Chapter 2: The Nightmare Returns
927 Words
Six years had passed in the blink of an eye.
The wind in the Northern Territories had never ceased its howling, nor had the torment in Lucian’s soul.
Each night, beneath the cold gaze of the full moon, the Wolf King awoke in a cold sweat, breathless and shaken. In his dreams, Selene was always there—engulfed in flames, walking slowly away as glowing embers danced in her wake.
He would reach for her, desperate to hold on. But all he ever saw was the fading silhouette of her back, slipping into shadow.
Her eyes—those deep, haunting eyes—turned once to him before vanishing into an infinite void. The ache left in her absence felt like a shard of ice driven deep into his throat.
It had been exactly six years since the night at the Sacred Spring.
Lucian's frame had grown stronger, broader—his presence more imposing than ever.
The black-silver cloak he wore still flowed behind him like a phantom, but in his eyes, the flicker of moonfire had dulled into something darker.
From that moment onward, his wolf soul had known no peace.
The clan’s sages had once spoken in hushed tones of a curse known as soul-chain rupture—a rare condition that plagued those who were torn from their destined mates. As the bond decayed, so too did the soul’s light, until warmth itself ceased to exist.
Only now did Lucian grasp the true meaning of their prophecy.
In the stillness of midnight, he walked barefoot across cold stone floors.
The iron shackles of his past had long been cast off, but their weight lingered.
The flickering candlelight cast jagged shadows on the chamber walls, dancing over the disarrayed bed and twisted sheets.
A faint scent of citrus still hung in the air—lemon and something softer. Selene’s favorite. Faint. Almost gone. Like her.
He heard it then—a whisper in the silence.
A thread of echoing thought. A remnant of a bond that once linked two souls like stars across the void.
Lucian let out a dry, broken laugh, his voice rasping in the emptiness.
He stepped to the frost-covered window, staring through the haze into a sky of glinting ice and fire.
His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, each one carved from pain.
The memory of her had never faded.
She lived behind his eyelids, in every fleeting breeze that touched his skin, in every sliver of moonlight that brushed the stone halls.
Loneliness clawed at him like frostbite on the bone.
Softly, he murmured, “Selene… where in the shadows are you hiding?”
The silver halo from the moon traced the grief etched into his features.
For six years, her name had been a silent mantra, whispered to the darkness.
His honor, his bloodshed, his throne—none of it could erase the echo she left behind.
The elders had begun to notice. The high priests whispered of a growing imbalance.
Lucian’s soul was unraveling. And with it, the wolf within began to stir.
He had tried.
Each day he rose with the sun, buried his torment beneath layers of duty and silence.
But at night, the demons returned.
“Selene,” he said again, hoarse and cracked, as if invoking her name might conjure her ghost.
A gust of wind tore through the grand hall, extinguishing one of the torches.
The flickering flame on the ancient gold disc of the wolf spirits reflected his broken outline.
The once-proud royal bed was now a battlefield of twisted blankets and blood-red pillows worn by sleepless nights.
Lucian had fought against the madness clawing at his mind—but it fought harder.
Each night, the dreams grew more vivid. More cruel.
She came to him in visions, dressed in ash and moonlight, staggering forward through a burning wasteland.
And just when he reached her, just when hope surged… she disappeared.
He would awaken gasping, drenched in sweat, heart clenched in agony.
The phantom pain of her absence burned hotter than any fire.
One night, the torment became too much.
Lucian swept his hand across the table, sending a goblet of ice water crashing to the floor.
The shards scattered like broken memories, cold and sharp.
Enough.
He clenched his fists, knuckles white with rage. Then, a roar erupted from his chest—a savage cry that echoed through the hall like a warhorn.
“Find her! Search the entire North if you must—I want her found!”
His voice thundered through the palace, slamming against ancient stone and stirring the glyphs carved into the walls.
The guards flinched at his fury, retreating instinctively.
Lucian’s crimson eyes swept over the room like twin blades, and those who dared hold his gaze felt the bloodlust surging beneath his skin.
The order was clear.
Every scout. Every warrior. Every hunter.
All of them would scour the lands until she was found.
No rest. No excuses.
The wind outside howled louder, as if answering the primal call.
It was the start of a hunt—one driven not by vengeance, but obsession.
Lucian stood at the edge of the marble balcony, fists braced against frozen stone, his face hard and pale in the firelight.
He didn’t feel the cold.
He didn’t feel the emptiness.
Only the fire remained—the relentless, burning need to find her.
Tonight, the nightmare returned.
And Lucian vowed to tear through heaven and hell until nothing stood between him and the truth of that cursed, unforgettable bond.
- Writer
