The first thing Kian felt was the cold.
It wasn't the familiar chill of night air or the bite of wind against bare skin. It was deeper — an emptiness, the kind that hollowed from the inside out.
He opened his eyes to find the forest unrecognizable. The clearing was gone. The trees stood black and motionless, like ink sketches against a pale sky. The scent of ash clung to everything.
"Lyra," he whispered.
No answer.
He forced himself up, his body heavy, muscles trembling as if he'd been running for hours. The bond mark on his wrist still burned faintly — gold, not the usual vibrant flame, but a dull, fading ember.
"Where are you?"
The silence swallowed his voice. Even the wind dared not move.
Kian stumbled forward. His boots sank into damp earth, and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot echoed too loudly. When he reached the center of the clearing, he stopped.
The ground bore the mark of their last stand — a ring scorched into the soil, split down the middle, one side gold, the other silver. Between them, a single drop of crystal light glimmered like frozen moonfire.
He crouched, reaching toward it, but the glow pulsed sharply when his fingers brushed the air above it.
The world shuddered.
She's still connected to me.
The realization cut through him, bringing warmth and pain in equal measure. But the connection felt wrong — distorted, as though her presence came from far beyond the reach of the bond.
He closed his eyes, focusing, calling her name not aloud but through the thread that tied their souls.
Lyra.
Nothing. Then — faintly — a whisper. Not words, just a feeling: sorrow, then distance.
Kian opened his eyes, his throat tight. "You're still out there," he murmured. "But where did they take you?"
The light flickered again, responding like a heartbeat, then faded entirely, leaving him in darkness.
By the time dawn bled across the forest, Kian stood at the edge of the river that bordered his pack's territory. The water reflected a bruised sky — violet and gray. His reflection stared back, eyes shadowed, jaw tense.
Behind him, the rustle of movement signaled the others approaching.
"Alpha?" Aiden's voice broke through the haze. "You're alive."
Kian didn't turn immediately. "Barely."
"What happened?"
He exhaled, slow and uneven. "The curse broke… or changed. I don't know which."
Aiden stepped closer, hesitating. "And the Luna?"
For a moment, Kian said nothing. Then, quietly, "Gone."
The word hung between them, heavy and wrong.
"She saved us, didn't she?" Aiden said.
Kian's fingers clenched. "She saved the world. But she's lost to it now."
The younger wolf looked away, guilt clouding his features. "We'll find her, Alpha."
Kian's gaze flicked to the horizon. "If she still remembers us, she'll find me first."
Hours later, alone in his quarters, Kian sat at his desk, the room dimly lit by candles. The air smelled of pine and smoke, faint reminders of the forest outside. His wrist still glowed faintly under his skin.
He traced the mark with his thumb, the burn a dull ache now.
When he closed his eyes, he could almost see her — standing in the light, hair wild, eyes caught between fury and grief. He could still hear the echo of her last words.
Then we'll make it right.
He had no idea what that meant now.
The silence stretched until a soft click broke it. The door creaked open.
Mira, the healer, stepped inside, her expression unreadable. "You should rest," she said gently. "Your body's fighting something I don't understand."
Kian looked up at her. "It's not my body I'm worried about."
Mira hesitated, then placed a folded parchment on the table. "This was found near the border."
He unfolded it slowly. The paper shimmered faintly under the candlelight — an impossible shimmer, like moonlight trapped in ink.
Scrawled in Lyra's handwriting were three words:
"The Moon remembers."
His breath caught.
"Mira," he said, voice low, "send word to the patrols. The forest isn't finished with us."
The healer frowned. "You think she's alive?"
Kian's eyes darkened, the ember in his wrist flaring once more. "No," he said quietly. "I know she is."
He looked toward the window, where the moon had begun to rise again — faint, fractured, but whole enough to shine.