Chapter 15
1113 Words
Myra's POV
The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, painting the walls in pale gold. Myra lay still, staring at the wooden beams above her bed. Sleep had been fleeting — full of whispers and flashes of silver light.
The Moon’s will never errs.
The words echoed in her mind, softer than breath, yet impossible to ignore. She pressed a hand to her chest where a faint thrum still pulsed — a rhythm that wasn’t quite her own.
Niva stirred lazily in the back of her mind. “You’re thinking too loud again.”
Myra smiled faintly. “You’re awake early.”
“You kept tossing. Hard to sleep when you’re practically vibrating with longing.”
She groaned, rolling onto her side. “It’s not longing. It’s… confusion.”
“Right. And I’m a squirrel.”
Despite herself, Myra let out a quiet laugh. “You’re insufferable.”
“You love me.”
She ignored the wolf’s smug tone and finally sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. The air smelled of dew and pine, cool and clear — the kind of morning that should’ve felt peaceful. But even the peace felt hollow now.
---
By the time she reached the healing tent, the pack grounds were already awake with movement. Warriors trained near the clearing, their voices carrying faintly on the breeze.
Inside, the familiar scent of herbs greeted her — feverweed, thyme, crushed marigold. Riven was already at the worktable, sorting bundles with his usual meticulous focus.
He looked up as she entered. “You’re late.”
Myra arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been Elder Rowan’s apprentice for what — a month? And you’re already scolding me?”
He flushed slightly but grinned. “Someone has to keep the tent running. Besides, you look tired. Did the Moon keep you awake again?”
Myra bit back a sigh, reaching for her apron. “Something like that.”
Riven studied her for a moment, curiosity flickering in his pale-green eyes. “You know, if the Moon is sending you dreams, maybe it’s a sign. Elder Rowan says the divine doesn’t waste energy.”
“Or maybe it just likes tormenting me,” she muttered under her breath.
Riven laughed softly. “You always say that, but I think it’s chosen you for something.”
Myra didn’t answer. Her hands busied themselves with grinding herbs, but her heart thudded harder at his words. Chosen. If only he knew how that word made her chest ache.
---
A shout outside drew their attention. Two warriors carried in a young man clutching his side, blood seeping between his fingers.
“Training accident,” one of them said quickly. “A misstep with a blade.”
Myra’s instincts took over. “Set him here,” she ordered, motioning to the cot.
She worked swiftly — pressing clean cloth against the wound while Riven fetched the salve. Her touch glowed faintly as she whispered the healer’s words she’d learned since childhood.
But mid-incantation, her pulse stuttered.
A wave of heat rolled through her chest — sudden, sharp, not her own.
A flash of rage, pain, and longing — all tangled in one heartbeat.
Her breath hitched. The world dimmed around her for an instant.
Lucian.
She felt him — or rather, the storm inside him — and it made her hands tremble.
“Myra?” Riven’s voice cut through the haze. He was beside her now, steadying her wrist. “You’re shaking.”
She blinked hard, forcing her breath to even out. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Just… tired.”
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. Together they finished tending the wound. When the warrior finally left, Riven lingered near the table.
“You should rest,” he said quietly. “Whatever’s weighing on you — it’s showing.”
Myra managed a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe after the Moon takes a nap first.”
He chuckled, though concern lingered in his gaze. “You joke, but I think it’s trying to tell you something.”
She met his eyes then, her voice softer. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
---
Later, Elder Rowan entered the tent, his staff tapping lightly against the ground. His white hair caught the afternoon light, silver as the threads of moonlight themselves.
“Ah, my healers,” he said warmly. “The air feels heavy in here. Who upset the balance?”
“Probably me,” Myra said, trying to sound light. “I keep making the herbs nervous.”
Rowan’s smile was patient. “Herbs do not grow uneasy without reason.”
He studied her, eyes sharp despite his age. “Your energy flickers, child. The Moon’s hand rests upon you stronger these days.”
Myra hesitated. “I… feel things. Sometimes. Emotions that aren’t mine. It’s like… a shadow brushing my mind.”
Rowan nodded slowly. “The bond, then.”
Her head snapped up. “What bond?”
The old healer chuckled softly. “You think I haven’t seen such signs before? Whatever the Moon has tied to your spirit, you cannot run from it. But tread carefully, Myra. Not all bonds are gentle.”
She looked down at her hands, words failing her. Rowan’s tone wasn’t judgmental — it was almost sorrowful, as if he’d seen this before.
“I don’t even understand what it wants from me,” she whispered.
Rowan’s gaze softened. “Understanding comes with surrender. The Moon does not reveal its will to those who fight it.”
He left quietly after that, leaving her alone with the rustle of herbs and her thoughts.
---
As dusk settled, Myra stepped outside. The sky was streaked with soft violet and fading gold. She sank onto the stone steps, the cool air brushing her skin.
Her fingers traced the faint crescent mark on her wrist — a mark that always glowed just a little brighter beneath the Moon.
Niva yawned in her mind. “You’re brooding again.”
Myra smiled faintly. “I’m thinking.”
“Same thing.”
“He’s fighting it,” Myra murmured, staring at the horizon.
“Then he’s stubborn. Like someone else I know.”
She huffed a quiet laugh, then fell silent again. The night breeze carried with it the faintest hint of something — a heartbeat echoing hers, steady and distant.
Somewhere, she knew he felt it too.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and whispered to the sky,
“Whatever this bond is… please don’t break me before I understand it.”
The Moon hung above her, silent but glowing — as if listening.
---
- Writer
