The first thing Elara learned was that power had weight.
Not the kind that crushed bones or demanded dominance—but the kind that pressed against the soul, heavy with expectation. She felt it the moment she stepped into Nightfall's inner training grounds, a wide clearing encircled by ancient stone pillars etched with symbols she didn't recognize.
The air here was different. Thicker. Alive.
Lucien stood at the center, hands clasped behind his back, posture calm and grounded. Around them, a handful of Nightfall warriors waited quietly, chosen not for strength alone, but restraint.
"You will not train like a warrior," Lucien said.
Elara frowned. "Why not?"
"Because your power is not meant to be wielded," he replied evenly. "It is meant to be endured."
That unsettled her more than any insult ever had.
She nodded anyway.
Lucien gestured to the stones. "Stand inside the circle."
Elara stepped forward. The moment she crossed the threshold, the markings beneath her skin flared—silver lines blooming softly along her arms and collarbone. A collective inhale rippled through the warriors.
Lucien did not react.
"Close your eyes," he instructed.
She obeyed.
"Do not reach for the bond," he continued. "Do not resist it either. Let it exist."
Her breath hitched.
Let it exist.
The bond stirred immediately, sensing her attention. Heat bloomed beneath her ribs, familiar and painful. Kael's presence brushed against her consciousness—distant, furious, aching.
Her knees trembled.
"Focus," Lucien said quietly. "On yourself."
She tried.
She remembered the forest. The river. The moonlight that had answered her pain. Slowly, the bond's sharp edge dulled—not gone, but quieter.
Something else rose in its place.
Warmth.
The ground hummed beneath her feet.
Silver light spilled from the markings on her skin, flowing downward like liquid moonlight. The stones responded, ancient symbols glowing in reply.
One of the warriors took an involuntary step back.
Lucien's gaze sharpened.
"That," he said softly, "is resonance."
Elara gasped as energy surged through her—not violent, but vast. It was like standing beneath an endless sky, small and infinite all at once.
Tears slid down her cheeks.
"I can feel… everything," she whispered.
"Yes," Lucien said. "And that is why control matters."
Far from Nightfall, Blackthorn was unraveling.
Kael sat alone in the Alpha's hall, shadows clinging to the corners of the room. The fire before him had burned low, forgotten. He hadn't slept. Hadn't eaten.
The bond pulsed, relentless.
Each time he closed his eyes, he felt her—stronger now, brighter. And beneath that sensation, something else.
Fear.
Not hers.
His.
"She's changing," Rowan said carefully, standing a respectful distance away.
Kael didn't respond.
"Nightfall is talking," Rowan continued. "The elders are uneasy. They're asking if—"
"If what?" Kael snapped, lifting his head.
"If rejecting her was a mistake."
The word slammed into him harder than any blade.
Kael stood abruptly. "Get out."
Rowan hesitated, then obeyed.
Alone again, Kael dragged a hand down his face. His reflection in the polished stone wall looked unfamiliar—eyes too bright, jaw too tight.
He remembered the moment he'd spoken the rejection. The way her shoulders had stiffened. The way she hadn't begged.
He had expected relief.
Instead, he was being punished.
His wolf snarled.
Go to her.
"No," Kael growled.
Claim her.
"I can't."
The truth tasted like blood.
Back in Nightfall, Elara collapsed to her knees.
Lucien caught her before she hit the ground, steady hands anchoring her as the silver light faded. Her breath came in short gasps, body trembling.
"That's enough," he said firmly.
She laughed weakly. "I barely did anything."
Lucien met her gaze. "You changed the entire field."
Her smile faltered.
"I didn't mean to."
"I know," he said. "That's what makes it dangerous."
The warriors dispersed quietly, leaving the two of them alone beneath the pillars.
Lucien helped her sit, handing her a flask of cool water. She drank greedily.
"What happens if I lose control?" she asked softly.
Lucien was quiet for a long moment.
"Then the Moon answers," he said finally. "And the world listens."
Her heart skipped. "That sounds… bad."
"It's not good," he agreed. "And it's not evil either. It simply is."
Elara stared at her hands, at the faint silver glow still clinging to her skin.
"All my life," she murmured, "I thought I was nothing."
Lucien crouched in front of her. "Power doesn't announce itself," he said. "It waits."
She looked up at him. "Why are you helping me?"
Lucien didn't answer immediately.
"Because," he said slowly, "I know what it's like to be shaped by something you never asked for."
The bond stirred again—soft, confused.
Elara looked away.
That night, the Moon Goddess spoke again.
This time, Elara did not dream.
She was awake.
Silver light flooded her tent, gentle but insistent. The air shimmered, and the scent of rain and starlight filled her lungs.
Child of mine, the voice whispered.
Elara sat up, heart pounding. "Why me?"
Because you endure.
Images flooded her mind—packs bowing, wolves kneeling, moonlight blazing across a battlefield.
Because you were rejected… and did not turn bitter.
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
The bond was never your cage.
The light faded.
Silence returned.
Outside the tent, Lucien stared up at the moon, expression unreadable.
Far away, Alpha Kael Blackthorn screamed.
The bond burned white-hot, ripping through him as realization finally took root.
He had not rejected a weak wolf.
He had rejected the Moon's chosen.
And fate was not forgiving.