Heart Of The Moon

Episode3

The dream comes again.

The battlefield stretches endless under a bruised sky. The air reeks of blood and smoke; ash sticks to my skin like snow. Wolves snarl and tear into each other, silver and black blurs of fur and rage. The ground trembles beneath pounding paws. I can hear armor splitting, bones cracking, cries that aren’t fully human.

And then—darkness thick as tar rolls through the fog. A shadow moves like smoke given shape, its eyes a molten red. It lunges at me, jaws wide, and somewhere through the chaos someone shouts my name.

“Elara!”

I jolt upright, gasping for air. My hand flies to my chest. My heart feels like it’s trying to break through bone. The room is dim; the moonlight bleeds in through the curtains, soft and silver. For a moment I can still hear the wolves, the screams, smell the iron of blood—but it fades, leaving only silence.

“Why do I keep having the same dream?” I whisper to the darkness. “It feels like a memory… but every time I try to hold on to it, it slips away.”

A faint creak pulls my attention to the door. Someone is peeking in. I catch a flash of honey-blonde hair.

“Lyra?” I breathe.

She hesitates, then opens the door wider and steps in. The lamplight touches her gentle face; her eyes are tired but kind. “You can’t sleep either?”

I shake my head. “No. The same dream again.”

She walks over and sits beside me on the bed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Again?” Her voice carries both worry and the hint of a smile, as if she’s hoping it’s something small, something harmless.

“Yes.” I draw in a shaky breath. “There’s a battlefield… wolves fighting—snarling, tearing each other apart. Everything burns. And then there’s this… thing. A dark shadow that lunges toward me. Just before it reaches me, someone calls my name. Then I wake up.”

Lyra’s expression softens, but there’s something hidden behind her eyes. She takes my hand gently. “Do you still not remember anything? Anything at all?”

I shake my head again. “Only the dream. Nothing else ever stays.”

“Not even the king?” she asks quietly.

“Raiden?” I test the name, unfamiliar on my tongue yet heavy somehow. I look at her for confirmation, and she nods.

I drop my gaze to my lap. “No. Not even him.”

Lyra exhales, long and low, her shoulders sinking. “You and the king… your bond used to be so strong people envied it. They said the moon itself smiled whenever you two walked together.” Her voice trembles a little. “Since you lost your memory, he barely eats, barely speaks. It’s like the light in him dimmed.”

An ache stirs deep inside me—pain without reason, sorrow without memory. My throat tightens. “I don’t understand why I can’t remember any of it,” I whisper. “Why him? Why everything?”

Lyra looks at me, about to speak, then stops. Her lips press together. For a moment she glances toward the door, as though afraid someone might hear. She opens her mouth again, falters, then only shakes her head.

“It’s… the curse,” she finally says, almost under her breath.

“The curse?” I echo, frowning. “What curse?”

She hesitates. “It… wasn’t meant for you.” The words slip out before she freezes completely. Her eyes widen, and she bites her lower lip. Whatever she was going to say next dies in her throat.

I stare at her. “Lyra?”

But she forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Forget it. You’ll remember soon, I promise. You always said when we were little that the moon never forgets memories, even if the mind does. It always finds a way to bring them back.”

Her words linger in the quiet room, comforting and sad at once.

Before I can respond, a deep, guttural growl echoes from outside, followed by a shout and the clang of steel.

Lyra’s head snaps toward the window. “What was that?”

Another growl—louder, closer—rumbles through the palace walls. Then the unmistakable sound of panic: guards shouting orders, doors slamming.

Lyra’s face drains of color. “A cursed wolf.”

I blink. “A what?”

She’s already on her feet. “Stay here, Elara. Don’t come out.” She grabs a cloak and rushes to the door.

But the noise only grows worse. Curiosity—or something stronger—pulls me from the bed. I wrap a shawl around my shoulders and step into the corridor. The torches flicker as if afraid.

When I reach the courtyard, chaos greets me. Guards struggle to restrain a massive black wolf, its eyes glowing red, foam dripping from its fangs. Chains bite into its fur, but it thrashes so violently that sparks fly from the metal.

“Goddess,” I breathe.

Lyra turns, spotting me. “Elara! I told you to stay inside!” She moves to block my view, but it’s too late—the sight is burned into me.

A hush suddenly falls across the courtyard. Heavy footsteps echo from the far archway. The soldiers stiffen instantly, dropping to one knee. The air itself seems to bow.

He appears through the mist—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair catching the moonlight. His eyes are like storms waiting to break.

Raiden.

“Stand down,” he commands, his voice low but powerful.

At his words, the struggling wolf freezes, staring straight at him as if recognizing something only it can see. The chains strain; the guards curse as their grip slips.

“Hold him!” someone shouts, but the creature explodes with sudden strength. Metal snaps.

In a blur, it lunges straight at the king.

Time slows. I don’t think—my body moves on its own. One heartbeat I’m standing yards away; the next I’m between him and the beast. The wolf’s eyes lock on me. A roar splits the air.

I raise my hands without knowing why. Light bursts from my palms—pure, blinding white. It slams into the creature mid-air. The courtyard erupts in gasps. The wolf crashes to the ground, whimpering once before going still, not dead but unmoving, wrapped in a faint shimmer that fades like mist.

Silence.

My vision tilts. The world wavers. My knees buckle. Strong arms catch me before I hit the stone.

“Elara!” The voice is rough, broken—Raiden’s. He holds me close, trembling, his breath uneven. When I blink up at him, I see something I didn’t expect: tears. The king is crying.

Gasps ripple through the gathered guards. The Alpha King, feared by all, kneeling in the dirt with tears glistening down his face.

“Are you… all right?” he asks hoarsely.

I nod weakly, trying to steady my breath. “What… was that? What came out of me?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes flick to the fallen wolf, then to the guards. His tone turns sharp again, commanding. “Restrain it. Keep it bound until dawn. No one leaves this ground until I say so.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” the guards reply in unison.

Lyra rushes to my side, still pale, hands shaking. Together, she and the king help me back inside. My legs feel heavy, every step echoing in my ears.

Back in my room, Raiden lowers me gently onto the bed. His touch is careful, almost reverent. He looks at me as if memorizing every breath.

“Do you… remember me?” he asks quietly. “Why you tried to protect me?”

I swallow hard. “No. I don’t. My body just… moved on its own.”

Something in his eyes flickers—hope, grief, something deeper than both. He looks away for a moment before speaking again. “One of those cursed beasts appeared during the battle that took your memory. Now another tonight. It’s not a coincidence.”

I frown. “And what about… whatever that was that came out of me?”

He studies me for a long heartbeat. “I think,” he says slowly, “the curse is starting to unravel.”

The words hang heavy between us. I can feel Lyra’s eyes on me, her worry unspoken.

Raiden stands, the mask of the king settling back over his face. “Rest, Elara. Don’t act rashly again. The moment you feel… that power, call for me.” He glances once more at me, softer now. “Please.”

Then he turns and leaves with Lyra trailing behind him. The door closes, leaving only the faint hum of the night outside.

I lie there staring at the ceiling, heart still racing. The scent of smoke and moonlight lingers, mingling with a new awareness humming under my skin.

If the

curse is unraveling, then so is the lie that holds my past hostage.

And when the truth comes…

I’m not sure I’ll survive it.