that made him the natural heir to the throne. Lucien, the second-born, was sharp-witted and ambitious, always scheming, always ready to challenge their father's decisions. But Ronan? He had always been different. He was a warrior at heart, not a ruler.

"I thought I'd find you here."

The voice came from behind him, familiar and comforting. Ronan turned to see his older brother, Lucien, approaching with that familiar smirk on his face. The one that always made Ronan question whether Lucien had anything remotely sincere in his soul.

"You always know where to find me," Ronan replied, his tone flat. "What do you want, Lucien?"

Lucien leaned against the balcony, his gaze drifting toward the horizon as if he could see beyond the land, beyond the walls of the palace. "Nothing in particular. Just wanted to see how my younger brother was holding up under the weight of the crown-to-be."

Ronan's jaw clenched at the words. The weight of the crown. The same phrase he had heard over and over again for the last few years. The moment their father, King Aldric, had made it clear that Ronan would be expected to follow in his footsteps, the pressure had never ceased.

Ronan was good at hiding his emotions, but even he couldn't suppress the frustration that burned in his chest. "You and Darius are the ones who should be worrying about the throne. Not me."

Lucien's smirk faded for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied his younger brother. "You may not want it, Ronan, but that doesn't change the fact that you're the one the Moon Goddess has chosen. The throne is your birthright."

The words stung, though Ronan refused to show it. "Darius is the one who was born for it. Not me."

Lucien chuckled, but there was no warmth in the sound. "You're just as capable as Darius, Ronan. You always have been. You've spent your life fighting alongside us. If anyone is suited to rule, it's you."

Ronan's thoughts wandered to their father, King Aldric. He had always been a strong and just ruler, one who commanded respect and loyalty. But his father had also been hard, his expectations high. He had always expected Ronan to take his place one day, but the reality of that duty made Ronan sick to his stomach.

"Let's not pretend, Lucien," Ronan said, his voice a little colder. "You're just trying to manipulate me into taking the throne so you can continue your little games. We both know you've been biding your time, waiting for a chance to control everything."

Lucien's smile faltered for a brief moment, but only for a moment. "You're wrong, Ronan. I have no interest in the throne. But I will support you. For now."

Ronan didn't trust the words. Lucien's ambition ran deeper than anyone knew, and he was always looking for an angle. But he said nothing, his eyes returning to the horizon as if searching for something he couldn't find.

As the last light of the day faded into twilight, a soft breeze blew through the air, and Ronan felt a pang of longing. There was a time when he had been free-when the weight of the crown had not hung over him. Those memories felt distant now, as if they belonged to someone else.

He could almost hear Kian's voice in his mind, the teasing tone that had always brought a smile to his lips. "Do you really think you're ready for this?"

The memories of Kian were bittersweet, a part of his past that he had tried to bury. Kian had been his closest friend, his confidant, someone who had always understood him in ways no one else had. But that was before everything had changed. Before the distance had grown between them.

"Kian..." Ronan murmured under his breath, the name a whisper in the wind.

Lucien raised an eyebrow at him. "What was that?"

Ronan shook his head, pulling himself from his thoughts. "Nothing."

Flashback - A Simpler Time

A long time ago, before the burdens of the throne and the political games had taken their toll on Ronan, he and Kian had spent countless hours together in the woods. They had been inseparable, like two halves of a whole. It was a time of innocence, when the future hadn't been defined for him yet.

"Do you really think you're ready for this?" Kian had asked, a playful grin spreading across his face as they sparred beneath the trees.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready for it," Ronan had replied, swinging his sword with all the might he could muster. "But that doesn't mean I won't fight for it."

Kian had laughed, a sound that always seemed to bring light to even the darkest of days. "You'll do just fine, Ronan. You always do."

Present

Ronan shook off the memory, his heart heavy. The weight of the crown wasn't just about power. It was about duty. And duty had a way of stripping away freedom, leaving nothing but the cold, harsh reality of what was expected.

The moon was high in the sky now, its pale light casting long shadows over the kingdom. The winds carried the scent of pine and earth, a reminder of the land he was bound to protect. But the thoughts of what the future held-what his brothers expected-threatened to drown him.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts," Lucien said, his voice softening slightly. "But remember, Ronan. You're not alone in this. We all have our roles to play."

Ronan didn't respond, watching as his brother disappeared back into the palace. The night was quiet, the only sounds the distant howls of wolves and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

For the first time in a long while, Ronan felt the weight of his destiny bearing down on him. It wasn't just the throne. It was everything that came with it-the blood, the sacrifice, and the loss. The throne would be his. But at what cost?

Ronan stood there for a long while, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like an unrelenting storm. The stars above twinkled coldly, indifferent to his inner turmoil. His father had ruled with wisdom and strength, never wavering under the pressure of leadership. But Ronan wasn't his father. And he didn't want to be.

His hand gripped the stone railing tighter, knuckles turning white. The council had made their choice. The Moon Goddess had declared him the next ruler. But why? Why had she chosen him, the one who had never craved the throne, the one who felt most alive when the only challenge was surviving the next battle?

His thoughts drifted back to his brothers. Darius, ever the embodiment of strength and courage, would have made an excellent king. He would have ruled with fairness, even though his personality was a bit too rigid for Ronan's liking. But Darius had always seemed eager to embrace the title. Lucien, on the other hand, was a master manipulator, with his quick mind and ambition burning brighter than any flame. Both of them would have been better suited to take the crown, yet here he stood-bound to a fate he never desired.

Ronan's chest tightened, the pressure of being the "chosen one" suffocating him. But there was no escaping it. No matter how much he fought it, no matter how much he despised the idea of ruling, the throne would be his one day.

A soft rustle broke through his thoughts. He turned to find a figure standing in the shadows near the palace doors, her silhouette barely visible in the moonlight.

"Ronan?" Her voice, gentle yet laced with concern, sent a shiver down his spine.