Whispers of the Moonbound

“Slow down, Lucia," Elder Hirin barked from behind. “The pass is narrow, and you're still limping." Aya—no, Lucia—tightened her grip on the frost-slick reins. “It's Aya now," she corrected softly. “And I'm not limping." “You always limp before snowstorms. It's your left ankle," the elder grumbled. “Same as the girl who fell from the cliffs four winters ago." Lucia said nothing. Her gaze stayed fixed ahead—where jagged teeth of the Moon-Spine Pass pierced a sky the color of bruised steel. Wind howled through the rocks, tugging Hidden-Moon banners like spirits trying to snatch them back. “I shouldn't be going," she said at last. “You're the only one who can." Hirin's voice was quiet now. “You feel the moon currents. You survived the fall. That means something." Lucia's fingers curled tighter around the reins. “Or it means I should've stayed dead." A third voice joined them—Rokan, the youngest rider. “We're here," he called, pointing toward a shadowed break in the cliffs. “Bloodfang territory." Lucia inhaled sharply. The citadel beyond the ice bridge rose like a fortress carved from wolfbone and grief—towers studded with spires, the main keep crowned by iron spikes. Lanterns flickered along the parapets, casting long shadows across the frozen moat. The air tasted of smoke, steel, and something faintly sweet. “Orchids?" she murmured. Rokan frowned. “You smell that?" Lucia didn't answer. --- High above, a man watched. From the highest turret, Lord Xeno Bloodfang stood still as stone, cloak snapping behind him in the wind. He didn't blink. “She comes," he whispered. General Arden beside him squinted down at the convoy. “Another envoy from the southern clans. Shall I—" “No." “But—" “That's not an envoy," Xeno growled. “That's her." Arden hesitated. “You said she was dead." “I buried her myself." Xeno turned sharply, his eyes glowing faintly with inner silver fire. “She was dead. But she came back." --- Back below, Lucia's convoy reached the first checkpoint. “State your name," the Bloodfang gate captain barked. Lucia drew her hood lower. “Aya of the Hidden-Moon. Peace envoy. Here under truce banner." “Envoy?" The guard scoffed. “Looks more like a shrine girl." Elder Hirin's voice boomed. “Show respect. She's Oracle-in-training, chosen by the Crescent Council." The guard grunted, waved them through. As they crossed the ice bridge, a distant growl echoed from the citadel walls. It wasn't wind. The horses neighed nervously. Lucia's fingers trembled. --- They arrived at the grand hall near dusk. Lucia stood straight in her simple envoy robes, flanked by guards and interpreters. She stared up at a carved door depicting wolves devouring the moon. When the doors swung open, a hush fell. The council chamber beyond was ringed with nobles draped in furs, all eyes turning to the cloaked envoy. And at the center— He stood. Xeno Bloodfang. Tall. Scarred. Eyes like molten steel rimmed in frost. He stepped forward slowly, each bootfall like a drumbeat in her ribs. Lucia bowed stiffly. “Lord Bloodfang. I bring greetings from the Hidden-Moon—" “Aya." His voice silenced the room. She froze. “I am called Aya now, yes," she said carefully. “This is a diplomatic—" “No. You are Lucia." Gasps. She flinched. “You mistake me for someone else." “I could never mistake your scent," he said, stepping closer. “Violets. And snow after lightning. No one else carries it." Lucia's breath caught. The council erupted into murmurs. One noble protested, “This is irregular! She's—" Xeno raised a hand. The noble sat. Lucia kept her tone level. “Lord Bloodfang, with respect, I do not know you." He reached for her gloved hand. “Don't touch me," she said, voice trembling. But when their fingers brushed, a flicker of silver crackled in the air. Lucia jerked back. Xeno didn't react. “I buried you four winters ago beneath a white tree. And yet, here you are." “I don't remember," she whispered. “But your heart does." A beat of silence. Then he turned to the guards. “Escort her to the Iron Watchtower." Lucia blinked. “What?" “You will remain there until I am convinced this isn't a cruel illusion." “You can't imprison an envoy!" “I'm not imprisoning an envoy," he said. “I'm retrieving my wife." --- Later, in the Iron Watchtower, Lucia stood alone in the high stone chamber. A fire crackled. A table held hot soup, roasted root vegetables, and a plate of candied hawthorn—her favorite, though she hadn't eaten it in years. A vase of white mountain orchids stood near the window. “How?" she whispered. No one answered. She paced the room, eyes scanning for exits. Rope length. Door hinges. Window height. But her thoughts kept returning to the smell. The orchids. The food. The way he'd said her name. Lucia rubbed her wrist absently. It burned faintly. And down below, somewhere in the shadows of the tower, a heartbeat waited.