ECHOES OF THE PAST
481 Words
The snow-covered plains where the final battle had taken place were quieter now—eerily so. Elysia stood wrapped in a thick wool cloak, the wind brushing strands of silver-streaked hair from her face. Her boots crunched over old ash frozen into the earth. No longer a place of chaos, the field had grown still, almost reverent. But she hadn’t come for peace.
She had come for answers.
Kneeling at the heart of the battlefield, where Evald had fallen, she pressed a gloved hand to the soil. It was softer than she expected, warm—alive. Her wolf stirred beneath her skin. A chill ran through her bones, though the wind had not changed.
She closed her eyes.
The whisper came like wind through leaves: “The blade remembers…”
Her breath caught.
She opened her eyes and looked around. No one. The field was empty. Yet she wasn’t alone.
Slowly, she rose and turned toward the edge of the woods, where the trees stood like silent sentinels. Her feet led her there, guided by instinct—or something more. She walked until she reached the old path that led back to the manor. But before returning, she paused.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered.
The trees offered no answer.
That night, back at the estate, Elysia went to the Moonblade’s chamber. The blade rested above the council dais, silent and still. But as she stepped beneath it, something shifted in the air—like pressure building in the back of her mind.
Her fingers grazed the edge of the scabbard.
The sword pulsed—once.
A vision struck her like lightning.
She saw fire. Not the estate, but something older. A burning forest. Wolves crying out. A woman standing in the center of it all, her eyes glowing silver, holding a newborn wrapped in black cloth.
Elysia gasped and pulled her hand away. Her heart pounded as the vision faded.
“What was that?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Footsteps echoed behind her. Kael.
He moved to her side without speaking at first. Then, “You felt it too.”
She nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “The blade… it’s dreaming. Or remembering. I don’t know what it means.”
Kael stared at the blade for a long moment before responding. “The Moonblade is older than Blackfang. Older than any bloodline. Maybe it carries memories that even the Moon itself forgot.”
“Or warnings,” Elysia murmured.
He turned to her and gently cupped her face. “We’ll be ready. Whatever it is—whatever comes—we’ll face it.”
She leaned into his touch, but a part of her was still with that woman in the flames. A mother. A child. A prophecy reborn?
Elysia wasn’t sure.
But one thing was becoming clear.
The past wasn’t done with her yet.
- Writer
