**Chapter 5- 5.2
243 Words
Elara loomed above him, her sword poised and ready, a stream of tears cascading down her cheeks.
Thorne was murmuring incantations in a language long forgotten, the air thick with an ancient desperation.
Meanwhile, the world around them began to shatter, fissures appearing as it spilled forth with radiant, silver light.
With a sudden jolt, he awoke, panting and disoriented within the confines of his bedroll. The fire that kept the shadows at bay flickered low, casting an ethereal glow on everything around him.
Not too far off, Elara was seated, meticulously honing her weapon, the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone breaking the silence of the night.
She caught his eye and momentarily paused her task. “Did you have a bad dream?” she asked softly, concern etched across her features.
He gave a slow, deliberate nod, the memories of his dream lingering like a dark cloud. “It was the worst kind imaginable,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
As his gaze fell to his chest, he became acutely aware of an unfamiliar sensation—a warmth radiating beneath his shirt, right over his heart. It was as though something had awakened within him.
When he tentatively lifted the fabric to inspect, he discovered a distinct mark, a gentle, glowing crescent that seemed almost alive beneath his skin.
Strangely, it mirrored the shape of the moon that had shone down upon him in that vivid vision.
- Writer
