Chapter 4 Bearing Firelight

The coals glowed in the fireplace, but Aria sat wide-eyed on the end of her bed, knees to chest.

The wolf had lived.

She knew that. Not a fantasy. Not a toy of the moon. She'd seen him-black as the night, eyes like smoldering gold. His eyes had held her like a pin to earth. Not a threat. Not exactly. But a claim.

Mine, it had spoken. No words, no motion. Only existing. Frightening, old, wild.

The imprint on her collarbone still pulsed weakly.

She rose up and tied her shawl about her shoulders, padding barefoot into the great room. The coals in the hearth emitted faint orange light. The others slept. But the night hummed with tension, like a stretched-out harp string.

She knelt by the fire, scooping her hands around the warmth. Suddenly, the flames leaped up higher.

A vision struck her.

Her hand spasmed-but not before she had glimpsed it.

A circle of upright stones, half-buried in moss. Firelight dancing against a cavern wall. And in the center of it all, him-the Wolf King, kneeling with one hand planted flat on the ground, the other around something red and glowing in his fist.

Pain cut through her chest. She gasped and fell back.

The fire went out. The vision ended.

But something was different.

When she looked down at her palm, a soft ember-like pattern now on her skin-small, curling lines, not blisters but marks. Softly glowing.

As though the forest had branded her.

She staggered back, tying her hand in cloth, heart racing.

Was this the beginning of the bond the Seer had spoken of? Some ancient magic unfolding between herself and the King?

She did not want to believe it. But her body, her dreams, the fire-spoke otherwise.

You touched the moon, he'd said.

What had she awakened?

By morning, the burn on her hand was gone-but the memory was not.

She stood at the side of the well, pulling water, trying to clear her mind. Villagers rushed hither and yon, readying for the final night of the festival. Lanterns swung from fences; white ribbons tied on every tree.

"Aria."

She turned. Lila approached her, face pale and pinched. "I heard the elders," she breathed. "They said the Seer wishes to speak with you once more."

Aria's heart fell. "Why?"

"They didn't tell me. But you were the only one she touched when she blessed you. That means something."

"I don't want it to mean anything," Aria replied.

"Maybe it's too late for that," Lila breathed.

Aria couldn't answer before a low rumble swept through the village-like a growl on the wind, far away.

The villagers froze. Chickens flapped. The baker's boy dropped a loaf.

Then, nothing.

They all looked towards the woods.

But nothing moved.

Aria's blood chilled. She knew that noise. Heard it in her sleep.

It was a threat.

And a threat.

That evening, Aria went alone to the Seer's tent.

The flap swung open before she could even extend her hand.

Inside, the air smelled of herbs and smoke. Runes glowed faintly on the walls. The Seer sat cross-legged by a basin of silver water; her veil cast aside. Her eyes were milky white, but they didn't need sight to see.

"You've been marked," the Seer said without turning. "By firelight. By the bond."

Aria stepped closer, keeping her hand wrapped. "What does that mean?"

"It means the King has begun his call."

Aria winced. "I haven't agreed to anything."

"The moon does not seek permission, child. It takes. It owns."

"I'm not his," Aria panted. "I can still take another path."

The Seer looked at her, face unchanging. "Can you? When the dreams rouse you? When your blood burns in the night? When the forest bends to your path?"

Aria's lips parched. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Prepare," the Seer said softly. "You are not helpless. The ancient magic stirs in you, too. You were born under the light of the prophecy. That renders you strong-if you can discover how to use it."

Aria looked down into the basin. Water churned, then flowed outward in ripples. She saw herself... walking deeper into the forest, her skirt billowing behind her, golden fire exploding at her fingertips.

In front of her, a great black wolf stood.

Not as prey.

But as friend.

She stepped back. "No. That's not me."

The Seer smiled only.

"Not yet."

That night, fire burned in every window of elder grove, but Aria stood alone at the forest's edge.

The villagers ate and partied behind her. Music was played. Laughter echoed. But she couldn't hear it over the thud of her own heart.

The wind blew through the trees. A hoot resounded from somewhere.

She moved into the woods.

The crescent brand on her body warmed, as if recalling something.

Then-movement.

From the shadows, he came-not quite man, not quite wolf. Shadow-clad, gold eyes burning. His form trembled, half-corporeal, more suggestion than shape.

But Aria knew.

The Wolf King.

Her breath caught.

He did not speak. He merely regarded her.

She should have cried out. Run. Called for the guards.

But her feet stayed rooted.

He took one step closer.

And dipped his head-slowly, slowly.

Then vanished into mist.

Aria froze, trembling, breath fogging in the air.

Her bandaged hand throbbed like a brand.

Seared by candle flame.

And the storm no longer crept up.

It had arrived.