Heart Of The Moon

Darkness breathes. It isn’t empty; it pulses, alive, like a storm trapped behind my eyes. Silver light flickers through the cracks, flashes of battle—fangs, fire, the roar of wolves beneath a bleeding moon. I hear someone shouting my name—Elara!—and the sound rips through me like lightning. Then the light shatters. I fall through silence. When I open my eyes, the world smells of smoke and rain. The air is thick with iron and ash, and somewhere close, I hear the slow, broken sound of a man weeping. My body feels wrong, heavy and cold. I try to move, but something holds me down—a weight, a presence, a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to me. A hand, warm and trembling, closes around mine. “Elara,” a voice says—deep, rough, cracked with tears. “Please… open your eyes.” The voice is everything—rage, pain, hope. It pulls me out of the dark before I can stop it. My lashes flutter; the world swims into shape. A face hovers above me—strong lines, shadowed eyes, hair black as night rain. Power radiates from him like heat from a forge. But it’s the emotion that strikes me hardest. He’s crying. A king shouldn’t cry like that. His tears fall onto my cheek, hot as the blood I smell in the air. He cups my face as though I might vanish if he lets go. “Don’t leave me,” he whispers. His voice breaks on the words. “Not again, please. The Moon can’t take you from me twice.” Something inside me twists. His pain feels too close, too familiar, like a scar my mind forgot but my soul remembers. I want to tell him it’s all right, that I’m here—but the words won’t come. The sound catches in my throat, small and raw. Around us, I sense others. Shadows move at the edge of the chamber—wolves in human skin, their eyes downcast, their scents heavy with grief and awe. No one dares to breathe too loud. The Alpha King is on his knees beside a broken bed, clutching the Luna they thought dead. Me. The title hums at the back of my skull—Luna—but it means nothing. My mind is a blank page soaked in silver ink. His thumb brushes across my jaw. “You’re safe now, Elara. I swear it. You’re safe.” Safe. The word drifts through me like smoke. Safe from what? Who is he? The questions fight through the fog as I blink at him, really seeing him. His eyes are a storm of gold and shadow, fierce and desperate, and I know—I know—that I have looked into them before. Maybe in another life. Maybe in the dream before the darkness. But my heart is racing too fast. The weight of the room presses down. I draw a shallow breath and whisper the only thing that makes sense. “Who… are you?” The sound is small, barely human, but it tears the world apart. He freezes. The warmth drains from his face, leaving it pale as moonlight. For a heartbeat no one moves. The pack behind him stiffens; I hear a low gasp, a stifled sob. Even the wind outside the shattered window seems to hold its breath. “What did you say?” he asks, voice raw. I swallow. My throat burns. “I said… who are you?” His hand falls from my cheek as if burned. The room tilts; the silence stretches so long I can hear the tremor of his breath. He looks at me like a man watching the sea erase his home. “It’s me,” he whispers. “Raiden.” The name means nothing. It drifts through the empty corridors of my mind and finds no door to open. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. My voice shakes. “I don’t— I don’t know you.” A flicker of pain crosses his face, sharp enough to wound. Then, in the space of a breath, the king returns. The tears vanish; his jaw tightens. The mask of power slides back into place, hiding the devastation that still glimmers in his eyes. Behind him, someone speaks in a low, fearful tone. “My King…” He lifts a hand, silencing them without looking away from me. “Leave us.” No one argues. Footsteps retreat; doors close. The air grows heavier. Only the rain remains, whispering against stone. He stands slowly, every motion controlled, but I can see the tremor in his fingers. “You’ve been asleep for seven days,” he says. “The healers thought you were gone.” Seven days. The number feels unreal. “Why would they think that?” “Because your heart stopped in my arms.” His gaze drops to the bed, to the stains of old blood on the sheets. “Because I failed to protect you.” His words scrape against my chest, stirring a flicker of memory—a battlefield soaked in silver light, the echo of his voice shouting my name. Then it’s gone, leaving only confusion. “I don’t understand.” I press a hand to my temple. “I don’t remember anything.” His breath catches. “Nothing?” “Nothing.” The admission feels like a betrayal, though I don’t know why. “I don’t even know my own name until you say it.” “Elara,” he repeats softly, as if the sound alone could anchor me. “You are Elara of the Moonborne. My Luna. My mate.” The last word thrums through the room, heavy with power. It hums under my skin, awakening something wild and frightened inside me. My heart stutters. “Mate?” I whisper. “What does that mean?” He flinches as if struck. Then he kneels again, slower this time, every movement careful—as though he’s approaching a wounded creature. “It means you’re mine,” he says, voice trembling. “Bound by the Moon herself. You promised me forever.” Forever. The word echoes faintly inside me, stirring a ghost of warmth beneath my ribs. For a fleeting moment I see flashes—hands clasped beneath the silver eclipse, a kiss that tasted like lightning, the scent of pine and smoke. Then the vision dissolves, leaving tears in my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I can’t see it.” He bows his head, shoulders shaking once before he steadies himself. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “The curse was meant for me.” Curse. The word sends a chill through me. “What curse?” But he only shakes his head. “Rest. Please.” His voice cracks again, soft but commanding. “I’ll keep you safe. You don’t have to remember now.” He turns away before I can answer, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion is quick, almost angry—like he’s punishing himself for being weak. When he faces me again, his expression is calm, unreadable, but the grief clings to him like smoke. I should feel comforted. Instead, I feel the hollow ache of someone else’s sorrow buried in my chest. When he reaches the door, he pauses. The light from the hall outlines his shoulders—broad, powerful, carved by years of command—and yet he looks smaller somehow, like the weight of the world has finally bent him. “If you need anything,” he says without turning, “call for me. I’ll come.” “Raiden?” His name feels strange on my tongue, unfamiliar and intimate all at once. He glances over his shoulder. “I don’t want to be alone,” I admit quietly. The confession slips out before I can stop it. “Everything feels… wrong.” Something breaks in his gaze. For a second he almost steps back toward me, then he stops himself, hands curling into fists. “I’ll stay outside your door,” he says. “You’ll never be alone, Elara. Not again.” The door closes behind him with a sound like a heartbeat ending. I lie back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight spills through the window, soft and silver, brushing against my skin like a lover’s touch I can’t remember. The scent of him lingers in the air—smoke and rain and something wild. My pulse won’t settle. Who am I to him? And why does it feel like part of me still belongs to his tears? Outside, I hear the low murmur of voices—guards shifting, the faint growl of wolves uneasy in the dark. The kingdom mourns, I realize. Not just for the war, but for whatever I was before this emptiness. I close my eyes, and the darkn ess comes again. But this time, I see his face in it, and a whisper curls through my mind, soft as moonlight. Find me.