Bound by moon and flame

THE FIRST TIME-WALK**

The demon's claws grazed Elara's throat—a whisper of molten heat against her skin—

—and the world *shattered*.

Time fractured like dropped glass, breaking apart with an inaudible sound that nonetheless reverberated through Elara's bones. The cottage, once solid and familiar, splintered into fragments that hung suspended around her. Elara watched in detached horror as Old Thom's molten fingers slowed, then stopped entirely mid-lunge, frozen mere inches from her jugular. Golden ichor dripped from his claws, hanging in the air like amber beads refusing to fall. Aunt Marra's terrified expression froze like a painted portrait, her mouth open in a silent scream, one hand outstretched toward Elara in what might have been protection or restraint—it was impossible to tell now.

Even the dust motes hung suspended in the blue firelight, perfect glittering constellations marking a moment that refused to pass. The flames themselves stood like azure sculptures, their heat still palpable but eerily static against Elara's skin.

Then the *pulling* began.

It started in her bones—a terrible, irresistible tugging—as if some cosmic hook had lodged itself in her ribcage and was now reeling her in. The sensation spread outward from her center, flowing through her veins like liquid metal, heavy and unstoppable. Her flesh prickled as if a thousand needles were being withdrawn simultaneously. The cottage walls dissolved into streaks of color, bleeding like watercolors in the rain. The familiar became abstract, then unrecognizable.

She saw:

—*A younger Marra weeping as she tucked a silver thread around baby Elara's wrist, her fingers trembling so violently she pricked herself, leaving crimson droplets on the infant's swaddling clothes*—

—*The same thread now glowing poison-green as it unraveled from her own body, slithering away like a living thing seeking escape, revealing strange markings underneath that pulsed with an inner light*—

—*A dark forest clearing where the golden-eyed stranger knelt, gripping his head as if hearing a scream only he could perceive, his body contorting unnaturally, bones shifting beneath his skin as he fought some internal transformation*—

Images flashed faster now, overlapping:

—*A temple of obsidian stone where hooded figures chanted around an altar*—

—*A battlefield strewn with bodies bearing the same crescent birthmark she carried*—

—*A cradle wreathed in blue flames as a man with antlers reached toward the wailing infant inside*—

Elara's stomach lurched violently, bile rising in her throat. She was *moving* without walking, *falling* without tumbling. The threads—*her* threads—stretched taut across time itself, and she was the needle being dragged through the tapestry of moments long past and yet to come. Her consciousness struggled to remain intact as it was pulled across planes of existence never meant for mortal navigation.

The moonflower's essence burned in her bloodstream, its silver light visible beneath her skin now, following the path of her veins like rivers of starlight. Some instinct told her the flower was the only thing keeping her from being torn apart completely.

**"ENOUGH."**

The voice shook the fractured world, causing the suspended fragments of reality to tremble like leaves in a gale. A woman's hand—smooth as polished marble and unnaturally cool—clamped around Elara's wrist with bruising force. The vision ripped away like a curtain torn aside, the threads of time snapping back into place with a violence that made Elara's ears ring.

Elara collapsed onto cold stone, heaving and retching, though nothing came up. Her limbs felt leaden, unresponsive. The scent of lightning and dried roses choked the air, so thick she could taste it—metallic and floral and somehow ancient. Her cheek pressed against smooth obsidian that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat not its own.

Above her loomed the silver-haired goddess from her visions, tall and terrible in her beauty. Her skin emitted a faint luminescence in the dim chamber, and her irises swirled with galaxies—literal stars and nebulae spiraling in endless dance within her gaze. She wore a gown that seemed woven from twilight itself, shifting between deep purple and midnight blue as she moved.

*Lirae.* The name came unbidden to Elara's mind, accompanied by a flood of terror and inexplicable recognition.

"Honestly," the goddess sighed, examining Elara like a soiled dress returned from the laundress. Her voice carried the resonance of crystal bells, beautiful yet cutting. "I told Marra to double your dosage after the moonflower incident. That woman always was too soft-hearted for her own good." She flicked her fingers in a dismissive gesture, and the unraveled silver thread that had been trailing from Elara's wrist *sizzled* as it reattached to her skin, burning like a brand. "No matter. You weren't ready to time-walk anyway—as you'll soon learn. The paths between moments are fraught with dangers your half-blood mind cannot begin to comprehend."

Elara tried to push herself up, but her arms gave way. Her tongue felt swollen, foreign in her mouth. After two attempts, her voice came out a rasp. "What did you do to me?"

Lirae smiled—a perfect, terrible expression that held no warmth. She crouched down, the movement inhumanly graceful, and traced a cold finger along Elara's birthmark. "I saved you, little thief. Stole you right from your cradle before Vareth could rip that pretty heart from your chest." She leaned closer, her breath smelling of burnt sugar and something older, something that predated sweetness itself. "Though if you'd rather join your parents in the Abyss, by all means—keep tugging at my threads. The binding magic has kept you hidden for eighteen years, but it seems your heritage asserts itself regardless."

"My parents?" Elara managed, clinging to this fragment of information like a drowning woman to driftwood. "You said they're in the—"

A door slammed somewhere beyond the stone chamber, the sound reverberating through the obsidian walls. Heavy footsteps echoed through unseen corridors, urgent and thunderous. Something about their rhythm made Elara's heart leap in her chest, a response entirely disconnected from her conscious mind.

Lirae's smile vanished, replaced by an expression of cold calculation. She rose to her full height, towering over Elara's prostrate form. "Ah. It seems your mongrel has come knocking." Her gaze flicked toward an arched doorway hidden in shadow. "How he found this sanctum is... concerning."

She pressed a long, elegant finger to Elara's forehead, the nail leaving a crescent indentation in her skin. "Sleep now. We'll continue your... education... when you wake. Your memory threads need reweaving—more thoroughly this time."

Darkness welled up from the point of contact, spreading like ink in water through Elara's consciousness. Her limbs grew heavier, her thoughts more sluggish. The last sensation she registered was the cold stone against her cheek and the distant sound of walls cracking under tremendous pressure.

Darkness swallowed Elara whole—but not before she heard Kael's roar shake the very foundations of the temple. The sound carried rage and desperation in equal measure, and beneath it all, a single word that penetrated even Lirae's sleeping spell:

*"ELARA!"*