Chapter 8: Forgotten?
1106 Words
Celeste’s dreams were no longer dreams—they were memories, fragments of an existence before time had worn her name down to dust.
The night after Kael’s vow, she didn’t rest. Her body drifted through a storm of dream and starlight, a twilight realm suspended between dimensions. She stood barefoot in an ancient palace, its floors made of polished moonstone, its pillars carved with symbols older than any language she knew.
Flames crackled in braziers filled with crushed wolfsbane and lunar ash. At the far end of the chamber, a throne of obsidian pulsed like it had a heartbeat. Around her, cloaked figures bowed in reverence. Some had fangs. Others, glowing eyes.
A voice echoed.
“Daughter of dusk. Heir of light.”
A figure stepped from the shadows—a woman clad in Tang dynasty armor, her face partly veiled, her presence immense. She didn’t walk—she floated, radiant and terrifying.
“You are the last moonborn,” the woman said, “and the first.”
Celeste tried to speak, but her voice caught. The woman extended her hand. As soon as Celeste reached for her—
The dream shattered into a thousand mirror-shards.
She woke, breathless and sweating.
---
Morning came sharp and cold. Tension threaded through the air like lightning ready to strike. The rogue pack had sensed the change. Wolves that once ignored her now watched with caution—or awe.
Kael walked with her in silence. He didn’t ask. He never had to.
By noon, they stood before the silver-haired alpha in the monastery's hidden library. The ancient texts were written in runes only moonlight could reveal.
“You dreamed again,” the alpha said without looking up.
Celeste nodded. “It felt real.”
The woman unfurled a fragile scroll. It pulsed faintly when exposed to light. “Because it was. The blood remembers what the mind forgets.”
On the scroll was a mark—crescent-shaped, wrapped in thorns. It matched the one etched on Celeste’s back.
“This belonged to the Moon Court,” she explained. “A lineage thought wiped from the earth by the Elder purge.”
“And yet, here I am,” Celeste murmured.
The alpha studied her. “Or perhaps you are what remains. A soul who refused to die.”
There was silence.
Then she added, “We can invoke the Ritual of Retrieval. It may unlock everything buried in you. But it comes with risk.”
“What kind?”
“Pain. Madness. You may lose yourself—or find someone you no longer recognize.”
Celeste exhaled. “Let’s do it.”
---
That night, the ritual chamber beneath the monastery came alive. Runes lit the floor in constellations. Celeste stood in a ring of salt and moonstones, while Kael watched from beyond the ward lines.
The silver-haired alpha stepped into the circle, a small bowl in her hands.
“This is moonwater, mixed with silverroot and memory ash,” she said. “Drink. And remember.”
Celeste took the bowl. Her hands shook, but her gaze remained steady.
“I’m not afraid,” she whispered.
“You should be,” the alpha replied.
She drank.
---
The world spun.
And changed.
Suddenly, she stood on a cliff, winds lashing through her hair. Below her, a war raged—wolves in armor clashing with beasts cloaked in fire. The sky was blood-red, the moon eclipsed.
She looked down at her hands—older, calloused. In her grip was a blade of light.
Beside her stood a man with Kael’s face—only colder, harder. His voice held centuries.
“Celaiya,” he said. “You have to go.”
“If I leave, we fall,” she answered.
He touched her arm. “Then fall with glory.”
She turned. Raised her blade. Screamed.
Light poured from her.
---
Another vision overtook her.
A throne room. Celeste in robes of mourning. A child in her arms. Elders kneeling before her.
“You cannot protect both the throne and the bond,” one said.
“I am the bond,” she replied.
Lightning split the sky above.
The memory cracked—and she was falling again.
A battlefield by the sea.
Corpses of beasts and men alike. She stood in the center, her robes tattered, face streaked with ash. Her mark glowed brighter than ever.
An army knelt around her.
“The moon shall return,” they chanted. “Through her.”
---
She awoke in the ritual chamber, convulsing. Her body writhed with power. The mark on her back pulsed in rhythmic flashes.
Kael rushed into the circle, ignoring the warnings. He pulled her into his arms.
“Celeste,” he murmured. “Come back.”
Her body stiffened. Then relaxed.
She blinked.
“I remember,” she whispered. “I remember everything.”
---
She spent hours recounting her visions.
“I was a general. A queen. A mother,” she said. “I died in fire, in betrayal. But every time—I came back.”
The alphas listened in reverent silence.
“You carry the memory of every moonborn,” the silver-haired leader said. “You’re not just one soul. You’re a chorus.”
Kael stood beside her, unmoving. When they were finally alone, he asked, “Are you still you?”
Celeste touched his face.
“I’m still me. But now, I know why I’ve always felt like more.”
They kissed—slow, certain. Not desperate. Not afraid.
The bond between them pulsed with power.
And somewhere far away, something ancient stirred.
---
The next day, the moon didn’t rise.
Not visibly. Not fully.
It appeared as a halo behind clouds, red as blood, veiled.
The pack murmured. Wolves howled with unease.
Celeste stood outside the camp’s edge, staring up.
“They know,” she said.
Kael joined her. “Who?”
“The Elders. The ones who erased us. The ones who think I’m just a spark they can extinguish.”
He took her hand. “You’re not a spark.”
She looked at him.
“You’re a flame.”
---
In the halls of the Pack Council, a mirror cracked.
The High Elder stared into it, face tight.
“She remembers,” he said.
“What now?” a shadowed voice asked.
“We test her. We push her. If she survives… then she is meant to lead.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then she dies.”
Outside the chamber, a messenger ran.
“The Shadeborn are ready.”
The Elder smiled.
“Then let the moon tremble.”
- Writer
