Chapter 1: Whispers of the Prophecy
The night weighed heavily over Ebonvale, a hush broken only by the restless wind sweeping
down from the hills. Clouds rolled thick across the sky, veiling the pale glow of the moon but
never muting its pull. Selene Ardyn moved along the narrow path at the edge of the Draemir
Woods, her lantern trembling in her grip. Every rustle seemed sharper than before, every
shadow heavier. The villagers whispered that the winds carried voices when danger stirred. She
had laughed once. Now she wasn’t sure.
She stopped where half-buried stones jutted from the earth. Moss covered their edges, but the
carvings remained: runes, sharp and haunting, etched in a language most had long forgotten.
The place was called the Rune Stones of Veylir, said to be where the prophecy had first been
spoken aloud. Children were warned away. Elders avoided it. Yet Selene could not. Something
pulled at her, as though her blood remembered what her mind refused.
The air grew colder. The lantern flame bent low, fighting a sudden gust. Then came the murmur.
Faint. Almost like a thought inside her head, yet hovering beyond her at the same time.
“You cannot run from what is written.”
Her breath caught. She spun around, lantern raised. Only the branches swayed, restless and
knowing. The voice lingered in her bones. Selene pressed her lips together, told herself she was
tired. Told herself it was nothing more. But her pulse disagreed.
When she stepped back into Ebonvale, the contrast jarred her senses. Laughter spilled from the
Silver Fang Inn, thick with warmth and the scent of roasted meat. The world seemed normal
again. Children darted past with sticky fingers. Old Marta Veyra, hunched near the doorway,
muttered blessings as Selene slipped inside.
At the long table near the hearth, her uncle looked up. Darius Ardyn, broad-shouldered and
graying at the temples, raised a hand. “You’re late. Lantern duty should have ended before
dark.” His tone was firm, but his eyes softened when she sat beside him.
Selene hesitated, then admitted, “I stopped near the stones.”
Silence blanketed the table. Even the fire seemed to c***k louder, filling the space her words left
behind.
Her uncle’s jaw tightened. “Selene, you know better. The Rune Stones are not for wandering.”
“They called to me.” Her voice was almost a whisper. Truth she couldn’t hide.
Marta leaned forward, her sharp eyes narrowing. “The stones carry the prophecy. A cursed
bond. A wolf who devours the one destined to love it. Do not toy with such darkness, child.”
A few villagers crossed themselves, muttering soft prayers. Selene looked down at her hands,
the whispers still clinging to her skin like smoke.
That night, sleep refused her. She lay awake on her straw mattress, staring into the dark. Then
the voice returned, slipping into her mind with a weight she couldn’t resist.
“The bond is near. You cannot deny it.”
She pressed her palms over her ears, but it was useless. The words were not sound—they
were truth, etched into her marrow.
From the Draemir Woods, a howl tore through the valley. Long. Mournful. Selene’s heart leapt.
She had heard wolves before, but this cry was different. It was closer. It was calling.
She pulled back the curtain and caught a glimmer in the dark. Eyes. Watching. Then gone.
Her chest heaved. No one would believe her if she spoke of it. They would dismiss it as tired
nerves, or worse, imagination fed by old stories. Yet she knew. The howl was not ordinary. It
carried the same pull as the stones. The same force she had felt since the whispers began.
At dawn, Ebonvale’s market square pulsed with life. Merchants displayed their wares, colors too
bright for the muted valley. Farmers shouted prices. Children tugged at mothers’ skirts. Selene
tried to drown herself in the noise. But the weight of the prophecy pressed closer.
That morning, a company of strangers arrived. Dark cloaks. Silent steps. Their leader taller than
the rest, with presence that carved space wherever he walked. He scanned the square, eyes
sharp as blades, until they found hers.
Selene’s breath caught. Recognition flared in his gaze—something ancient, something
dangerous. He did not linger long, but long enough to leave her unsteady. He turned, murmuring
to the men behind him, and the spell broke.
Selene pressed back into the crowd, her pulse frantic. She didn’t know who he was, yet part of
her did. A thought crawled into her mind, heavy as stone. The prophecy had found her.
That evening, the whispers returned, no longer fragments. Words. Clear.
“He is near. The wolf you fear. The bond you cannot refuse.”
By the hearth, Selene clutched her cloak tight. Firelight flickered across her face, but the chill
inside her would not leave. Images blurred through her mind: glowing runes, eyes in the dark,
the stranger’s gaze burning through her.
Her uncle stepped in, carrying wood. He stopped, his expression hardening. “You’ve heard them
again.”
She nodded.
His voice softened, though heavy with warning. “You must resist. The prophecy is not a path you
want. If the bond awakens, it will consume you. And him. There is no peace in it.”
Her lips parted before she could stop herself. “But what if resisting is the mistake?”
The silence between them felt endless. Finally, Darius whispered, “Then may the Moon guard
you, for nothing else will.”
That night the mist thickened. Selene stood at her window, watching the Draemir Woods swell
with shadows. The howl came again. Not distant this time. Near.
It cracked her open, raw and restless. She whispered into the dark, “I don’t want this.”
But the forest whispered back, steady and relentless.
“You are chosen.”
And Selene Ardyn, standing in the village of Ebonvale, knew the prophecy had awakened.
