The first sign that something was wrong came with the dawn.
Aria woke in her chamber, drenched in cold sweat, the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. The dream had felt real—Damian's voice, the crack of fire, Kieran's whisper curling through the smoke: The bond will break before the moon wanes.
Her hand went instinctively to her neck, where the bond mark pulsed faintly under her skin. It was warm—too warm. For weeks, that mark had been her anchor, the invisible thread tying her to Damian across every distance. But now it throbbed like an open wound.
Something inside her was shifting. Fading.
She rose from bed, pushing aside the heavy drapes. The world outside was awash in gold light, deceptively peaceful. The valley below had begun to heal—smoke cleared, the wounded tended, the fortress rebuilt stone by stone. Yet beneath the calm, she felt it: the quiet unease that came before a storm.
A knock came at the door.
Before she could answer, Damian stepped in. His presence filled the room instantly, as it always did—tall, shadowed, his expression unreadable. But something in his eyes had changed. There was exhaustion there… and something else she couldn't name.
"You felt it too," she said softly.
He froze. "What?"
"The bond," she whispered. "It's… weaker. Isn't it?"
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he crossed the room, taking her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "No. It's fine. You're just shaken from what happened."
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that the heat in her mark was nothing more than her imagination. But when she reached for him through the bond—the quiet hum of his presence she had always felt in the back of her mind—there was static. A wall.
"Damian," she said, her voice barely a breath. "It's fading."
His hands dropped. The silence between them said what he couldn't.
Then, quietly, he said, "Maybe that's what Kieran meant."
Her stomach twisted. "You think he cursed us?"
"I think he broke something," Damian said, his tone low and bitter. "The Moonstone was fractured when you touched it. It might've severed the goddess's hold on the bond."
Aria shook her head, stepping back. "No. That bond isn't hers, Damian. It's ours."
"Is it?" he asked, too softly.
She stared at him, stunned by the question—by the uncertainty in his voice. The bond had been the one truth between them, the one thing beyond bloodlines and prophecy. If even Damian doubted it… what hope did they have?
He turned away, running a hand through his hair. "The council's gathering again tonight. They're uneasy about your power. Some of them think the Moonborn shouldn't exist."
Her voice hardened. "And what do you think?"
He looked back at her, eyes shadowed. "I think power that doesn't answer to anyone is dangerous. Even if it's yours."
The words hit like a blade to the ribs.
She wanted to scream at him, to remind him who she'd bled for, who she'd fought beside. But she saw it in his face—the exhaustion, the fear—not of her, but of losing her. Again.
So she said nothing. Only nodded, cold and distant, as he left the room.
---
The council hall reeked of politics and fear.
Aria stood at the center, every gaze burning into her—old Alphas, new allies, wolves who still doubted she was anything more than a cursed symbol. Damian stood to her right, silent, his posture as rigid as his expression.
Elder Varrin was the first to speak. "The witches regroup. Our scouts say Kieran moves north, toward the Vale of Shadows. He seeks something else. Another relic, perhaps."
Aria's pulse quickened. "Then we go after him."
The elder's lips thinned. "And leave the border unguarded? You ask us to risk everything again—for your war?"
Her eyes flashed. "This isn't my war. It's everyone's."
Varrin sneered. "Spoken like someone who's never ruled. You may carry the goddess's light, Moonborn, but light burns just as easily as it guides."
Damian's growl silenced the room, but Aria lifted a hand to stop him. Her voice, when she spoke, was steel.
"If you fear me, then stand aside. If you doubt me, then watch what happens when you do nothing. But I won't sit and wait while Kieran gathers the power to destroy us all."
She turned and strode from the hall, the echo of her footsteps sharp against stone. The mark on her neck burned hotter with every heartbeat, as if punishing her for the anger surging through her veins.
---
Night fell heavy over the citadel.
Aria found herself in the training yard, the moon cold and merciless above her. She moved through the motions of battle—strike, parry, pivot—each one sharper than the last, the dagger flashing silver under moonlight. Sweat dripped into her eyes, her breath ragged. She fought shadows until her body ached, until her hands trembled.
Until she felt nothing.
"Training won't fix what's breaking," came a voice behind her.
She turned sharply. Rowan stood there, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between concern and warning.
"Maybe not," she said, "but it's the only thing that makes sense right now."
He stepped closer, his gaze steady. "You're losing control. I can see it."
"Then tell me how to stop it."
He hesitated. "I can't. No one can. The Moonborn power—it doesn't follow rules. It consumes."
Her throat tightened. "Then maybe that's what I'm meant to do. Burn everything until there's nothing left to destroy."
Rowan's voice softened. "That's not you, Aria."
But wasn't it? The thought haunted her as she turned away from him, staring at the moon. Its light pulsed like a heartbeat, and deep inside her, something pulsed in answer. A rhythm that didn't belong entirely to her anymore.
She whispered, almost to herself, "If the bond breaks, what's left of me?"
---
Damian didn't find her until dawn.
She was still in the yard, sitting on the cold stone steps, her dagger beside her. Her eyes were red from exhaustion, her mark faintly glowing in the pale morning light.
He didn't speak at first. Just sat beside her, the space between them small, but heavy.
Finally, she said quietly, "It hurts."
"I know."
"I keep reaching for you, and… you're there, but not there. Like I'm holding smoke."
He swallowed hard. "I feel it too."
"Then tell me how to stop it," she said, voice breaking. "Tell me what I have to do."
He turned to her, eyes fierce, desperate. "You can't stop it. Not unless you sever it yourself."
Her breath caught. "You mean—"
"Yes. End the bond before it dies on its own. Before it takes us both with it."
She stared at him, horrified. "You'd ask me to cut the one thing that still ties us together?"
"I'd ask you to live," he said quietly. "Even if it means living without me."
Tears blurred her vision, but she shook her head. "No. That's not living. That's surrender."
He reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "You've never been the type to surrender."
The dawn broke over them then, painting the world in gold.
And somewhere, far beyond the valley, Kieran stood on a mountain of ash, the fractured shard of the Moonstone glowing in his palm. His smile was cold, unhurried.
"The bond is weakening," he murmured to the wind. "Good. Let it break. Let her remember who she was before love made her small."
---