His Unwanted Exile Becomes The True Luna

Elara POV

The cold was a living, breathing monster. It clawed through the wide gaps of the wooden exile wagon, sinking its icy teeth directly into my bones.

I opened my eyes to a world of gray skies and violent, swirling snow. The wagon jolted brutally over the frozen earth, tossing our starved bodies against the iron-reinforced bars. The air inside was thick with the metallic tang of dried blood, sour sweat, and the suffocating scent of pure, unadulterated fear.

*I am alive.* The realization hit my modern soul with a jarring force. I had woken up in this fragile, freezing body only moments ago, inheriting the memories of Elara Vance—the youngest, and the only *wolfless* member of the disgraced Vance family. Without an inner wolf to regulate my body heat or heal my frostbitten skin, the freezing temperature was rapidly shutting down my organs.

A massive shadow loomed over me. It was Mason, my eldest brother. Even starved and stripped of his dignity, his broad *Warrior* frame instinctively curved over my small body, taking the brunt of the biting wind.

"She's awake," a hoarse, trembling voice whispered.

My mother, Catherine, crawled toward me. Her once-beautiful face was hollowed out, her lips cracked and bleeding. The scent of her distress—like crushed, rotting lavender—filled my nose. Seeing the empty, glazed look in my eyes, a desperate whine tore from her throat. It was the primal, agonizing sound of a she-wolf watching her pup slip away.

With trembling, frostbitten fingers, Catherine reached deep into the inner folds of her filthy, torn robes. She pulled out a tiny, jagged piece of hardtack. It was no bigger than a coin, hard as a stone, and completely frozen.

"No, Mom..." Finn, my second brother, rasped from the corner, his eyes wide with worry. It was the last piece of food we had.

Catherine ignored him. With a fierce, almost religious devotion, she forced the frozen crumb between my blue lips. "Suck on it, Elara," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please, my sweet pup. Don't go to sleep. Just take the energy."

I couldn't chew. As the hardtack began to dissolve, the coarse crumbs slid down my throat like shards of glass, tearing at my dry flesh. The physical pain was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the violent emotional shock that struck my soul.

This woman was starving to death, yet she was giving her last breath of life to me. In my past life, I had never known such raw, unconditional love. This heavy, desperate sacrifice ignited a tiny, stubborn spark in the freezing void of my chest.

I swallowed the bitter paste and turned my head slightly.

Huddled in the darkest corner of the wagon was Arthur Vance. My father.

He didn't look like a man. He looked like a corpse waiting to rot. The scent radiating from him was suffocating—ash, decay, and the crushing weight of a broken wolf. He was the reason our family had been exiled, and the guilt