CHAPTER 2 — MARKED BY MOONLIGHT
1380 Words
The morning after was worse. The attic air was thin and chilled, yet sweat slicked her neck. Aria sat up slowly, a scream lodged in her throat, her breath sawing in and out of her lungs like she’d just clawed her way out of a nightmare, except the ache in her bones said it wasn’t just a dream.
The Hollow.
The black wolf.
The violet eyes.
The attack.
The mark.
She reached for her shoulder. Her fingers trembled. The spot where the rogue had struck her throbbed faintly, a dull, rhythmic heat like a second heartbeat beneath her skin. Her hand found the burn—not scabbed, not raw, just... branded. The crescent moon was still there, ink, dark and curling against her skin like it had been kissed into her by the stars.
She stumbled to the mirror, the same cracked one that had flickered with something wrong the night before. Her hoodie slipped off her shoulder. It glowed faintly. A crescent moon. Not etched. Not inked. Alive. Like it belonged to her in every way, down to her bones and beliefs.
Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t normal, and wasn’t human. “What the hell is happening to me?” She whispered to the reflection, but it only just stared back at her wide-eyed, pale hollow. She looked like someone else. Like someone she hadn’t met yet.
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Downstairs, Madame Lune sipped her bitterroot tea like it could boil the truth out of anyone. “You look like a banshee chewed you up and spit you back into bed,” she said dryly, squinting over the rim of her cup. Aria blinked. “Charming. Thanks.” The old woman’s eyes narrowed, as if sensing it. “You smell like decay and wolf blood. You crossed the ward lines last night, didn’t you?" Aria hesitated. A flicker of shame. Fear. Then she nodded.
Madame Lune didn’t gasp or faint like some of Ravaryn’s more dramatic townsfolk might. She just stood and pulled a dusty book from the shelf. Bound in ashwood bark and thread made of gods-know-what, the tome looked older than the town itself. She slapped it on the table. Pages fluttered open like they knew which secrets Aria needed. “What did you see?”
“A wolf. Black. It was bigger than any animal I’ve ever seen. It didn’t hurt me. It... watched me.” Aria swallowed. “But something else did, and then, I blacked out. I have no idea as to what went on later on” Madame Lune’s fingers froze mid-page. “His eyes, my child, his eyes, what colour were they?”
“Violet.” A long silence. Then the woman whispered, “Moon curse.” Aria frowned. “What?”
To explain, Lune tapped the illustration on the open page. A wolf cloaked in shadow, standing beneath twin moons. A jagged crescent blazed on its forehead. “The Obsidian Alpha,” She said. “The one touched by the Blood Eclipse. It was like the moon had turned her back against him." A chill ran through Aria's veins cold and sharp like the question which came next “He marked you, didn’t he?”
“I—I don’t know,” she stammered.
The woman dragged her sleeves down. Revealing the mark. “Oh, child…” Her face drained of colour. “You're marked by prophecy now, and the old powers will not ignore that.” Aria’s pulse roared in her ears. “What does that even mean?” Lune looked away. “"You’ve just walked into a war that started long before your birth."
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School that day was static. Echoes. A sound both deafening and hushed at the same time. She moved through the halls like a ghost, hoodie zipped high to hide the mark, but it throbbed beneath the fabric, like it wanted to be seen. Wanted to be known. The whispers around her were normal: boys whispering bets, girls snapping gum and throwing glances, but something else whispered now, too.
A voice. Low. Familiar. Not heard but echoing inside her head
Aria...
She flinched, dropping her books. No one else reacted.
By third period, her head throbbed. By fourth, her skin itched like fire lived just beneath it. Then he entered into the class. Tall. Dark. Carved out of shadow and command. Jet-black hair, neatly tousled, a black coat tailored to a frame built for war, and boots that sounded like a warning with every step. Every head turned. Every breath held.
His presence pressed into the room like thunder before the lightning strike. “Class,” the principal said, clearing his throat nervously, “this is your substitute for the week, Mr. Rydan.” He didn’t speak right away. He just scanned the room with a gaze like a storm cloud thinking about breaking open. And then—his eyes landed on her and stayed there. Aria’s breath locked. Her skin buzzed.
Violet. They weren’t violet. Not yet, but..........they could be. He turned back to the board and wrote his name with a slow, deliberate hand: Mr. Rydan. But his voice? She'd know that voice anywhere. It was the same unmistakably and haunting voice that she'd heard from the woods.
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She didn’t eat lunch. Couldn’t. Her insides twisted like they were caught in a storm. She walked to the edge of the woods behind school, pretending it was for air. Instead, the wind greeted her like a lover who’d been waiting.
Aria...
She clutched her chest. The voice again. Clearer now. Closer. Dragging a memory out of her she didn’t remember living. Flames. Smoke. Screams. Wolves howling. A hand reaching for her through fire. She staggered, dropped to her knees. A shadow fell over her. “Why resist, it's easier if you don't fight it." Came from the voice behind her. She spun around. Mr. Rydan. Not in his teacher attire now. No clipboard. No façade. Just leather and shadow and eyes that looked almost too old for his face. “You heard it, didn’t you?” he asked softly. “Heard what?” she whispered. He stepped closer. “The bond. The call. It’s waking inside you.” Aria scrambled backwards. “You’re not a teacher.” He didn’t deny it. Just tilted his head. “You shouldn’t be alive,” he said quietly. Her heart stopped.
“I beg your what?!”
“You were attacked by a rogue. You should’ve died, but he saved you. He marked you.” Her fingers flew to her shoulder, heart racing. “What are you talking about?”
“The wolf in the Hollow. You know who he is. Even if you don’t remember yet.” Aria backed up another step. “I don’t know you,” she whispered. “No,” he said. “But you will. Soon.” He turned to leave, then paused.
“When the moon bleeds again... so will your truth.” And then he was gone.
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That night, Aria couldn’t sleep. She lay there, eyes trained on the ceiling, her pulse unsteady, the mark on her shoulder still burning. The moon outside bled red between the clouds, not a full eclipse, but enough to tint the world the colour of warning. She stood. Walked to the mirror. Slowly, she pulled down her hoodie. The mark blazed, not just glowing. Moving. Like ink swirling in her veins, forming symbols beneath the crescent. Glyphs she didn’t know , yet somehow understood. She reached out. Touched the glass. The room fell away.
Vision. Fire. Wolves were fighting again. The same black wolf, this time snarling against a beast with molten eyes and behind them, her. A girl cloaked in light and shadow. A girl, one who becomes what the night itself would fear. Then, a scream. Her own. She dropped to her knees, gasping. The glass shimmered, and something looked back at her. Not a reflection, but a future. Aria Valemire. Cloaked in silver flame. Fangs bared. A crown of bone and moonlight on her head. The Luna Queen. The one the prophecy spoke of. Suddenly, the glass broke apart, and the image within grinned at her. She screamed. The attic windows shattered. The wind roared in, and from far away...........a howl answered
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