Moonborn A Sovereign's Howl

Chapter 2 – Song of Healing

Six years earlier

“Elara, get back—"

The explosion cut her mother's voice short.

Flames surged along the treeline as rebel arrows shrieked overhead. Elara crouched low, clutching her satchel of herbs, heart thudding in sync with the chaos around her. The border was never safe, but this—

This was war.

She scrambled down the ravine, breath ragged. Her legs carried her instinctively toward the sound of groaning steel and scattered moans. Not far from the fire's edge, beneath a charred oak tree, a body lay crumpled in silver‑trimmed armor.

An Alpha.

Her eyes widened.

The crest on his pauldron was unmistakable—Silvermoon. And the face beneath the cracked helm…

“Elara," she whispered to herself. “That's—Kael."

Blood oozed from a wound across his chest. His lips were pale, trembling with shallow breaths. An obsidian-tipped arrow jutted from his side—dream-bane. Lethal to most.

But not if treated immediately.

She hesitated only a moment.

Then dropped to her knees.

“Don't die," she whispered. “Not here. Not like this."

Her fingers moved quickly, unpacking salves, shredding cloth for pressure wraps. She ground moon-daisy petals between her palms, mixing it with a drop of spirit oil. The scent stung her eyes. She leaned over him, whispering the only thing she could remember to ease pain:

? *“Through forest deep and skies so wide, the moon shall guard, the stars shall guide…"* ?

The lullaby. An old tune passed down from her mother. One she only heard when sick with fever or fear.

Kael stirred.

His breath caught.

“...mother?" he muttered, delirious.

“No," she said gently. “But I'm here."

She worked through the night. When blood soaked through one bandage, she pressed another. When thunder rolled overhead, she tucked her cloak over him and kept singing.

He never fully woke, but his body shifted toward her voice, as if tethered.

At dawn, the flames had died down, leaving blackened earth and the smell of death. Elara sat slumped beside him, exhaustion in every muscle.

A snap of branches broke the stillness.

Silvermoon scouts emerged, swords raised—then dropped to their knees when they saw the prince.

“Alpha Kael!" one cried.

They rushed forward, lifting him onto a stretcher. One scout paused. “Who found him?"

Elara shrank into the shadows.

Another barked, “Was anyone else here?"

She shook her head, mute.

Let them believe it was the wind. The trees. The moon itself.

They left.

Only after the horses vanished did she exhale.

He was safe. That was all that mattered.

She turned to leave.

But behind her, in the grass, lay a single silver clasp from Kael's armor—broken during the fall.

She picked it up.

A keepsake. Not for glory. Not for recognition.

For memory.

---

Back at the capital…

Kael groaned, blinking up at the healer's tent canopy. “How… long was I out?"

“Three days," Serena said gently, setting down a cup of comfort wine beside his cot. “You're lucky. The scouts found you just in time."

He sat up slowly, wincing. “The lullaby…"

She smiled. “Yes?"

“The voice that sang it… it kept me alive."

Serena tilted her head. “What voice?"

Kael frowned. “Didn't… you sing it?"

She hesitated—just a blink—then smiled again. “Of course."

Something in her tone sounded wrong. But his mind, still fogged from blood loss, wanted to believe it. Needed to.

“I knew it," he whispered.

Serena reached for his hand. “I was just so scared for you."

He looked at her, eyes warm. “You saved me."

Outside, bells rang in mourning for the dead.

Inside, a lie took root.

---

Six years later, that lie had grown into devotion, and Elara remained a ghost in Kael's memory—never named, never known, only remembered in a song stolen by another.

But Elara… Elara had never forgotten the boy beneath the oak tree. The prince who bled into her hands and clung to a lullaby meant for kings.

And now, that boy was a man, returned from war.

And she would not stay silent forever.