Shards of the Moon

Kaela's POV

The dream came again.

Same crimson moon. Same cold hands dragging me under.

The first morning air caused my immediate gasp as beads of sweat soaked my body. The early day temperature remained cold even as I rose from the bed. Air of the Wind Kingdom's highlands. The grip of my hands tried to squeeze my throat while they remembered swimming movements. My chest feels the residual effect of swallowing water inside my dream. Lungs. A mere vision was all it turned out to be as I refused to believe it happened. For the thousandth time. Just a dream-but dreams don't leave bruises. Not ones like the silverly mark beneath my collarbone that pulsed when I was afraid.

The mark I never told anyone about.

I rose from the straw mattress to clean the dust from my basic cotton clothing. Light passed through the wooden window shutters to create golden patches in the small room where Mother Elya and I lived together in the village. The pulse of my heart continued while the aromas of crushed medicine leaves and warm baking mix helped me regain my composure. This was my life. Simple. Safe. Quit.

At least, it had been-until the dreams started two moons ago.

"Kaela!" Mother Elya's voice filtered through the doorway. "I need your hands on the salves. The merchant's boy took a spill."

"Coming!" I called back, smoothing my hair and wrapping my shawl tighter around me. I tried to ignore the itch of the mark on my skin, the way it thrummed every time I was near someone injured. Like a pulse that didn't belong to me.

By mid-morning, I was bent over the boy's ankle, gently applying a balm of mountain root and sage. He winced but didn't cry. I whispered calming words like Elya taught me, but something inside me stirred.

I could heal him. I didn't need the balm.

The thought hit me like a whisper from somewhere else-deep, ancient, wrong. Dangerous.

I swallowed hard and kept working with the herbs instead. I wasn't like the Spirit-bearers of old. Those people were myths, stories whispered to children on long winter nights. People who glowed with power were born under the Moon's blessing. The Spirit Princess-the Moon Shard-they said she vanished twenty years ago.

I was just Kaela. Nobody. Found half-dead in the forest at age five. Raised by a healer. No past, no future.

Except... something changed that day.

That evening, a stranger staggered into the village. Bloodied. Barely conscious. His cloak was scorched; one arm twisted at a sickening angle. The villagers gathered, fearful, whispering that a battle had broken out in the north.

"He needs a real healer," Elya muttered, her hands trembling. "This is beyond my skill."

Before I knew it, I stepped forward, heart pounding, palms tingling with a strange light. I pressed my hands against his chest. I didn't even know why-I just knew I had to.

The light poured from me like water breaking a dam.

The wound closed.

Gasps. Whispers. Someone cried "Spirit magic!" and the world tilted beneath me.

I collapsed.

When I woke up, the stranger was gone, Elya looked afraid of me, and I knew nothing would ever be the same again.

Somewhere far away, a prince with fire in his blood would soon see a vision of my face glowing with power.

And he would come for me.

Rael's POV

The flames crackled like impatient soldiers, mirroring the rage simmering beneath my skin.

I stood in the war chamber of Emberhold, staring at the floating crystal projection. The image was grainy, flickering-but clear enough. A girl. Barefoot. Hair braided in the Wind Kingdom's humble style. Kneeling beside a dying man. And then... the light.

Spirit magic.

My fingers clenched at my sides.

It couldn't be.

The Moon Shard was dead. Gone. Erased by the war twenty years ago. That's what the High Priestess told us. What everyone believed.

Yet here she was. A flicker of power that hadn't been seen in decades. The same white glow I remembered from that night-the night the Spirit Queen breathed her last. The night my mother was burned alive.

General Varen stood beside me, arms folded, expression unreadable. "We intercepted the vision crystal from a Wind spy," he said. "It was sent toward the North, but our hunters snatched it. You'll notice the girl bears a royal crest-look near her collarbone."

I didn't need to. I had already seen it.

That mark... it haunted my dreams.

I turned away from the image, shoving the fury back down where it belonged. "Send scouts. Quietly. I want her captured and brought to me alive."

Varen hesitated. "Alive, Your Highness? She may be-"

"I said alive." My tone was ice. Fire and ice. Always my curse.

He bowed and left.

I stared out the arched window of the palace, watching smoke coils rise from the volcanic forges below. Emberhold was always burning. Just like me.

If she was the Moon Shard, she was the reason for my pain.

If she was just a girl, she was still dangerous. Spirit power didn't return to the world without consequence.

But... something gnawed at me as I replayed the vision.

Her face.

It wasn't the face of a sorceress or a queen.

She looked... lost. Fragile. Like she had no idea what she had done.

My mind rebelled against the softness trying to take root. I couldn't afford doubt. Not now. Not when the balance of the Five Kingdoms was tilting again.

Still, I couldn't stop watching her image in the crystal, over and over.

Not because she might be a threat.

But because deep down, in a place I refused to admit existed-

I knew that face.

Not from politics.

Not from war.

From somewhere older. Deeper.

From a dream.

Kaela's POV

A mixture of wet smoke reached my nostrils when I woke up on earth.

My body endured pain from areas which never caused discomfort to me before. Night brought forth both magical and emotional storms which left me abandoned in the destroyed village close to the Wind Clan borders. The healer's outpost became a ruin when my wild magic exploded setting everything ablaze except for the ashes and burnt herbs which left behind an oppressive feeling of guilt in my heart.

My movement was careful as I lifted my body while the bandages on my wrist rustled. Someone had tended to me.

Then I heard a rustle by the fire.

He was still here.

Ash.

Using a pieces of wood he poked at the fading fire located behind my back. The ends of his cloak drooped from his shoulders as a result of burns. The man in front of me stayed frozen in precise positions as if he was constantly prepared for assaults while I studied the harsh bone structure of his face and the deliberate movements of his shoulders.

Something about his presence brought me a feeling of serenity. And terrified me.

"You should've left," I murmured, my voice dry.

He didn't turn. "I don't leave people behind."

"Not even spirit-wielding girls who nearly blew up a village?"

He turned to observe behind him. His face reflected an amber emanation from the fire before he concealed an illuminated pain within his features. Fear? Before he displayed indifference he appeared hurt and then lost that vulnerable state.

You need to develop control in your life according to him. Your lack of self-control does not transform you into a criminal entity.

That made me laugh, bitter and raw. "You don't know what I am."

He stood, walking toward me. "Then tell me."

I shook my head. "Even I don't know."

Our eyes met as we stood opposite each other and a small transformation occurred between us. I felt an unexplained familiarity when looking at him because it felt as if we had met under different circumstances in the past which no longer exists.

He knelt beside me. "I've seen power before. But yours... it's different."

I looked at my palm, still stained with traces of silver light. "It's not just magic. It's memories. Shadows. Feelings that aren't mine."

His hand stretched toward mine before he withdrew it.

He offered help while keeping his tone quiet. "But I need you to trust me."

"You're a stranger."

After you found me there you did not flee from the situation.

I hated how right he was. A distant inner voice told me I had met him previously.

I gazed into his dark eyes which looked both burning hot and incredibly old-as no royal prince should. "You want more than my gratitude so what is your real motive?"

Ash didn't answer. Instead, he looked to the fire and then tossed another login. The flames sparked higher.

"Because I made a promise," he finally said.

"To who?"

He turned to me again, and this time, there was no mask.

"To someone I lost."

The distance between us started to crumble at that moment.

I remained ignorant about his genuine nature.

For the first time in many years, I did not feel isolated in the darkness.