Legend of the Moon Goddess (ENGLISH VERSION)

Chapter 3: Festival

The arched wooden bridge felt longer than usual as Serene practically flew across it, her heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—the water glistening on his bronzed shoulders, the terrifying intensity of his dark eyes, and the way his voice had rumbled like distant thunder.

By the time she reached the cottage, her cheeks were still flushed a deep, tell-tale pink. She tried to catch her breath, smoothing her hair and adjusting her cloak before pushing open the heavy cedar door.

"I’m back, Grandma," she called out, her voice higher and shakier than usual.

Hester was at the stone hearth, stirring a pot of simmering broth. She didn't look up immediately, but her nose tilted upward, her keen senses catching the air. The kitchen, usually filled with the scent of chamomile, was suddenly invaded by something new—the scent of cold mountain water, forest musk, and a trace of something powerful.

Hester turned slowly, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Serene’s face.

"You’re late," Hester said, her voice unusually grave. She walked over and took the wicker basket from Serene’s trembling hands. She looked inside and frowned. "And you’ve only brought half of what I asked for. Where is the rest of the wild ginger?"

"I... I must have missed it, Grandma," Serene lied, her gaze dropping to the floor. "The woods were... confusing today."

Hester set the basket down with a firm thud. She reached out, placing a calloused, warm hand on Serene’s forehead, then moved it to her burning cheek.

"Confusing? Or distracting?" Hester’s voice was like a low warning. "Your heart is racing like a trapped rabbit, Serene. And you smell of the Lunar Spring—but not just the water. You smell of them."

Serene’s breath hitched. She couldn't hide it. "I saw them, Grandma. At the fountain. They were... they weren't like us."

“Who?” Hester sounds frightened.

“Hmm. I think werewolves.” She answered.

Hester’s face paled, her grip on Serene’s shoulder tightening. "The wolves. I warned you, child. Those are not men; they are predators who wear the skin of men. They are the enemies of everything we are."

"But he wasn't mean," Serene whispered, the image of Wyatt’s hand on her chin flashing in her mind. "He told me to go home. He saved me from the others."

"He?” Hester's brows furrowed deeper. “Did I hear that right? A male?” Serene’s cheeks turned as red as strawberries as she nodded shyly.

“And he saved you?" Hester let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "A wolf does not save a lamb, Serene; he merely decides if he is hungry yet. You are sixteen—too young to understand the games monsters play."

Serene remained silent, unconvinced. Hester read her easily; the baby she had raised now looked like a teenager in the throes of a first crush. Hester pulled Serene closer, her eyes full of desperate, protective fear.

Hester pulled Serene closer, her eyes full of a desperate, protective fear.

"Listen to me, little one. If you seek love, seek it among your own kind. A human man is soft, safe. He will give you a home that doesn't smell of blood and silver. With a human, you can live in the sun. With them... you will only ever be a 'little bird' in a cage of shadows."

Serene became confused about how her grandmother knew it. Hester just smiled. “You are far too obvious.” She added.

Serene hugged her Grandmother. She wanted to be obedient. She wanted to believe that a "safe" human life was what she wanted. But as she looked out the small stone window toward the dark treeline, the memory of Wyatt's electric touch made the idea of a "safe" life feel incredibly cold and empty.

"Stay away from the spring, Serene," Hester commanded, her voice turning to steel. "If you go back, I cannot protect you from the heart you are trying to break."

The years flowed by like the silver waters of the falls, and Serene had fully grown into a woman of breathtaking grace, her mysterious black eyes holding a depth of intelligence that the quiet woods could no longer satisfy.

She loved Hester, and she loved the stone cottage, but a quiet fire had begun to burn in her chest—a need to be independent, to see the world beyond the mist, and to prove she could survive on her own.

"I have to go, Grandma," Serene said one evening, her voice soft but filled with a new, unshakable resolve. "I need to find my own way. I want to move into the town."

“Are you sure?” Serene just nodded.

Hester’s heart sank. To her, the nearby town of Oakhaven was still too close to the enemy territories, yet too full of people who wouldn't understand Serene’s innocence. But she saw the stubborn spark in Serene’s eyes and knew she couldn't hold her back forever.

"The journey of your life finally begins," Hester whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She packed Serene a small bag and tucked a pouch of silver coins into her hand. She thinks this is enough for her to live in Oakhaven. She kissed her forehead. "Go, then. But remember what I told you: the world is not as gentle as this glade." Hester reminded her.

“I will remember that Grandma. I will leave early in the morning.” She softly said and wiped her tears. Hester smiled then pinched her cheeks. “Go then and rest.” Serene hugged her and went to her bedroom. She closed her eyes trying to sleep. Tomorrow will be her new beginning.

