Chapter 2 Daughter of the Moon

The cold bit into Arya's skin as she lay on the forest floor, her limbs trembling from more than just the night air.

Everything inside her felt... wrong.

Or was it right?

A strange warmth pulsed through her veins, coiling in her chest like a second heartbeat. Her wolf paced within her, restless, as if sensing something monumental was about to unfold.

Then came the voice again-soft, ancient, and undeniably real.

"Daughter of the Moon, you have been broken to be reborn."

Arya gasped, her hands clawing into the earth as pain tore through her spine. Her bones shifted, cracked, stretched-yet she wasn't shifting into her wolf form. This wasn't a normal transformation.

It felt like her body was splitting open to make room for something... greater.

White-hot energy flared behind her eyes, blinding her.

She screamed.

And then-darkness.

---

When she opened her eyes again, the moon had lowered in the sky, and the forest around her shimmered faintly with silver mist. Arya sat up slowly, her breathing ragged, her body sore but... different.

Her senses were sharper. Every leaf, every whisper of wind, every heartbeat in the distance-it was all clear.

Her reflection in a pool of water nearby caught her attention.

She gasped.

Her eyes, once soft hazel, now glowed a faint silver under the moonlight. Her skin held a radiant sheen, and strange markings-barely visible-flickered along her collarbone.

Symbols. Like moon runes.

What... what am I?

She remembered the voice. "Daughter of the Moon." The words chilled her now, yet filled her with strength she didn't understand.

Arya stood, swaying slightly, and looked up at the moon. Its glow no longer hurt her-it calmed her. Empowered her.

Then something snapped behind her. A twig.

She turned, muscles tensing, eyes narrowing.

A rogue wolf stood several feet away, eyes glowing red, fur matted with blood. It growled lowly, crouching, ready to pounce.

Arya didn't move. She didn't even flinch.

When it lunged, she raised her hand on instinct-and the wolf froze midair.

Literally froze.

A silvery force pushed from her palm, slamming the beast into a nearby tree with unnatural strength. It whimpered and scrambled away, tail tucked.

Arya stared at her hand, heart racing.

What... did I just do?

She'd never been trained. Never been a warrior. Yet she'd just stopped a full-grown rogue wolf with a flick of her hand.

It was no accident. Something inside her had changed.

Something had awakened.

And for the first time in her life... she didn't feel helpless.

She felt powerful.

She felt dangerous.

The forest hadn't been kind.

Its shadows were cold, and its winds whispered cruel truths to anyone broken enough to listen. Arya had stumbled through mud and bramble, barefoot, bleeding, shivering. The rejection had torn more than just her pride-it had shattered her bond, her sense of self. She was a ghost in her own skin.

She didn't know how long she wandered.

Days. Maybe weeks.

Her body had stopped keeping count when hunger became normal and sleep came only in stolen moments beneath trees.

Then came the fever.

Her vision blurred. Her limbs burned. Her skin broke out in a cold sweat that soaked her clothes and made the forest spin every time she moved. When she finally collapsed near a riverbank, she welcomed the darkness.

Let it take me.

Let it end.

But it didn't.

When Arya next opened her eyes, she wasn't lying in the mud.

She was in a cave-warm, dry, and lit by the soft flicker of flames. The scent of herbs filled the air. She blinked slowly, unsure if this was death or a dream.

"You're not dead," a voice said gently.

She turned her head with effort.

An old man was kneeling beside her, stirring something in a clay bowl. His beard was long and streaked with gray, his eyes sharp but kind. He wore patchwork robes made of fur, bone, and strange fabrics she couldn't name.

"Who are you?" she croaked.

"Someone who's been waiting for you," he said simply.

That made no sense.

But nothing in her life made sense anymore.

She drifted back into unconsciousness, but this time, she wasn't afraid.

---

Days passed. Maybe weeks.

Arya slowly regained her strength. The old man, who introduced himself only as Thalen, fed her wild root stew and made her drink teas that tasted like dirt but cleared her lungs. He spoke little, except when chanting to the moon or humming strange songs to the fire. Yet there was a comfort in his presence.

When she was strong enough to sit up and speak, she asked him, "Why did you save me?"

Thalen looked at her thoughtfully, then gestured to the markings drawn on the walls of the cave. Symbols. Moons. Wolves. Stars.

"Because you're not just a broken girl," he said. "You are Moonborn"

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means your soul is tied to more than this world," Thalen said. "You are touched by the old magic. The Moon gifted you strength and vision-but she also placed you behind a veil. Until you are ready."

Arya stared at him. "I don't feel gifted. I feel cursed."

He smiled, but there was sadness in it.

"That's what they always feel, before the power comes."

---

The training began slowly.

At first, it was just meditation-long hours sitting by rivers, learning to listen to the water, to feel the pull of energy through the earth. Then came the movement: balance on logs, speed between trees, breath control through pain.

Thalen taught her about her wolf-how to feel the shift without fear, how to let it guide her instead of battling it. Her inner wolf had gone quiet since the rejection, but under Thalen's care, it stirred again-tentative, but alive.

"What did you see in me?" she asked one night.

They sat by the fire, moonlight pouring into the cave mouth.

"You were wrapped in pain, but beneath it was fire," Thalen said. "I've seen that fire before. Long ago. It belongs to those chosen by the Moon Circle."

Arya's brow creased. "You know of the Circle?"

"I was once one of them," he said quietly. "Before they cast me out for questioning fate."

She looked at him with new eyes.

"But you never stopped believing in it?"

"I stopped believing in fate as a fixed road," Thalen said. "But I believe in people who rewrite their own path."

Arya felt the truth settle into her bones.

That night, under the full moon, she shifted fully for the first time since her exile. Her wolf howled-not in pain, but in rebirth.

---

2 Years passed.

Thalen taught her more than how to survive. He taught her how to see.

To recognize a lie behind kind eyes. To sense the shift in someone's heartbeat when they planned to betray. To draw power from silence, not just sound.

She grew stronger-physically, mentally, spiritually.

But strength does not stop loss.

Thalen had been coughing more. Weaker each season. And one morning, she found him sitting still by the river, eyes closed, a soft smile on his lips.

He never opened them again.

Arya buried him beneath the twisted roots of the oldest tree in the forest-the one where he first showed her how to call her magic.

She didn't cry at first.

But that night, when the wind howled through the trees and the fire refused to light, she whispered, "Thank you," and let the tears fall.

---

She didn't return to the world immediately.

Not until the dreams started-visions of a pack on fire, a boy with storm-gray eyes, and a voice whispering her name over and over like a plea.

Kael.

When she returned, it wasn't as the shattered girl who had fled.

It was as a soldier. A stranger. A ghost with purpose.

And though she wore a mask, the fire within her-Thalen's fire-had never burned brighter.

---

---

Back in the Pack

Miles away, Kael jolted awake in his bed, a cold sweat clinging to his skin. His heart was racing.

A strange pain had slithered into his chest moments ago. Not the kind that came from wounds or nightmares, but something else-like the mate bond had twitched... and burned.

That's not possible, he told himself. He had rejected her. The bond was supposed to be broken.

So why now... did he feel it again?

He got up and walked to the window, looking out at the moon, frowning.

Something was wrong.

Or maybe something... was returning.