The wind had changed.
Lyra could feel it in her bones, in the soil beneath her feet. The once-gentle forest of Crescent Valley was no longer silent in peace—but in warning.
The path ahead was no longer clear. Mist curled around the trees like searching fingers, and every step Lyra took sent an echo rolling through the woods. Her pendant still glowed faintly at her chest, reacting to the presence of magic—or danger.
She walked swiftly, gripping her staff now, newly carved with moon runes at its tip—an instinct that had come after the vision of Thalen and the orb of moonlight. It wasn't just a healer's tool anymore. It was an anchor.
She was no longer just a girl from a quiet village.
The forest had known her name before she'd ever spoken it.
Hours passed. The light of the Silver Moon filtered down through the trees, its glow both a comfort and a shield. Lyra paused near a wide creek, taking a moment to drink and rest.
She could feel the pull again—subtle, but constant.
The next circle was out there.
She wasn't alone, though. She could feel that too.
She stood slowly, eyes scanning the shadows. Her fingers curled around her staff. "I know you're there," she said softly. "Show yourself."
The forest held its breath.
Then a figure stepped from the trees.
A boy—no, a young man. About her age, perhaps a little older. His cloak was dark green, stitched with bark and thorn patterns, his boots muddy and worn. He had sharp, wary eyes the color of river stones, and he held a curved blade in one hand, though he wasn't pointing it at her.
He looked as surprised as she felt.
"You're not one of the Shades," he said cautiously.
Lyra stiffened. "What are Shades?"
He took a step closer, though not aggressively. "Shadow-born. Creatures of the fallen moon. One just passed through here—scarred the trees with its rot."
"I fought one," she said. "Barely."
His brows lifted. "With no armor? No guard?"
"I had moonlight," she said simply.
That caught his attention. He lowered the blade slightly, studying her more carefully. "What's your name?"
"Lyra," she said. "And you?"
"Kael." He sheathed the blade. "Forest warden. Well—used to be. Now I just hunt what creeps where it shouldn't."
His eyes dropped to her pendant. "That light. You really carry it."
She nodded. "The moon chose me. I'm supposed to awaken the ancient circles… restore the balance."
Kael let out a low whistle. "So the stories were true."
"You know about the circles?"
He nodded slowly. "I've seen one. Broken. Dead. But the carvings are the same."
Lyra's heart quickened. "Where?"
"West. Beyond the Hollow Hills. But it's not safe. There's something old sleeping there. Something I don't think even the Shades dare disturb."
"I have to go," she said without hesitation. "Will you take me?"
Kael hesitated. "Why should I trust you?"
Lyra lifted her hand. Moonlight flowed from her fingertips, casting silver patterns onto the trees.
"Because the forest already does."
The journey to the Hollow Hills was long.
Kael proved useful—skilled at tracking, navigating by stars, and avoiding the darker parts of the forest. He rarely spoke of himself, but he asked questions about Lyra. About her magic. Her dreams. The stone circle.
Each night, they made camp beneath the stars, and Lyra practiced the melodies taught to her by the moon. Her magic was growing stronger. More controlled.
But so were the shadows.
One night, as the moon rose full above them, they heard it again—a cry in the distance. Low. Inhuman. Echoing with rage.
Kael stood immediately, blade in hand. "That's not a Shade."
Lyra frowned. "Then what?"
Kael's voice was tight. "A Moonwraith. Born from twisted light. They only wake when the balance breaks."
Lyra stood, staff glowing.
They ran toward the sound.
They found it at the base of a ruined tower, half-buried in the hill.
The creature was tall and grotesque—once human, perhaps, but now stretched and misshapen. Moonlight bled from its cracked skin, and its eyes were hollow voids.
It was clawing at the earth—digging.
When Lyra stepped into view, it stopped.
And smiled.
"The moon's voice returns…" it rasped. "The Healer's blood… at last…"
Lyra lifted her staff. "You don't belong here."
The creature shrieked. A wave of dark light slammed into her, knocking her back. Kael leapt forward, slashing at the beast, but his blade passed through it like mist.
Lyra rose, coughing, and reached deep inside—pulling on the core of moonlight Serelith had given her.
She sang.
Not a song of healing this time—but of binding.
The stones around them pulsed in response.
A circle, long-buried, began to glow beneath the soil.
The creature roared, clawing at its own chest as if the sound pained it. Lyra kept singing, her voice steady even as her legs shook.
The light erupted upward, encasing the creature in a web of silver threads.
It screamed—
—and was gone.
Silence fell.
Kael turned to her, panting. "What in the sacred sky was that?"
Lyra knelt beside the glowing runes, touching the stone gently. "A warning," she said softly. "We're running out of time."