The Rogue Luna

Chapter 10 – The Woman Who Saw Too Much

Aria’s Pov

I didn’t eat much that night because the bread I had bought the night before was already hard, and I forced myself to chew it slowly, stretching every bite. My coins were fewer now, and fear kept poking at me, reminding me I could lose this tiny piece of safety any moment.

But I wasn’t going to sit in that hotel room and wait for hunger to win. If I wanted to survive, I had to play.

I walked back into the streets, my trumpet case tucked under my arm. The city was awake, busier than yesterday, and people were rushing by with bags and baskets, cars were honking in the distance. Nobody looked at me twice, and maybe that was better. I wasn’t ready for eyes yet.

Still, when I reached the market square, my legs almost froze. The space looked so big in the daylight. Merchants were calling out prices, children were tugging at their mothers’ skirts, and the smell of fried food drifted everywhere, reminding me how empty my stomach was. I wanted to run back, but I stayed.

I picked a corner near a wall and sat down. My hands trembled as I opened the trumpet case. The metal gleamed faintly in the sunlight. It was all I had left of my mother, the only thing that made me feel less invisible.

I lifted it to my lips.

The first note cracked. People turned their heads, and I wanted to sink into the ground. My face burned, but I forced air into the trumpet again. This time the sound carried—low, shaky, but steady enough.

Some ignored me. Others slowed down, curiosity flickering in their eyes. A boy threw a coin without stopping. The small click in the case gave me a strange burst of courage.

I played more. I let the music move past the tightness in my chest. It wasn’t perfect, not even close, but it was mine. Soon, I saw more coins drop—small, silver ones, then a folded bill. My lips hurt, but I kept going.

For the first time since I left home, I didn’t feel like a mistake.

When I lowered the trumpet, sweat was on my brow and my arms; there was a small crowd around me. Most people began to scatter, heading back to their errands, but one person stayed.

An old woman.

She stood near the front, wrapped in a faded shawl that looked like it had seen too many winters. Her hair was gray, wisps escaping from a scarf, and her eyes… her eyes were sharp. I mean, too sharp. They weren’t the eyes of someone just listening to music. They were searching, peeling me apart like layers.

I looked away, uncomfortable, and bent down to gather the coins. When I straightened, she was still there, staring at me.

My throat tightened. “Do you… Need something?”

The woman didn’t answer at first. She stepped closer, and her cane was tapping the stone ground. Then she reached out and gripped my hand before I could step back. Her skin was thin and papery, but her hold was strong. Stronger than I expected.

“You,” she said in a raspy voice, “are not what you think you are.”

I froze. My heart kicked hard. “Excuse me?”

Her gaze didn’t soften. “That song you played… it wasn’t just music. It carried more than sorrow. It carried power. You don’t see it yet, but you will.”

My mouth went dry. I pulled my hand back, clutching my trumpet case. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She tilted her head, her eyes never leaving mine. “You’ve been touched. Touched by the Moon.”

My breath stopped for a while.

The Moon Goddess.

I hadn’t heard anyone speak of her since I left my pack. Humans didn’t talk about her; they didn’t believe in her. Only wolves did. So how could this woman know?

I shook my head quickly. “You’re mistaken. I’m just trying to survive.”

The woman chuckled, low and strange. “Survival is the first step. But your voice, your song—it isn’t meant for coins on the street. It’s meant for more. Much more.”

I took a step back. “Who are you?”

Her smile was faint, almost sad. “Someone who sees.”

That didn’t comfort me. She seemed half mad, standing there with her rags and riddles. But there was something in her eyes that kept me rooted. Something whispered she wasn’t lying.

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “One day, your music will be called upon. Not for your sake, but for theirs.” She pointed at the crowd that had already left, the humans bustling about as if nothing had happened. “And when that day comes, you will understand what you are.”

I swallowed hard, clutching my trumpet so tightly my knuckles ached.

“I don’t… I don’t want any of this,” I muttered. “I just want to live quietly.”

Her smile widened, showing missing teeth. “The Moon doesn’t ask what we want, child. She gives. She takes. And she marks those who are hers.”

Then she lifted her hand and brushed her fingers lightly against my cheek. The touch was cool, but it sent a strange shiver down my spine, like a spark under my skin.

Before I could say another word, she turned and began walking away, her cane tapping steadily.

“Wait!” I called, but my voice was too loud. A few people glanced at me strangely, but the old woman didn’t look back. She blended into the crowd, swallowed by it. Within moments, she was gone.

I stood there, my heart was racing.

I wanted to believe she was just a crazy woman. Cities had plenty of them. People who said strange things, who muttered about gods and fates. That had to be it.

But deep down, something inside me stirred. Something I didn’t want to name.

I remembered her words: Touched by the Moon.

I shook my head, muttering to myself as I packed up. “No. That’s not me. I’m nothing. Just… nothing.”

But no matter how hard I tried to push it away, her voice stayed with me all day, echoing louder than the coins clinking in my pocket.

That night, back in the hotel room, I lay the trumpet on the bed and stared at it. My hands trembled as I remembered the old woman’s grip, her eyes, her words.

I thought of my mother. She used to tell me stories of the Moon Goddess when I was little—how she sometimes chose the weakest and the forgotten, to carry her light.

But that was before. Before the shame. Before Lucian. Before the pack spat me out.

“No,” I whispered fiercely. “She wouldn’t choose me. Not me.”

I pressed my palms over my eyes, but tears still leaked out.

Still…

When I fell asleep, I dreamt of silver light washing over me, of voices calling me “Song of the Moon.” And even in sleep, I couldn’t escape the shiver that ran through me.