The Huntress Luna

Chapter 8 Scars Remember

Arya POV

It was already a new day after last night's royal dinner. The training yard sparked with raw energy—swords clashing and the heavy thud of shifting paws against the ground.

The Whitestone pack were already on alert because of the recent rogue sightings, but no one expected it to happen today. Not during morning drills. Not with the trainees still shifting awkwardly and warriors barely prepared. And certainly not me.

I had only come to observe, to blend in and to find out how the pack trained its warriors. But the moment the bells rang, the atmosphere shifted.

A rogue rushed into the yard, jaws snapping, eyes thirsty for blood. Some warriors shifted, the others drew blades, making a formation. I caught sight of the rogue just in time to see it heading for Kaden. My instinct pushed me without thinking.

"Watch out!" I lunged forward, blade flashing.

Time wasn't enough. Kaden was already turning, but he wasn't fast enough. The rogue's claws flashed, ready to dig into him.

I drove my knife up with all the years of hunter training that had been carved into my bones. Steel met flesh. The wolf yelped, staggering. But before it fell, its claws scraped my side in a brutal swipe. Hot pain radiated around my ribs.

Kaden held my arm, holding me steady as I staggered. "You're hurt."

"I'm—fine," I forced out between tight teeth and deep breaths.

His eyebrows furrowed, causing a crease in between his forehead. "Look, you're bleeding, Arya."

I looked down. Blood moved between my fingers, warm. "s**t!" I cursed beneath my warm breath.

More warriors rushed past us to take care of the remaining rogues. The yard was filled with adrenaline and commands. The second one ran away. The third rogue was captured—alive. But all I could feel was the sting in my side.

Kaden's grip tightened. "I'm taking you Mira. Now."

Resisting was a waste of time. So, I let him guide me out of the field.

The pack healer's hut was dim, lit by soft amber lanterns. The air smelled rich with herbs and something sharp enough to sting the eyes. She didn't even greet me when I limped in; she hardly pointed at the stool.

"Sit," a middle-aged, few strands of gray hair snapped at me.

"I can patch it myself—"

"I said, sit." Mira's tone left no room for resistance.

She peeled the torn piece from my tunic. The cool air hit the wound, making me hiss softly. Her hands were gentle, years of healing packed into every movement.

"You were lucky," she murmured. "An inch deeper and you'd be meeting the Moon Goddess."

I tried forming my lips into a smile. "I'm always lucky."

"Uh huh." She dabbed the wound with a stinging dark green herb. "Hold still."

I clenched my jaw as fire burned beneath my skin. Then her fingers stopped.

Her gaze fixed on the old scar beneath the fresh wound—a crescent-shaped mark, faint but too peculiar. No wolf could ever give a mark like that even after a bite.

Mira's voice fell into a whisper. "This is not an ordinary mark."

My blood raced. "It's just an old scar," I lied. "I got it from a fight in my childhood.

No child gets a scar like this" Her tone softened, but her eyes sharpened. "This can't be gotten from a fight."

A chill ran down my spine. Mira wasn't accusing me, but she was seeing too much. Far too much. Before I could respond, the door creaked.

Lyria walked in like she owned the room. Her blond hair glowed in the lantern light, her lips curved into a devilish smirk.

"Well, well," she mocked. "Our new warrior can actually bleed."

"Out," Mira snapped without turning back.

"Hey. chill, Mira," Lyria's eyes stuck at my wounded side, assessing. "I just came to check if Arya survived. No hard feelings."

Her tongue was like honey, but my trained ears could hear the poison underneath.

"I'm tougher than I look," I muttered.

"I can see clearly." Her eyes flicked to the scar Mira had uncovered. "That mark... interesting."

My pulse rose, pounding harder than before. I've always had this mark but didn't see anything special about it. What if it puts me into trouble? First Mira, now Lyria of all people?

Mira stepped forward, blocking her view. "I said, get out."

Lyria's smile widened, sharp and unshaken. "Okay. I'll leave you your secrets."

She turned on her heel and glided out, humming under her breath.

Only after the door was shut did I release a shaky exhale. Mira's hands resumed their work, but her silence was heavier now— weighed with unasked questions.

Night came over the training grounds by the time I left Mira's hut. My side, still burning in pain, tightly wrapped in fresh bandages. I walked slowly, careful not to strain the wound. The moon hung low, casting dark shadows in the yard.

Warriors were leaving, talking in whispers about the attack—and about how close I was in spilling real blood. I caught sight of wolves still pacing along the borders, the pack vigilant.

Then I saw Lyria. She stood at the edge of the yard, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She wasn't looking at the warriors. Her eyes were fixed on me—watching.

She didn't look aggressive, but calculated. As if she had noticed pieces that others hadn't.

But before I could assess further, a shadow moved behind her. Ezra.

The elder leaned on his staff, his presence quiet but commanding. His eyes followed Lyria for several seconds. Something in his expression—interest? Or was it suspicion? Either made my stomach twist.

Then his gaze shifted and locked onto mine. I froze. He looked at me the same way Kyle had the first time I arrived—like he could sense the truth buried beneath my face.

He nodded once. Slow. Knowing. Lyria turned then, catching sight of him. A brief spark flickered between them—unspoken understanding.

And suddenly, the world became smaller. We were all chess pieces on a board I didn't yet understand.

I pressed a hand to my bandaged side as I walked away, the encounter with Mira still echoing in my m

ind.

I was afraid. But what terrified me more was that everyone would soon find out who I really am.