Heart Of The Moon

Episode2

The days blur together like ripples on still water. I wake, eat, walk, sleep — yet nothing feels real. Every face that looks at me holds a story I don’t remember. Every hallway hums with whispers that fall silent the moment I appear.

It’s been five days since I opened my eyes to a stranger’s tears.

Five days since the Alpha King — the man they call Raiden — held me like the world was ending and I didn’t know his name.

The healers say my body is recovering fast. They say my strength is returning quicker than expected. But what they don’t say — what they avoid saying — is that my memory is a blank page, and the silence of the pack grows heavier each time I walk by.

The morning sun filters through the palace windows, painting gold patterns on the marble floor. My bare feet make no sound as I wander through the corridor. Guards lower their heads respectfully, their expressions unreadable. Servants bow. I nod, pretending it doesn’t make me uneasy.

They call me Luna, like it’s a title that belongs to someone else.

I stop by a large window. Outside, wolves run through the training grounds — silver fur glinting under the daylight. A pang hits me in the chest, like I’ve seen it before, like my soul remembers what my mind has lost.

Then a voice breaks through the silence.

“Elara?”

I turn, startled.

A girl stands at the end of the hall, her hazel eyes wide, a basket of folded linen in her hands. Her smile trembles, caught between joy and disbelief.

“Lyra,” I say, though I don’t know how I know her name. The sound slips out before I can stop it, and her eyes glisten instantly.

“You—” She drops the basket and runs to me, wrapping her arms around me so tightly I can barely breathe. “You remember me?”

I hesitate. “I… don’t know. I just felt like I should.”

Her grip tightens for a heartbeat, then softens. “That’s enough. You have no idea how long we prayed you’d wake up.” She pulls back, studying my face. “You look the same, but your eyes… they’re different.”

Different. The word echoes inside me.

“I don’t remember anything, Lyra,” I admit quietly. “Everyone looks at me like I’m supposed to be someone I can’t find.”

Her expression falters. “It’s not your fault. The curse took more than your strength. The King—” She stops herself, glancing around. “Never mind. You shouldn’t push yourself yet.”

“The King?” I repeat. “Raiden?”

Lyra nods carefully. “He hasn’t been the same since that night. He barely speaks, barely eats. He—”

A sound cuts her off — footsteps echoing against the marble. Heavy. Familiar, though I can’t explain why.

Lyra straightens immediately and bows her head.

My pulse quickens.

He appears at the end of the corridor — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black trimmed with silver embroidery. The sunlight catches his hair, dark as storm clouds, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. His presence is commanding, but his eyes — gods, his eyes — look like they’ve carried centuries of grief.

Raiden.

Our gazes meet, and something shifts in the air between us.

He stops a few paces away, as if afraid to come closer. “You’re walking,” he says softly, his voice raw. “The healers said you might still be resting.”

“I was tired of lying in bed,” I answer. My tone comes out steadier than I feel.

His lips twitch — not quite a smile. “That sounds like you.”

“Like me?”

Pain flashes through his expression. “Yes. Like you.”

Lyra murmurs something about checking the gardens and slips away, leaving us alone.

The silence stretches, heavy and fragile.

He takes a step closer, slow and careful, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “You look better,” he says, almost a whisper. “The color’s back in your cheeks.”

“I don’t remember you,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

He flinches, the faintest c***k in his calm. “I know.”

“Then why do you keep looking at me like—like I mean something to you?”

His jaw tightens. “Because you do.”

The honesty in his voice steals my breath.

I stare at him, searching for something familiar. “They say I’m your Luna.”

“You are,” he says, voice breaking on the last word. “You were. You always will be.”

I shake my head. “I don’t feel like anyone’s Luna. I don’t even feel like myself.”

He steps closer, and the scent of him — rain and pine and something darker — hits me like a memory I can’t grasp. “You don’t have to remember everything right now. Just… don’t push me away.”

There’s desperation in his tone, a plea he’s trying to hide.

I should move. I should step back. But I don’t.

For a heartbeat, the world fades — the corridor, the whispers, the ache in my mind. All that exists is his eyes, glistening under the sunlight, and the ghost of something I might have once felt for him.

He lifts a trembling hand, stops halfway, then lets it fall. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I promised I’d protect you, and I failed.”

“Protect me from what?”

His silence is answer enough. Whatever happened — whatever curse stole my memories — it still haunts him.

When I look closer, I see the sleepless shadows under his eyes, the unshaven stubble along his jaw. This is not the cold Alpha King the pack whispers about. This is a man unmade.

“Why do they all look at me like I’m fragile?” I ask quietly.

“Because you are,” he says, his voice rough. “For now.”

Something inside me stirs — not recognition, but a strange warmth. “And what about you? Are you fragile too?”

He exhales a laugh that isn’t really a laugh. “I was the moment you stopped knowing me.”

I don’t know how to respond. The words hit too deep, too fast.

A soft breeze slips through the open window, carrying the faint howl of wolves in the distance. Raiden turns toward the sound, shoulders tense. “They’re restless,” he mutters. “They sense your confusion.”

“My confusion?”

“Our kind—” he glances at me, eyes unreadable—“we’re bound. What you feel, the pack feels. Your soul is tied to mine.”

The statement sends a shiver down my spine. Bound. Tied. Yet I can’t feel the connection he speaks of. Only a faint pulse, like an echo of something long lost.

He straightens, clearing his throat, forcing his Alpha composure back into place. “You should rest more. The healers say—”

“Stop talking like I’ll break,” I snap. “I’m tired of everyone whispering around me.”

His gaze hardens — not in anger, but in pain. “You used to say that too,” he murmurs. “Every time someone tried to protect you.”

The air thickens. The faint hum of memory stirs in the back of my mind — a flash of moonlight, a heartbeat, a voice calling my name through smoke and chaos. But when I reach for it, it slips away.

I press a hand to my temple, dizzy.

Raiden steps forward instinctively, catching my arm. His touch burns — not painfully, but with familiarity so strong it frightens me. My breath catches.

“Easy,” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”

For a moment, I let him hold me. His thumb brushes against my wrist, his warmth grounding me when everything else feels like fog.

And then, just as quickly, I pull away. “Don’t.”

He freezes.

“I don’t know who you are,” I whisper. “And I don’t know who I am when you look at me like that.”

He nods slowly, stepping back. The hurt in his eyes is almost unbearable to witness.

“I understand,” he says finally, voice low. “But I’ll wait. Even if it takes forever.”

Then he turns and walks away, his cape trailing behind him like a shadow of grief.

When he disappears around the corner, I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. My heart beats too fast, too loud. I press a hand over it and whisper to the empty hall—

“Why does it hurt to watch him leave?”

Outside, the wind shifts, carrying the faint scent of rain. And somewhere deep inside me, a

whisper stirs — a voice I can’t place, a promise I don’t remember:

You will find your way back to him, even if the moon has to break to make it so.