Selene
Selene tasted the blood before she even felt the pain.
It bloomed metallic and sharp at the back of her throat, thick and bitter as she stumbled through the gigantic doors of the shrine. The stone floor was cold and her thoughts spiraled. Through the broken ceiling, the moonlight touched her white robe— already torn at the sleeves from the argument she had fled.
Coward.
His voice still echoed in her mind. Sharp as a blade. She swallowed hard and slammed the door shut behind her. For a moment, she leaned her weight against the ancient wood, chest heaving, her breath ragged.
This place had always scared her.
Tonight, it felt like a tomb.
The air here was thick. Heavy with incense, old magic and something darker, it made the hair in her arms rise. She stepped forward, her hands brushing the stone chambers at the center of the chamber. She was not alone.
The other priestesses were already waiting. They stood in a wide circle, faces hidden beneath deep cowls, candles flickering in their hands. Their silence pressed in on her harder than anything. No one reached for her. No one asked her what had happened.
They had seen her leave in anger. They had known she would return like this.
Broken. Bleeding. Determined.
Selene lifted her chin.
“I will perform the ritual.” She said, her voice trembled, though whether from rage or fear, she did not know. “Tonight.”
A ripple of unease moved through the circle. One of the elder priestesses stepped forward, her candlelight revealing the faint wrinkles on her face.
“The wheel does not turn on anger,” the woman said softly. “Nor does it answer wounded hearts.”
Selene laughed— the sound too hollow to be sane. “Then it will turn on truth. The wheel weaves as it wills.”
Before anyone could stop her, she reached for the ritual blade resting on the altar. Its edge gleamed faintly. She dragged it across her palm.
Blood welled instantly, hot and bright, dripping on the stone.
Selene cried out as her vision shattered, the walls of the shrine tearing away into nothingness. She was falling — no, being dragged by something… someone — through something vast and endless.
She saw the world break.
Clouds curdled into ash, the sun choking behind riots of clouds and smoke. The forests blackened and collapsed. Cities burned. Streets flooded not in rain, but in blood.
Then she saw them.
Werewolves. Once proud, once living— clawing their way out of shallow graves. Their bodies were wrong. Twisted. Their eyes hollow, glowing with unnatural hunger. Most without their eye sockets bare, their jaws snapping.
Zombie lycans.
They surged across the kingdoms like a plague, tearing through humans and werewolves alike. Screams echoed and then went silent. Nothing was sacred. Nothing was spared.
Selene tried to breathe. Tried to look away.
She couldn’t.
The vision twisted again.
There was darkness. A cry— raw, desperate, new born.
A child.
Hair gleaming against the shadows. Eyes burning with something ancient, something furious and untamed. Power radiated from the small body in violent waves, cracking the ground beneath their feet.
Too much power.
Too much fate.
“A savior,” a voice whispered, neither kind nor cruel.
“A destroyer.”
“A lie wrapped in prophecy.”
The sky turned red, thunder rumbling in every direction. Then it began to rain, not water.
Blood.
Scream came from every corner. She could hear every single one of it. From toddler to elderly. Their screams filled the sky.
The sound of unfiltered chaos blocked her ears, nearly driving her to madness. Selene fell to the blood soaked floor, her hand over the ears as she screamed — her screams mixed with theirs.
The world would fall. It would break.
“That’s the one.” She heard a voice behind her. An elderly woman pointed towards the child she had seen before.
Before Selene could say a word, the woman ran into the darkness.
She could feel the earth collapsing at her feet, and then something. Something pulling her into the earth — a grave.
Selene screamed as the magic tore itself out of her body, ripping her back into the shrine. Her knees slammed into the stone floor. The candles around her blew all at once, plunging the chamber into darkness.
She looked up at the ceiling, into the cracks. The beauty of the moon. Her body began to fail. Her lungs tightened. The entire room spiraled, making her head spin.
She looked at her palm, still dripping with blood. Her vision dimmed as blood pooled beneath her, warmth sipping into the cold stone. Each breath came shallower than the last, her lungs burning as if filling with smoke.
Hans reached for her. Voices called her name.
Too late.
She collapsed to the ground.
“It can be ended…”She mutters, her lips trembling. “The curse.”
“The curse can be ended.”
The priestesses leaned closer. Desperate now.
“But not by who they expect.”
Her gaze shifted to the altar one final time, to the blood smeared across its surface, already beginning to dry.
“The wheel weaves as it wills.” She coughed. “But blood would be needed.”
“The wheel would demand blood.” She let out a breath. Her final one.
Her eyes closed.
Immediately, the door burst open.
“Selene…”
