The Lost Luna

Shadows in the woods

Lyra’s POV

The sun was already up when I finally stepped outside.

Morning had slipped past without me knowing, too occupied by my restless thoughts and the way my chest felt too tight to breathe properly. The dream still clung to me, even though I had scrubbed my face with cold water and tied my hair back neat and tight.

Nightmere looked the same as it always did.

The river moved quietly beside the village, its surface smooth and calm. Small houses lined the dirt paths, smoke coming out of chimneys as people prepared meals. Children laughed as they ran barefoot across the grass. Everything looked ordinary.

I did not feel ordinary.

I crossed the yard and helped my mother spread clean clothes on the table outside. She placed bundles of herbs on them, her movements careful and steady. She did not look at me at first.

“Turn the leaves,” she said. “They need sun.”

I obeyed, flipping each bundle gently. The smell filled the air, sharp and bitter.

My mother finally looked at me. “Did the dream return?”

“Yes.”

She sighed softly. “You should rest today.”

“I am not sick.”

She pressed her lips together. “Sometimes rest is needed even when the body is strong.”

I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but my father appeared from the side of the house before I could speak. He carried his gun over his shoulder, eyes sharp as he scanned the tree line beyond the river.

“I will be gone most of the day,” he said. “Do not wander.”

“I won’t.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded and left without another word.

The moment he disappeared, the air felt heavier.

I worked with my mother until midday, helping her sort dried roots and flowers into small cloth bags. Villagers came and went, offering smiles and quiet thanks. Some looked at me longer than they should have. Others avoided my gaze completely.

When the sun set, my mother sent me to the river for water.

I carried the bucket easily, though it should have been heavy. I slowed my steps, testing the weight, but my arms did not ache. I frowned but kept walking.

The riverbank was quiet.

Too quiet.

I bent down and dipped the bucket into the water. As it filled, I felt it again. That strange feeling in my mind. The feeling of being watched.

I straightened slowly.

Across the river, near the edge of the woods, a wolf stood still among the trees.

Its fur was pale gray, blending with the shadows. Its eyes locked onto mine, unblinking.

My heart began to pound.

It did not growl. It did not bare its teeth.

It simply watched.

I took a step back.

The wolf did not move.

“Go,” I whispered.

It tilted its head slightly, like it was listening.

A second wolf appeared beside it. Then a third.

They stood in silence, their attention fixed on me alone.

Fear crept into my chest, cold and sharp. I backed away from the river, spilling water from the bucket without noticing.

“Lyra.”

I turned sharply.

My father stood a few paces behind me, his gun already in hand. His eyes followed mine to the wolves.

His jaw tightened.

“Inside,” he said.

I hesitated. “They are not attacking.”

“That does not matter.”

He stepped forward, placing himself between me and the river. The wolves took a single step back, then vanished into the trees.

My father did not lower his gun until they were gone.

“They keep watching me,” I said.

“I know.”

“Why?”

He met my gaze. For a moment, something dark flickered in his eyes. Fear. Guilt.

“You ask too many questions,” he said quietly.

That hurt more than I expected.

We returned home in silence.

That afternoon dragged on slowly. I helped my mother prepare herbs and teas, though my focus drifted often. My thoughts kept returning to the wolves. To the way they watched me without anger or hunger.

Like they were waiting.

As evening approached, my mother asked me to walk with her to deliver herbs to an old woman near the edge of the village. I agreed, eager to leave the house.

The sky looked gold as we walked. Shadows showed long across the path. The forest loomed closer here, its presence heavy.

“You seem restless,” my mother said.

“I feel restless.”

She nodded like she understood too well.

We returned just as dusk settled over Nightmere. Lamps flickered on. The river reflected the fading light from the sun.

That night, I could not sleep.

When it finally took me, it was cruel.

Fire roared around me, hot and blinding. Wolves howled in pain and fury. I fell to my knees, my chest burning like it would split open.

A man stood before me, tall and strong, his face half hidden by shadow. His silver eyes held sorrow so deep it stole my breath.

“Stay with me,” he said.

I reached for him.

The fire erupted.

I woke up screaming.

My mark burned hot against my skin. Silver light flashed across the room before fading.

I sat up, gasping, my heart racing.

This was no normal dream.

Morning arrived with heavy clouds.

My mother watched me closely as I ate, her worry clear. My father barely spoke.

When my mother asked me to help her gather herbs near the clearing later that day, unease settled in my stomach.

But I nodded.

Something told me this day would change everything.

And deep inside my chest, the pull toward something unknown grew stronger.