The world was not always divided between man and beast.
Long before kings rose and fell, before the first wolf's howl echoed beneath the stars, there was only Selene—the Moon, the Maker, the Silent Watcher.
And Brutus.
He was the first of her chosen.
Born not of womb but of moonlight and fire, Brutus was carved by Selene's own hands from the mountain stone. She breathed into him life, loyalty, and love. He stood tall, proud, with eyes that glowed like sunlit amber and a soul steeped in divine magic.
Selene loved him in a way gods were warned never to love. Deeply. Recklessly.
"You are the guardian of balance," she told him once, their feet dancing along the silver edge of time.
"I only want to protect you," he had whispered.
And so she gave him the form of the lycan—part man, part wolf, part god. A being unmatched in strength. A protector not just of her but of the realms she watched.
Together, they ruled an age of peace. The mythical races flourished: the witches under the stars, the wolves in the wild, the fae in the hidden gardens of dusk.
But peace never lasts.
From beyond the Veil, a whispering thing crept. Something even Selene feared to name. A devourer of light, feeding on forgotten gods and broken souls. It had no form, no true name. The oldest texts called it the Nameless Hunger.
It came not with armies, but with doubt. It whispered into Brutus's mind first.
"Why must she share her light with them?" it asked. "Why are you only a piece of her world?"
"You were made to rule. Not follow."
Brutus began to change. Slowly at first. A harsher tone. A colder touch. The beast inside him, meant only for war, began to crave more.
Selene tried to stop it. She wept, holding him beneath the lunar tree.
"Let me heal you."
"There is nothing broken," Brutus said. "Only chained."
And in one final act of desperation, Selene did the unthinkable—
She split her soul.
Half she sealed away, buried in the spirit of a yet-unborn she-wolf.
Half she left behind, tethered to her fading divine form.
It broke the balance. It severed the bond.
Brutus went mad.
He stormed the temple of the gods, destroying what little remained of the divine council. The earth trembled beneath his rage. The oceans retreated. The moon bled.
The world nearly ended that day.
But Selene, wounded and fading, summoned the last of her strength. She tricked Brutus. Told him she would return to him if he followed her to the Tower of Whispers.
And when he entered, she sealed the gates.
Bound by divine chains, guarded by magic no witch could mimic, Brutus was entombed within.
He screamed for centuries. Then, he slept.
But gods never truly die. Nor do their wounds truly heal.
---
Sheila woke with a gasp.
The vision clung to her like a second skin. She saw Selene's face, too clearly. Felt her heartbreak.
And Brutus.
He hadn't been a monster.
He'd been betrayed. Twisted. Broken.
But the part that scared her most wasn't his rage—it was the way he had looked at her.
Like he still loved her.
Like he remembered.
Lira appeared at her door, knocking gently. "You're awake."
Sheila rubbed her eyes. "Was I… gone?"
"You were unconscious for over a day."
Emery entered next. Her expression was grim. "You've seen it, haven't you?"
"The past," Sheila said slowly. "I saw her. And him. Brutus."
Emery nodded. "The soul fragments are aligning. More memories will come. But so will danger."
"I thought he was a beast," Sheila said. "A murderer."
"He became one," Emery replied. "But he wasn't born that way."
"He loved her."
"Yes."
"And she locked him away."
"To protect us all."
Sheila looked down at her hands. "What happens if I become her again?"
"That's what we're trying to find out."
A loud knock echoed through the sanctuary.
A witch entered the room, pale-faced. "You need to see this."
---
The witches gathered in the observatory. In the sky above, the moon had turned the color of rust. Not red like before—**darker**. Sickly.
The Oracle stood beneath it, arms raised, lips moving in a silent chant.
Then she turned to Sheila.
"You must choose soon," she said.
"Choose what?"
"To remember… or to run."
Sheila frowned. "I don't understand."
The Oracle stepped closer. "The shadows hunt what they fear. And they fear what you could become."
Emery's voice was low. "Something's changed in the forest. The protections are weakening."
Sheila touched her heart. The pain there hadn't gone away.
"I saw something else," she whispered. "A creature. A thing made of smoke and hunger."
Emery stilled. "The Devourer."
"I thought it was legend."
"Everything is legend… until it returns."
Sheila looked up at the moon.
The sky seemed thinner. Like something just behind it was pressing to get through.
---
Deep in Moonwatch, Sabrina stared into a mirror.
Not at her reflection, but at the flickering shadow behind it.
"I gave you what you wanted," she said. "She's gone. Exiled."
The voice was a whisper behind the glass.
"She is not gone. She is waking."
Sabrina's eyes narrowed. "You promised power."
"And you shall have it. But you must stop her before she remembers."
Sabrina's fists clenched. "How?"
The mirror rippled. A dark mark appeared on her wrist, burning.
"She carries a soul not meant for this world. Sever it before it binds. Kill the vessel."
---
Back in Silverstone, Sheila stood alone beneath the sky.
The wind whispered through the trees.
She thought of the vision—the way Selene had begged Brutus to trust her. The way he had fallen anyway.
She didn't want to be either of them.
But she was both.
She turned to go back inside.
A figure stood at the edge of the trees.
Cloaked. Watching.
Not shadow. Not wolf.
Something else.
Then it stepped forward.
And Sheila felt the world shift beneath her feet.