Chapter 17: The Weight of the Vision
Luna's Point of View
2009
The scent of warm bread filled the cottage, wrapping the small space in a gentle comfort that belonged to slower, safer times. It mingled with the earthy aroma of chamomile steeping in a clay pot by the hearth and the faint, lingering perfume of dried lavender hanging in bunches from the ceiling beams. The sunlight filtered lazily through the linen curtains, casting golden stripes across the worn wooden floor.
Luna worked quietly at the table, her hands sinking into the dough with practiced ease. Her palms pressed and folded the soft mass, dusting the air with flour. The steady, circular rhythm had always calmed her—something human, ordinary, and far removed from the darker work that defined her as Seer of the South.
From the other room came the sound of Amber's voice, light and unguarded, humming the melody of a lullaby Luna had sung to her when she was still small enough to cradle. At fifteen, Amber was no longer a child, though her beauty still held the untouched glow of youth. She was strong-willed, endlessly curious, and far too good-hearted to know the weight of the secrets her mother kept.
Luna pressed her fingers into the dough one more time—
And the world changed.
The air thickened. The golden light vanished, swallowed by shadow. The sweet smell of bread twisted into the copper sting of blood. Her vision bled away, replaced by something vast and terrible.
A half-moon hung in the sky, pale and sharp as a blade. Beneath it, a forest bled—trees dripping crimson as if their veins had been opened. The earth split open in deep, jagged gashes. Screams tore through the air, so raw they seemed to rattle the ground itself.
At the heart of the carnage stood a boy.
His stance was unyielding, his chest heaving, his hands dripping with the life of those who had fallen. Wolves lay scattered around him—dozens—bodies twisted in unnatural shapes, their eyes glazed with death.
His eyes burned crimson.
Not with rage.
With power.
Ancient. Untamed. A force so raw it bent the shadows toward him, as though the darkness itself sought his command.
Then, before her eyes, he shifted. Faster than any wolf she had ever seen, his body contorted into a form darker than the deepest night. Midnight fur rippled over steel muscle. His gaze glowed with a light that could pierce bone. And when he moved, the forest bowed around him.
The vision swelled—shadows parting to reveal an army advancing through the trees. Rogues. Bandits. Wolves with scars in place of honor. They marched with murder in their eyes and flame in their hands.
And at the front—Lucian Conri.
The air in the vision was so sharp it burned her lungs.
Then the forest shattered like glass.
Luna stumbled backward into her kitchen, her hand clutching her chest, flour streaking across her skin. Her breath came ragged, and her heart pounded like a war drum.
It was time.
Without another thought, she wiped her hands on her apron and moved quickly into the next room. Amber knelt on the rug, sorting dried herbs for their evening brew, her hair spilling over her shoulder in soft brown waves.
"Stay here," Luna said, sharper than she intended.
Amber blinked up at her. "Mama?"
"There is something I must do." Luna crouched, forcing her voice softer. "You must stay in the house and do not—under any circumstance—leave. Not today."
"But—"
"I said stay." Luna brushed a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. "There are things I cannot explain yet. One day, I will. But not now."
Amber's lips parted with the beginnings of an argument, but Luna was already turning away, pulling her long cloak from its peg. Her fingers shook slightly as she tied the clasp. She stepped out into the cold air, the door shutting behind her with a heavy thud.
—
The forest greeted her like an old friend—watching, listening.
The wind was sharp as she moved, her footsteps whispering over moss and dry leaves. The Southern woods knew her well. The trees leaned subtly aside, clearing her path, their branches creaking in recognition. Somewhere in the air, the old magic stirred, a low hum in her blood.
She didn't fight the shift.
Bones cracked, muscles rippled, fur sprouted along her arms. Her cloak shredded behind her as her human shape melted away, replaced by something older than most remembered—half-wolf, half-woman, her form balanced between grace and savagery.
It was not pain she felt, but purpose.
When her paws touched the soft grass on the other side of the clearing, the earth seemed to pulse beneath her. For one suspended heartbeat, she stilled. Then she ran.
The forest swallowed her whole.
As she moved toward the highlands, her mind drifted to the last conversation she had with Lillia Artesian.
It had been a bitter night—three years before the North's fall.
They had met in the hidden chamber beneath Luna's cottage, shielded from eyes and ears that could not be trusted. Lillia had been regal even in fear, her beauty wild and untamed, her eyes fierce with the kind of love that could defy kingdoms. In her arms, she held her son—Zachary—wrapped tightly in a blanket as though the world might steal him in the space of a breath.
"Promise me," Lillia had whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation. "If anything happens to us... if they come—Lucian, the Western Pack—you'll find him. You'll protect him."
Luna had not answered at once. She had already seen pieces of what was coming—fire in the North, the cries of wolves falling, a child standing alone beneath the cold stars.
"I will do what must be done," Luna had said at last. "Even if it costs me everything."
Lillia's tears had soaked into her son's blanket. "He carries more than blood, Luna. He carries a force even we do not understand. If that power is twisted—if it is taken—he could destroy everything. But if guided..." She paused, her voice trembling. "He could save us all."
Luna had nodded once. A vow.
And now, the time had come to honor it.
—
By the time Luna reached the Southern highlands, the shadows had lengthened. The air was heavy with the kind of stillness that comes before a storm—the kind that makes the birds fall silent and the trees hold their breath.
Mother Zita stood waiting in the clearing.
The human woman looked as though she had been there for some time, her weathered hands clasped before her, her eyes sharp and knowing. "You felt it too?" she asked.
Luna nodded. "He's no longer safe here."
Without another word, Mother Zita led her down a narrow trail cut into the mountainside. Roots jutted from the earth, and the air grew cooler as they descended into the hollow. Here, hidden from wandering eyes, Zach trained.
They found him in the clearing outside his cottage, sweat gleaming on his skin as he moved through a series of drills beneath the trees. His strikes were precise, his movements fluid—but his eyes were shadowed by something heavier than exhaustion.
He turned when Luna approached. "You came," he said simply.
"I had to." She took in the sharp lines of his jaw, the strength in his stance, the faint echo of Marcus in the set of his shoulders—and Lillia in the guarded fire of his gaze. "Your time is running short."
His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"They know," she said softly. "A rogue found you. Lucian is gathering his forces."
Zach's fists clenched. "Let them come. I'm not afraid."
"You should be." Luna stepped closer, her voice low but firm. "Power is not the same as readiness. You are strong, yes—but strength without balance can destroy just as easily as it can protect. What you carry inside you—"
She stopped herself. Not yet.
His jaw tightened. "Then why save me? Why hide me, if all I'll bring is destruction?"
Luna's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Because you are not your power, Zachary. You are your choices. And I believe in the man you are becoming."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The wind whispered through the trees, and somewhere far to the west, a wolf's howl echoed faintly.
Finally, Zach's shoulders eased. "Then what do we do now?"
Luna looked toward the horizon. Smoke was already rising in the far distance, curling against the pale sky like the first warning of fire.
"Now," she said, "we prepare."
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