Luna
I woke to the hum of birdsong and the cool kiss of morning air filtering through the cracked window. For a moment, it felt like any other day. Until I pushed back my blanket and saw it.
The symbol.
It pulsed faintly on the inside of my wrist, silvery and soft like moonlight etched into skin. I tried scrubbing it off with soap, then makeup, then just stared at it in defeat. It wasn't going anywhere.
With a deep breath, I pulled on my hoodie and tugged the sleeve down. No one needed to see it. Not today.
Downstairs, the smell of bacon and coffee pulled me into the kitchen, where Dad stood at the stove, flipping pancakes like it was some normal Monday morning.
"Morning," he said, tossing me a quick smile. "You look like you barely slept."
"Didn't," I muttered, taking a seat. "Weird dreams again."
He stiffened slightly. "Same as before?"
I hesitated. "Not exactly. It's like... pieces of something bigger. And this."
I started to lift my sleeve, then stopped. Instead, I forced a smile. "Never mind. Just dreams."
Dad watched me carefully, but didn't push. He slid a plate in front of me and sat down with his own. "We should do something after school. Grab dinner, talk a bit. We haven't done that in a while."
I nodded, grateful for the offer—even if I wasn't sure I could talk about any of this yet.
---
At school, everything buzzed with the usual energy—students shouting across lockers, late bells ringing, teachers trying to keep order. But I felt disconnected from it all, like I was watching through a pane of glass.
The symbol burned faintly when I passed certain people. Rena. Ethan. Even Camille once, when her hand brushed mine in the hallway. I tried not to flinch, not to let it show.
But by the time I sat down in Ms. Calder's history class, the burning had grown stronger.
She entered with her usual calm grace—sandy hair pinned back, maroon scarf at her neck, eyes that always looked just a little too old for her face. Today, she brought with her a large, worn book.
"We're shifting gears today," she said as she set it down. "Local folklore. Silverwoods is older than you think, and sometimes, legends are more than stories."
She turned to the board and began writing.
The Moonlight Child. The Night's Heir. The First King.
I stared. My chest tightened.
Camille leaned over and whispered, "Didn't you mention something like that in your dream?"
I nodded slowly, unable to look away.
Ms. Calder's voice softened. "The Moonlight Child was said to be born once every few centuries—marked by moon and dusk. They would rise when the veil between worlds thinned, destined to open a gate long sealed."
The room around me wavered.
Suddenly, a cold breeze whispered across the back of my neck. The edges of the classroom blurred, just for a second. I saw shadows writhing behind Ms. Calder—no, not shadows. Wings. Tall and feathered, folding inward. And a voice. Faint but firm.
"Remember who you are, Luna."
I blinked—and it was gone.
Ms. Calder turned then, her gaze locking onto mine. Her expression was unreadable, but something passed between us. A flicker. Recognition? Or warning?
And then she smiled. "Luna, care to tell us what you think about fate?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
---
Ethan
Something was wrong with her.
I could feel it all day—like the air shifted when she walked by. The same pull in my chest every time I saw her was worse now. Sharper. My wolf stirred constantly under my skin.
After class, I ducked into an empty stairwell, trying to breathe through the heat crawling up my spine. My control was slipping, and I hated it.
Uncle Gideon found me near the lockers, always conveniently around when I didn't want him to be.
"You're watching her again," he said casually, leaning against the wall. "I told you, Ethan. She's not your responsibility."
"I'm not—"
"You're bonded. We can all see it. But she's tied to them, whether you like it or not. You get too close, you bring danger to us all."
"She's not *them*."
He raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
I didn't answer.
"Distance, nephew. It's better for her. And safer for us."
---
Caelum Graves
"She's slipping," I said, tossing a folder onto Samuels' desk. "That symbol appeared again. She's experiencing flashes. Possibly past lives. Possibly connections forming."
Samuel rubbed his face, exhausted. "She's not ready. I can't just dump everything on her."
"She's not a child anymore. You wait too long, and someone else will tell her their version first."
He stood, eyes blazing. "I'm not keeping this from her to protect myself, Graves. I'm doing it to protect *her*."
I dropped my voice. "Then you need to let me in. Because this town isn't just whispering anymore. It's screaming."
I pulled something from my coat—a photo.
A mark. Burned into a tree near the school. Revenant script.
"She's already being hunted."
---
Luna
That evening, Dad and I stopped by Miller's Diner. I picked at fries while he tried to make small talk. I barely heard him.
My hand ached under the table.
I snuck a look. The symbol had grown darker, spreading slightly, like roots digging through skin.
"Everything okay?" Dad asked, sipping his coffee.
I jerked my sleeve down and smiled. "Yeah. Just tired."
We stepped outside into twilight. Across the street, I thought I saw someone watching us—a man in a dark coat. But when I blinked, he was gone.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Something pulled me.
I crept out of bed and into the woods behind our house, letting instinct guide me. The air felt heavier, like the world held its breath.
A shape moved ahead—a wolf, pale silver, eyes glowing faintly.
It didn't run. Just watched me.
I stepped closer, the symbol on my wrist pulsing brighter, brighter—
And suddenly, I was somewhere else.
The woods twisted. The moon bled red. Figures screamed. A woman's voice—so familiar—whispered my name.
Vesta.
I gasped and stumbled back. The wolf was gone. The night was quiet again.
But the symbol?
It blazed.