Heart Of The Moon

Episode4

The sun has barely touched the horizon when I wake. The room feels smaller today—too quiet, too still. My chest aches with the weight of silence, and my mind won’t rest. I can still feel the remnants of last night’s light, the strange warmth that left me dizzy and confused. Everyone said I needed rest, but lying still feels like drowning.

I swing my legs off the bed and press my feet to the cold floor. It grounds me a little. Through the open window, I hear faint laughter and the clang of weapons—soldiers training in the yard. For days, I’ve watched from behind glass like a ghost in my own skin. Not today.

I pull on a light cloak and step into the hall. Lyra almost bumps into me, carrying a tray. “Elara! You’re awake early,” she says, half-smiling. “You should be resting. The king—”

“Will survive a morning without me sitting quietly,” I say, forcing a grin. “I can’t stay in that room any longer.”

Lyra sighs, torn between loyalty and friendship. “Fine. But if you faint, I’m not explaining to the healers.”

“Deal.”

Outside, the training grounds buzz with movement. Warriors spar in pairs, sweat shining on their backs. The smell of iron and dust fills the air. Some pause mid-swing when they see me. I feel their eyes—half reverence, half fear.

I pick up a bucket and start filling it from the well. The weight drags my arms, but I keep going. “You don’t have to do that,” one of the guards murmurs, stepping closer.

“I want to,” I reply, stubbornly pouring water into the trough. “I can’t remember much, but I’m not made of glass.”

A few of them exchange glances. Lyra hovers nearby, pretending to tidy the area, but I can tell she’s watching every move I make. The stares sting a little, but the strain of doing something—anything—feels better than sitting with my thoughts.

After a while, I move toward the healers’ tent. The sharp scent of herbs greets me as I push the flap aside. Two apprentices bow quickly. “Luna,” they whisper, though the title feels foreign on my tongue.

“I’m just Elara,” I remind them, kneeling beside a wounded soldier with a bandaged arm. His face tightens as the healer presses down on the wound. I help hold the cloth steady. Blood stains my fingers, warm and metallic. The soldier’s breathing steadies under my touch.

A strange hum tickles the edge of my mind, like a half-remembered melody. My lips move before I realize it—soft, wordless. The air shifts for a heartbeat, calm and heavy. The healer stills, staring at me. I blink and the moment breaks.

“What?” I ask quietly.

She swallows. “Nothing, Luna. Just—thank you.”

Lyra, standing at the entrance, gives me a look—half pride, half worry. I pretend not to notice the way her eyes glisten.

When we step outside again, the sun has risen higher. The market’s noise carries from beyond the walls—voices, laughter, haggling. “Let’s go there,” I say impulsively.

Lyra blinks. “The market? Now?”

“I need to see something that doesn’t look like stone walls.”

She hesitates, then nods. “Fine. But keep your hood up. Some people… they don’t see clearly anymore.”

---

The market is alive with color and noise. Baskets overflow with fruit, fabric stalls flutter like captured rainbows, and the air hums with gossip. I breathe it in like medicine.

At first, people just glance my way. Then the whispers start. A woman bows her head quickly; another drags her child behind her as if my shadow might burn.

A small boy, no older than five, runs toward me, laughing. “Pretty lady!” he chirps, holding out a flower.

His mother yanks him back by the arm. “Don’t touch her!” she hisses, eyes wide with fear. My heart twists.

“It’s alright,” I say softly, crouching to the child’s height. “Thank you for the flower.”

He smiles shyly and places it in my palm before his mother pulls him away.

As I straighten, an old woman selling charms spits near my feet. “The cursed should stay hidden,” she mutters.

Lyra’s hand grips my arm. “Ignore her.”

Before I can respond, two men start arguing nearby—one defending me, the other cursing the king for “bringing bad omens.” Their voices rise, drawing attention. The tension thickens until a pair of guards step in to quiet them. I catch sight of a tall figure at the edge of the square—Raiden. His gaze is locked on me, unreadable. For a moment, I forget to breathe.

Lyra follows my line of sight. “He’s been watching you more lately,” she says under her breath. “I think he worries you’ll vanish again.”

“Or maybe he’s just making sure I don’t ruin something,” I whisper back, though the thought stings more than I admit.

Raiden turns away before I can look too long. The crowd begins to settle. I tighten my cloak and walk on, but the feeling of being watched never fades.