The morning of Serene’s departure was draped in a heavy, gray fog. Her bags were packed, and ready to go.

“Before you leave Serene, sit for a moment,” Hester said, her voice unusually low and thick with a gravity Serene didn't quite understand. She pointed to a sturdy wooden chair by the hearth.

Serene obeyed, offering a small, curious smile. “Is this for a final blessing, Grandma?”

“Something like that,” Hester murmured. She stood behind Serene, her fingers steady despite the fear hammering in her chest. She reached for a small, stone vial hidden in a secret crevice of the chimney. Inside was a shimmering, charcoal-gray powder that smelled of rain and ancient minerals.

Without a word, Hester gently lifted the back of Serene’s shirt. Serene felt the cool air hit her skin, but she didn't move, trusting the woman who had raised her.

Hester stared at the skin in Serene’s sacral region. There, hidden from the world, was the birthmark—a shimmering, silver-white crescent that seemed to pulse with a light of its own. It was a mark of the highest lineage, a sign that would scream her identity to any enemies who saw it.

Hester’s heart ached. Not yet, she thought. The world isn't ready for you yet.

She carefully sprinkled the magic powder over the mark. As the grains touched Serene’s skin, she felt a sudden, sharp chill—a coldness that seeped deep into her bones for a fleeting second.

Hester watched as the silver light of the mark faded, turning a dull, muddy brown. To anyone else, it now looked like nothing more than an old, faint scar or a common blemish. The powder didn't just hide the color; it acted as a seal, dampening the "inner glow" that Serene had possessed since birth.

“There,” Hester whispered, smoothing the fabric of the shirt back down. “A little something to keep the road dust away and keep you grounded.”

Serene stood up, rubbing her arms. “It felt so cold for a second. Is it a protective charm?”

“It is a veil, my girl,” Hester said, her eyes searching Serene’s violet ones. “Go to the town. Build your life. Stay among the humans, for they are safe and predictable. A human man will give you a life of peace, and that is what I want for you.”

Serene didn’t argue anymore because she knew her grandmother’s hatred of other creatures was still unquestionable to her. She didn’t know the reasons but all she knows that ever since she was a child her grandmother always said that werewolves, hunters, and vampires were all human enemies. They were powerful and we, humans are ordinary. They could kill us anytime they want like predators and preys so don’t give them a chance to run with them.

“But why didn’t Wyatt have a chance to do that?” She still asked in her mind.

Hester walked her to the door, her hand resting protectively on Serene's back, right over the hidden mark. “Remember, Serene: stay in the light of the town. Do not wander near the mountains. The journey of your life begins today—make sure it is a quiet one.”

Serene nodded, hugging Hester one last time before stepping out into the mist. She felt lighter, ready to be independent, ready to conquer the world.

By the time the afternoon sun began to dip behind the sharp peaks of the mountains, Serene was exhausted. Her arms ached from the weight of her heavy leather bags, the straps digging into her shoulders through her cloak. Her long walk from the forest edge had left her dusty and drained, but more than anything, she was starving.

“So this is Oakhaven?” She mumbled. The town of Oakhaven was a dizzying blur of cobblestones, hanging flower baskets, and the constant hum of life. For someone who had spent her entire life in a silent fortress of stone and moss, the sheer volume of the world was overwhelming.

The scent of roasting meat and fresh yeast drifted through the air, leading her toward the town square. She stopped in front of a cozy-looking tavern called The Rusty Anchor. It was a sturdy building with amber light glowing in the windows and a sign that promised "Warm Meals and a Soft Rest."

Serene took a deep breath, adjusted her grip on her luggage, and pushed open the heavy oak door.

The interior was filled with the low rumble of laughter and the clinking of ale mugs. It was warm, smelling of woodsmoke and savory stew—a far cry from the chamomile and cedar of home. She felt a hundred eyes flicker toward her as she entered. Even covered in road dust, her beauty was a jarring sight in a place like this.

She found a small, secluded table in the corner, dropping her bags with a heavy thud that made her sigh in relief. A middle-aged waitress with a sharp bun and a busy apron scurried over.

"You look like you've walked halfway across the kingdom, dearie," the woman said, wiping the table with a quick hand. "What can I get for you? The beef stew is fresh, and the bread just came out of the oven."

"The stew and bread, please," Serene said, her voice soft and melodic, making a few men at the nearby bar turn their heads. "And some cool water."

As the waitress hurried away, Serene leaned back, her muscles finally beginning to uncoil. She reached up to rub the sacral region of her back, feeling a strange, dull throbbing right where Hester had applied the powder. It wasn't painful, just a faint, rhythmic pulse—like a heartbeat that didn't belong to her.

