Chapter Nine: The Witch's Warning
Luna found herself standing on hallowed ground—an overgrown cemetery, where her boots sank into the earth with every step. Moonlight cast a silvery hue over the weathered gravestones, their inscriptions often in languages that had long been forgotten. Here lay her mother's people: wolves who fought for freedom, witches who perished for power, and one woman who sought to escape it all.
Her.
Luciana Valenti.
Beloved mother. Cursed daughter. Witch of the Silent Hills.
Luna's hand shook as she touched the gravestone, feeling a strange warmth—not from heat, but from the memories it held.
Dominic watched from the shadows, silent and still.
He hadn't uttered a word since she summoned him. Not called. Not pleaded. Summoned.
After the revelations of the previous night, Luna was finally clear about who she was.
"I'm not pretending anymore," she thought.
"Your mother wasn't just hiding," Dominic finally said, stepping out of the dark. "She was rebelling."
Luna turned slowly to face him. "Rebelling against what?"
"Padre Elio. The Order. The first pact."
"You mean the cult that killed your mother and wants to sacrifice me?"
"Exactly," he replied, his tone sharp.
Her jaw tightened. "Then tell me everything. Now."
Dominic looked more exhausted than she'd ever seen him. Not after torture. Not after war.
But he spoke. Slowly.
"Padre Elio was a priest, but different from the others. He believed wolves were divine punishments for human sins, that only those from holy bloodlines could control us and cleanse us. Your mother was the last of that bloodline. The only one they couldn't break."
He paused, his eyes darkening.
"She refused their cleansing. She fled. And then she had you."
"And now they want me to pay for her defiance," Luna whispered.
"They're after more than just your life," he said, looking away. "They want to use you in a ritual that restores balance—one that would end the age of wolves completely."
Luna let out a bitter laugh. "How poetic."
"They call it La Purificazione. The Purging."
Lightning flashed across the sky.
The grave quaked under her palm.
And then she heard it—a voice. A woman's voice. From beneath the soil.
"Run... or rule..."
Luna fell to her knees, her heart racing. The earth shifted beneath her and cracked open just enough to expose a box—wooden, burned at the edges, bound with silver thread.
As she reached for it, Dominic pulled her back, but she already felt the box beneath her fingers.
And the instant her skin brushed against the silver, the vision came.
She was engulfed in flames—naked, bleeding, shackled by chains with a crown of thorns on her head.
Before her stood the priest, smiling. Padre Elio.
"She is the daughter of the cursed. She will walk in fire and silence, bearing fruit that must not bloom. Break her. Bleed her. Bless the end."
Then Luna looked down and saw a child in her arms—a baby with Dominic's eyes.
She gasped and broke free from the vision, her arms shaking.
Dominic grasped her. "Luna! What did you see?"
"A future that will kill me," she whispered, staring at the box. "And one I would kill for."
They returned to the compound in silence.
Luna didn't dare open the box until they reached the old ritual chamber beneath the west wing, hidden behind the Moon Goddess altar. Elena had once said it was sealed forever, but Luna had just shattered that forever with her bare hands.
The others were already there—Antonio, Mirella, Renata—and one unfamiliar face: a woman dressed in black, with eyes like winter and a smile that felt ominous.
"I heard you were looking for me," she said as she stepped into the light.
Renata gasped. "La Strega Bianca."
The White Witch—a myth, a warning, a terror told to pups when they misbehaved. But she was real.
"I'm here," the witch said, "because you've awakened something that no child should touch."
She pointed at the box. "That is not for you. That is for the End."
Luna squared her shoulders. "Then maybe I am the End."
The witch studied her for a long moment, and then smiled. "You are your mother's daughter."
The room dimmed as the box was placed on the altar.
The witch whispered ancient words, and the box unsealed itself.
Inside were a dagger, black as obsidian and etched with the name Luciana; a vial filled with red-gold liquid; a ring made from wolf bone; and a scroll.
Luna opened the scroll, her hands steady this time.
"To break the curse, the cursed must bleed. The child of fire must kiss death and not flinch. To love is to bind, and to bind is to burn. The one you love must kill you and revive you. Only then will the chain break."
The room fell silent until Mirella whispered, "No. No, we're not doing this. Luna, you're not—"
"I have to."
"No, you don't!" Mirella shouted as she stepped forward. "There's got to be another way."
Dominic's jaw tightened. "You want me to kill you," he said coldly, "to stab you through the heart, gamble with your life—over a scroll written by ghosts?"
Luna held his gaze, unwavering.
"I want to live. I want you. And that means dying first."
That night, Dominic vanished again.
This time, it wasn't to escape her.
But to find Padre Elio.
Because if he was going to kill Luna, he needed to know how to bring her back.
Meanwhile...
Padre Elio stood before a mirror, brushing ash from his robes. Behind him hung a body, upside down, drained of blood and with eyes gone white.
The voice of an ancient god whispered through the flames.
"She knows."
Elio smiled. "Let her."