ECHOES OF THE FIRST MOON
771 Words
The morning light came pale and uncertain, like it wasn’t sure it belonged there. Jared stood by his window, watching the mist crawl across the courtyard. The events of the past few nights still pulsed in his thoughts — the feral’s stare, Kael’s whispered words, the dream that wasn’t just a dream.
He rubbed his palms absently. No mark this time. But beneath the skin, he could feel it — that same hum, like a heartbeat that wasn’t entirely his.
The mansion felt too quiet. Even the wind seemed to listen.
He was halfway through training drills when it happened.
Kael was watching from a distance, her arms crossed, her gaze sharp as always. Jared swung his staff, steady and precise — and then, mid-motion, the world split.
It wasn’t pain. It was a shift.
For a heartbeat, the courtyard vanished. He wasn’t standing on stone anymore — he was surrounded by a forest of silver trees, their leaves glowing faintly under a violet sky. The air shimmered with sound — low howls, rhythmic, ancient.
Wolves moved between the trees — massive, elegant, radiant. Their fur shimmered in colors the human eye shouldn’t have names for — gold, silver, and something deeper, something like memory.
He knew them.
Or maybe… they knew him.
A large one turned toward him — towering, graceful, its eyes the color of molten moonlight. A line of gold marked its chest, like a sigil carved by the stars themselves.
It spoke without words — a pull, a presence.
You do not belong among the half-born, it seemed to say. You are one of us.
Then, as suddenly as it came, the vision shattered.
The world snapped back. Kael’s voice cut through the haze.
“Jared!”
He stumbled, breath ragged, gripping the staff. His knees hit the stone floor.
Kael was already beside him, kneeling. “What happened?”
He blinked hard, trying to find words. “I… saw something.”
“A vision?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe. It felt like—like I’d been there before.”
Kael’s face went still — too still. “Describe it.”
“Wolves,” he said. “But not like yours. They were—different. Bigger. Brighter. Like light wearing fur.”
Her jaw tightened. For a second, something close to fear flickered in her eyes. Then she stood, turning away.
“Enough for today.”
“Kael—”
“I said enough.”
The edge in her tone silenced him. She walked off toward the upper terrace, her cloak trailing like a shadow.
That night, Jared couldn’t stop replaying what he saw. The image of the golden wolf burned behind his eyelids, too vivid to dismiss. He’d seen that same gold once before — faintly — in Kael’s eyes when she shifted beneath the moon.
Was that just coincidence? Or connection?
He started searching. Books. Scrolls. Anything he could find in Kael’s library. Most texts spoke of the common bloodlines — Alphas, Betas, Omegas, the feral-born — but nothing matched what he saw. No mention of wolves with light in their veins. No history of “gold-marked” sigils.
Until he found it — half-buried in an old, dust-coated volume.
A passage written in fading ink:
“Before the bloodlines divided, there were the First Wolves — children of the celestial moon. They were not beasts but guardians, their forms woven from starlight and silence. Their fall birthed the rest of us.”
He stared at the page until the ink seemed to breathe.
Children of the moon…
The door creaked. Kael stepped in quietly.
“You’re still awake.”
He shut the book quickly. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She studied him for a long moment — too long. Then she sighed, weary.
“You need change, Jared. A new environment. Something… normal.”
“Normal?” He laughed softly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There’s a place,” she said. “The Lunar Academy. It’s where young wolves learn to control their forms before the coming-of-age ceremony. You’ll go there soon.”
“So you can watch me from a distance instead?”
“So you can learn who you are,” she said quietly.
Her tone was final. But as she turned to leave, Jared noticed something — her hand trembling slightly by her side.
When the door closed, he reopened the book, tracing the words again.
Children of the celestial moon.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that the wolves fr
om his vision weren’t just symbols.
They were memories.
And somehow… he was one of them.
- Writer
