CHAPTER 2 ( When the moon first choose her)
731 Words
The tremor in the Tower of Nyx faded, but its echo lingered in Lyria’s chest long after Prince Kael left to inspect the corridors. Alone again, she sank onto the narrow stone bench by the window, letting the moonlight spill across her hands.
Moonlight had always followed her.
Even before she understood what it meant.
She closed her eyes.
And the memories opened.
---
Elandris, Twelve Years Ago
The night of her eighth birthday had been colder than any winter she remembered. Frost crept along the windows of the Elyndra Palace, and the trees outside stood silent, their branches bowing under silver snow.
“Lyria, sweetheart, make a wish,” her mother whispered.
Queen Serapheline knelt beside her, elegant even in the dim glow of the candles. Lyria had always thought her mother’s eyes looked like dusk—soft, deep, and full of secrets she was not old enough to understand.
Lyria closed her eyes and breathed in the warm scent of honeycakes. But just as she drew in a breath—
The candles went out.
All at once.
Every one of them.
A hush filled the great hall, a ripple of confusion passing through the gathered nobles.
Then the moonlight broke through the high windows.
It didn’t stream in as it usually did—it fell, like liquid silver pouring down her shoulders, wrapping around her small form in a shimmering veil.
Someone gasped.
Someone else whispered, “The prophecy…”
And Queen Serapheline’s hand tightened around Lyria’s.
“Stay with me,” her mother murmured, her voice trembling.
Lyria didn’t understand what was happening. She simply felt warm and calm—like the moon was hugging her.
But then the ground shook.
A pulse of energy burst from her chest, rattling the chandeliers and making the nobles stumble back in fear. Lyria cried out, startled. The moonlight around her surged, brightening until it stung the eyes of everyone in the room.
The guards rushed forward—only to be held back by the Queen.
“Do not touch her!” Serapheline commanded.
The palace doors slammed shut, though no one had moved.
At that moment, the High Seer of Elandris entered, his long robes trailing frost behind him. His eyes widened as he took in the scene.
“It has begun,” he whispered. “The Moonbound Heir… born under the Blood Moon… destined to—”
“Enough!” the Queen snapped, shielding Lyria with her cloak.
But the words had already spilled through the hall like poison.
Moonbound Heir.
Born for power.
Born for danger.
Lyria felt the room change.
Familiar faces twisted with fear.
Some stepped back from her.
Some knelt as if she was no longer a child, but something sacred… or cursed.
She didn’t know what she had done.
She only knew she wanted her mother to hold her.
So she clung to her, trembling.
“What’s wrong with me, Mama?” Lyria whispered into her mother’s dress.
Her mother held her tighter, her voice breaking as she whispered:
“Nothing, my moonbeam. Nothing at all. But the world… the world will believe otherwise.”
---
Back in the Tower of Nyx
Lyria opened her eyes.
The moonlight in her cell felt colder now.
Lonelier.
That night—her eighth birthday—had changed everything.
From then on, she wasn’t allowed to play in the gardens without guards. The palace gates stayed locked during full moons. Whispering followed her everywhere she walked. Children weren’t encouraged to befriend her. And when she laughed too hard or cried too long, strange things happened—glimmering lights, trembling floors, enchanted frost.
She learned to silence herself.
To dim her glow.
Until the day the kingdoms decided she was too dangerous to keep free.
A soft creak at her door pulled her from the memory.
Prince Kael stood there, his expression unreadable.
“Your chains are glowing again,” he said quietly.
Lyria glanced down.
The silver light pulsed faintly under her skin.
“It happens when I remember things,” she murmured.
Kael hesitated, then stepped closer—not in fear, but almost… curiosity.
“What did you remember?”
Lyria looked at him, the moon casting a pale halo behind her.
“The night the world decided what I was,” she said.
“And the night I lost the chance to decide for myself.”
- Writer
