Echoes of the moon

The rain fell in sheets, drumming against the rooftop like a war cry. Elara sat motionless by the window, her fingers curled around a chipped mug of tea gone cold. Outside, the world blurred into gray. Inside, something ancient stirred. It began with a dream—no, a memory. A child’s laughter echoing through a sunlit meadow. A man’s voice, warm and familiar, whispering promises beneath a blood-red moon. Then fire. Screams. Betrayal. She woke gasping, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding like a drum of war. The dream had come again, more vivid than ever. But this time, it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like truth. Elara stumbled to the mirror, searching her reflection for answers. Her eyes—once soft and unsure—now held a storm. She remembered. Not everything, not yet. But enough. A daughter. Gone. A mate. A traitor. She pressed her palm to the glass, as if trying to reach through time. “I trusted you,” she whispered, voice trembling. “And you destroyed me.” The memories came in fragments—flashes of a life lived centuries ago. A life where she had power, love, and a family. A life ripped apart by betrayal. Now reborn, she was no longer the naïve girl who believed in soulmates and destiny. She was something else. Something forged in fire and grief. She turned from the mirror, her decision already made. She would never trust him again. Not in this life. Not in any. And yet, deep within her, a thread remained—thin, fragile, and glowing faintly. A bond not yet broken. A mate she had not yet met. But he was coming. And this time, she would be ready.