She ignored it, attributing it to the strain of carrying her bags. She looked out the window at the townspeople passing by. They looked so ordinary.

"Here you go, Miss. Eat up," the waitress returned, setting a steaming bowl and a thick slice of buttered bread before her. She thanked her and paid her one silver coin. The woman just smiled and bowed her head for respect.

When the waitress started accompanying other customers. Serene didn't need to be told twice. She picked up her spoon, her mind finally quieting as she took her first bite.

“Hmm, delicious!” she complimented.

For a moment, the warmth of the beef stew had barely settled in Serene’s stomach. She rested for a while and then when she could finally feel up to do her task. She reached her heavy bags, stood up, and left the place intent on finding an inn before the sun vanished completely. She looks around trying to figure out where she will start.

She pouted. The golden light of the tavern had been a lie. It’s been hours and there is no one in the inn.

As soon as Serene stepped back out onto the cobblestones of Oakhaven, the reality of the coming night hit her like a bucket of ice water. The sunset had long since bled out of the sky, leaving behind a bruised purple darkness that felt heavy and unfamiliar.

She stood on the street corner, her breath hitching in the cold air. The town, which had seemed so charming and welcoming just an hour ago, was now a labyrinth of locked doors and dying lanterns. One by one, the shop signs were being taken down, and the shutters were being latched for the night.

"Excuse me," Serene whispered, stopping a man who was hurrying past her with his coat collar turned up. "Is there an inn nearby? The Rusty Anchor said they were full."

The man didn't even slow down, barely sparing a glance at the girl with the heavy bags and tired, eyes. "Try the north side. Though with the festival coming up, you’ll be lucky to find a stable, let alone a bed."

Serene’s heart sank. She adjusted the straps of her heavy leather bags, which now felt like they were filled with lead. She began to walk, her boots clicking rhythmically against the stone.

She wandered past The Silver Leaf, but it was dark. She tried two more boarding houses, but both had small, hand-written signs in the windows: NO VACANCY.

The further she walked, the more the "safe" town of Oakhaven began to feel like a trap. The streetlamps grew further apart, and the shadows of the overhanging buildings seemed to stretch toward her. Her independence, the thing she had fought so hard for, suddenly felt like a heavy burden. She was alone, exhausted, and the mountain wind was beginning to howl through the alleyways.

She stopped in the middle of a deserted square, her fingers numb as she clutched her bags. A single tear escaped, hot against her frozen cheek.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself, though her voice lacked conviction. "I just need to find a place."

“North side that's what the man said,” she mumbled trying to cheer her up.

Her eyes immediately glowed up and she stopped crying when the narrow path opened into the Great Plaza, and for a moment, Serene was blinded. Hundreds of lanterns hung like low-flying stars across the square. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, mulled wine, and pine needles. This was the Full Moon Festival that the man was talking about. It's like a celebration of life, power, and the changing seasons.

Music from lutes and drums thrummed through the cobblestones, vibrating in Serene's tired feet. She stood at the edge of the crowd, clutching her heavy bags, feeling smaller than ever. People in fine furs and colorful cloaks pushed past her, laughing and dancing, completely unaware of the woman who was struggling just to stand.

Her gaze drifted toward the center of the plaza, where a large stone dais was raised. A group of men stood there, draped in dark leathers and heavy furs. They didn't move like the townspeople; they stood with a terrifying, predatory stillness that made the crowd instinctively give them space.

Serene’s breath caught in her throat. Familiar faces.

She recognized them instantly. The boisterous Migs was there, older and broader; Xavier was leaning against a pillar, his smile sharper than she remembered; and Eurae stood tall, his eyes scanning the crowd with lethal efficiency. They had grown from boys into seasoned warriors, their raw energy now tempered into something much more dangerous.

But then, the crowd parted, and her heart didn't just skip a beat—it stopped.

Standing in the center was the man from the fountain. Wyatt.

The years had been more than kind to him; they had forged him into a king. He was taller now, his frame more massive, his shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the mountains. He wore a dark tunic fastened with silver buckles, and a heavy wolf-skin cloak was draped over one shoulder. His face had lost its boyish softness, replaced by a rugged, chiseled jawline and a scar that ran faintly across his temple, making him look breathtakingly mature.

He was listening to an Elder speak, his expression a mask of cold, stern authority. He looked like a man who had never known fear—and a man who had forgotten how to smile.

As if sensing a shift in the air, Wyatt’s head snapped toward the edge of the crowd.

Serene couldn't move. She couldn't hide. She stood there with her dusty cloak and her heavy bags, a lone violet flower in a storm of gray.

Across the sea of people, through the smoke of the lanterns and the roar of the music, their eyes met.