---

By afternoon, the palace feels heavier than before. Kellan and a few guards move briskly through the hall, murmuring in low tones. I catch fragments as I pass—a council meeting, murmurs about “containment,” and “proof.” Lyra pulls me aside before I can linger.

“They’re scared,” she says quietly. “The council’s pressing the king. They say the curse is spreading. They want to see you, to test—”

“Test what?” My voice sharpens.

She hesitates, eyes flickering. “Maybe nothing. Maybe too much.”

I don’t press further. The walls have too many ears.

---

That night, I wander onto the terrace outside my chamber. The moon hangs low and full, bright enough to paint the world silver. The air is cold, almost sharp.

I lean on the stone railing and watch the guards changing shifts below. My mind hums with fragments of the day—the boy’s laughter, the market whispers, Raiden’s distant eyes. For the first time since waking in this place, I feel more alive than lost.

Still, something gnaws inside me. Why can’t I remember? Why does everyone look at me as though I’m both savior and threat?

Footsteps approach behind me. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Raiden’s voice says, low and rough.

I turn slowly. He stands at the edge of the terrace, moonlight carving lines across his face. There’s something almost human in his weariness tonight.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I admit. “The walls were closing in.”

He steps closer. “You’ve caused enough whispers today.”

“I was breathing,” I say. “Didn’t realize that was forbidden.”

His jaw tightens, but his voice softens. “You think I don’t understand? Every step you take draws eyes—and questions I can’t yet answer.”

“Then answer me, at least,” I whisper. “Why do they fear me? What am I to them?”

Raiden’s gaze meets mine, storm-dark and unreadable. “You are more than they understand,” he says after a moment. “And less than you were.”

That hurts in a way I can’t name. “Then tell me what I was.”

He looks away. “If I do, the curse will tighten. You could lose more than memory.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and cold. His voice drops to a whisper, rough with something unguarded. “Every day I see you breathing, I thank the Moon. Don’t make me risk that.”

He turns to leave, but stops. “Nightfall’s envoy will arrive soon,” he says. “Stay close to Lyra. Don’t speak to anyone you don’t recognize.”

The name rings faintly familiar, like an echo from somewhere far away. “Nightfall,” I repeat. “Why does that sound—”

“Because some things remember you, even when you forget them,” he murmurs, then disappears into the shadows.

---

Epilogue (Raiden’s POV)

The council chamber is nearly empty when I return.

The air still carries the aftertaste of argument — burnt candle wax and iron, the scent of fear.

Kellan waits by the window, his arms crossed. He looks up when I enter. “They’re getting bolder,” he says. “The elders want to confine her again. Say it’s for her safety.”

My jaw tightens. “You mean for theirs.”

Kellan doesn’t deny it. “They know what happened last night. The light she unleashed… no one’s sure what it means. If she’s regaining strength—”

“She’s not regaining,” I cuts in, voice sharp. “She’s surviving.”

Silence stretches between them.

Finally, Kellan says, “The envoy from Nightfall arrives by dawn. Their alpha claims to come in peace, but I don’t trust any of them. Especially not after the last border strike.”

I nods slowly. “They want to see her.”

Kellan’s eyes widen. “Elara?”

“Yes. That’s their real purpose.”

Kellan exhales, rubbing his temples. “If they touch her—”

“They won’t.” My voice hardens, final. “I’ll handle the envoy myself.”

I walk to the table where the council seal lies broken — a small token of my frustration. The candlelight catches the faint silver threading my dark hair. My hand trembles once before I clenched it into a fist.

Kellan studies me for a long moment. “You still believe she’ll remember you?”

My eyes drift toward the window, where the moonlight spills like spilled milk across the stone floor. “She already does,” I say quietly. “Not with her mind… but her soul still reaches for me.”

Kellan doesn’t respond. He knows that tone — the quiet certainty that has both saved and doomed their Alpha more times than he can count.

I turns away from the window at last. My reflection in the glass looks like a stranger — a king bound by love and guilt. “Prepare the guards,” I order. “And tell the council: whatever comes with dawn, they will not touch my Luna.”

Kellan bows slightly. “Yes, my king.”

When the door closes, I stands alone with the moonlight. My voice drops to a whisper only the night can hear.

“Unravel the curse if you must,” I murmur, “bu

t don’t take her from me again.”

Outside, the wind howls through the courtyard — a sound like a warning, or a promise.

The moon watches, silent and cold.