She woke to the sound of water.
Not rushing, not roaring — breathing. The rhythm of it rose and fell like the inhale and exhale of a sleeping giant.
When Lyra opened her eyes, the sky above her shimmered silver. Not quite night, not quite dawn — an endless half-light that made every shadow seem alive.
She lay in a shallow pool that reflected a thousand stars, though there was no sky above to hold them. When she moved, ripples of light spread outward, forming words that dissolved before she could read them.
Her chest ached. Her heartbeat felt foreign — heavier, slower, as though it no longer belonged to her alone.
She sat up, wincing. "Kian?"
The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it. It felt right — familiar — but when she tried to picture him, the image flickered. A silhouette, a voice, and then nothing.
Her reflection in the water rippled again. The face that looked back was hers… and not. Her eyes glowed faintly silver, and beneath her skin, faint veins of light pulsed like moonfire.
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. "What happened to me?"
You chose.
The voice drifted through the mist around her, ancient and female, neither kind nor cruel.
Lyra turned sharply. "Who's there?"
The mist parted, and a figure emerged — tall, draped in flowing robes that shimmered like liquid starlight. Her hair was pale as frost, and her eyes glowed with the same light that burned in Lyra's veins.
"I am what remains of the Moon's will," the figure said. "You stand in the space between endings."
Lyra swallowed hard. "Between…?"
"Life and legend. Flesh and power. You broke the bond — not fully, but enough to keep the balance from collapsing."
Lyra's mind swam. "Kian— is he alive?"
The figure's expression softened, but her voice stayed distant. "He lives. But the bond no longer binds him. You are untethered now — both of you are."
The words struck harder than any blow.
"But I feel him," Lyra whispered. "Even now."
"That is not feeling. That is remembering."
The figure stepped closer, her gaze sharp but not unkind. "Memories can be bridges… or chains. Which one it becomes is up to you."
Lyra clenched her fists. "I don't understand."
"You will," the Moon's echo said, her voice lowering. "There are cracks forming in the veil. The mortal world remembers what should have been forgotten."
Lyra frowned. "Cracks?"
The air trembled. The pool beside her darkened — the stars within it flaring and fading as though suffocating.
"What's happening?"
"The balance is shifting," the echo said. "Your Alpha still carries light not meant for mortals. And there are others who would take it."
A sharp wind cut through the mist. Somewhere beyond the pool, a howl rose — not human, not wolf, but something older.
Lyra's pulse raced. "What was that?"
"Something waking," the voice said simply. "The Moon remembers its chosen vessel… and so do its enemies."
The figure began to fade, her light dimming into mist.
"Wait!" Lyra reached forward, desperate. "How do I get back? How do I find him?"
The echo paused, her fading form illuminated by the faint silver glow of the pool.
"Follow what you remember," she said. "The heart never forgets, even when the mind does."
Then the mist swallowed her completely.
Lyra stood alone.
The silence pressed in, heavy and cold. She took one slow breath, then another. The water at her feet shimmered again, forming shapes — a wolf's silhouette, a mark of gold and silver intertwined.
Her heartbeat steadied.
"Kian," she whispered, more to the wind than to herself. "If the Moon remembers… then so will I."
The pool's surface broke beneath her touch, and light surged upward, wrapping around her like a storm.
When it cleared, the mist was gone.
And Lyra was standing in the ruins of a familiar forest — one she half-remembered, one where everything had changed.