The forest swallowed them whole.
Branches tore at Aerin's skin as they stumbled through underbrush, lungs burning with every breath. Behind them, the torches of the village glimmered like angry fireflies, and the distant shouts of hunters carried on the wind. Every instinct screamed to run faster, but every step brought the crescent mark on their chest pulsing in time with the Moon Crest's heartbeat.
"Keep up!" Nyxara snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut the night. Her shadow stretched across the silver moonlight, moving with a predator's grace. The curved blade at her side glimmered faintly, catching the occasional streak of moonlight.
"I'm trying!" Aerin gasped, stumbling over roots and loose stones. Fear clawed at their chest, but beneath it, a spark of something unnameable,the faint thrill of power,stirred.
Nyxara glanced back, eyes narrowing. "Do not falter. One misstep and you die. The Crest chooses its bearer, but the world will not wait for you to catch up."
Aerin's mind reeled. The word chosen echoed in their thoughts. Chosen. For what? To die? To wield unimaginable power? Or to destroy the world, as Nyxara had implied?
The trees thinned, revealing a small clearing bathed in silver light. Nyxara stopped abruptly, crouching low. "We rest here for a moment. You need to understand or at least start."
Aerin sank to their knees, chest heaving.
Their hands instinctively went to the mark beneath their tunic. The crescent shape throbbed violently, as though the Crest itself were alive inside them. The sensation was both terrifying and intoxicating, and Aerin found themselves trembling not just from fear, but from a strange, electric energy coursing through their veins.
"Tell me," Aerin whispered, looking at Nyxara. " what is the Moon Crest?"
Nyxara's eyes flickered with something unreadable grief, perhaps, or anger. "It is older than kingdoms, older than kings, older than the mountains themselves. It was made by Selûmira, the Moon Goddess, to maintain balance. Every era, it chooses a bearer. One. And whoever wields it becomes destiny incarnate."
Aerin swallowed hard. "Destiny for what?"
Nyxara's gaze darkened. "For war. For judgment. For blood."
The words sank into Aerin's mind like stones. They wanted to scream, to reject it, to run back to the village but even if they tried, the Crest would not let them. It pulsed under their skin, demanding acknowledgment.
A sudden rustle froze them both. Nyxara drew her blade with fluid precision, every movement a silent warning. From the shadows, two figures emerged. Not human. Not entirely. Their eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the silver light.
"Hunters," Nyxara said, voice low. "They know the Crest has awakened."
Aerin's stomach twisted. "We can't fight them!"
Nyxara's lips curved into a faint, grim smile.
"You will fight. Or you will die. And the Crest will find someone else if it survives this night."
The creatures advanced, silent but lethal, moving faster than human eyes could follow.
Aerin's heart hammered, and the Moon Crest flared. The mark on their chest burned brighter than ever, and before they could think, a surge of silver energy burst from them.
It wasn't fully controlled. A wave of light swept through the clearing, throwing the creatures back with an invisible force.
Branches snapped, stones lifted, and the air itself seemed to vibrate with raw power.
Nyxara's eyes widened, but only slightly. "Good… that's the Crest answering you.
Control it or it will control you."
Aerin staggered, exhausted, heart racing. " I don't understand it! How do I control this?"
Nyxara crouched beside them. "Control is not something you learn overnight. The Crest is not a tool it is part of you now. Your emotions feed it. Fear, anger, grief, they all shape its power. Calm it, and it obeys. Lose yourself and it destroys everything around you."
Aerin nodded, though they barely understood. Every beat of the crescent mark sent shocks of pain and energy through their body, yet beneath it, a strange thrill lingered.
Another rustle came from the shadows. This time, Nyxara didn't react. She turned to Aerin. "Run."
Before Aerin could respond, a massive black shape burst from the trees a creature like nothing they had ever seen. Its limbs bent the wrong way, eyes burning with hunger, and its roar shook the clearing.
Instinct took over. Aerin ran, heart pounding, with Nyxara close behind. But as they ran, the Moon Crest pulsed. A faint silver trail extended from the mark, weaving in the air as though guiding them.
Aerin realized, in a dizzying moment of clarity: the Crest wanted them alive. It chose them. And whatever fate awaited, there was no turning back.
They emerged from the forest onto a rocky ridge overlooking the valley. The village was in flames, torches dotting the night like dying stars. The wind carried shouts, screams, and the heavy, metallic scent of blood.
Nyxara knelt beside Aerin, her hand brushing their shoulder briefly a silent reminder that, for now, they were not alone.
"The world has changed tonight," she said softly, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "And you are at the center of it."
Aerin swallowed, chest heaving, eyes locked on the moon above. The Crescent glowed brightly, as if in response to their fear, their hope, their anger, their very heartbeat.
"I don't even know if I'm ready for this," Aerin whispered.
Nyxara's lips curved into a faint, grim smile. "No one ever is. But the Crest chose you. And now, you have no choice."
Above them, the moon bled silver. And somewhere, far away, war horns sounded, heralding the beginning of a conflict that would shake all of Elarion.
Aerin Vale, orphan of Lunaris Vale, tightened their fists. Destiny had chosen them. And whether they were ready or not they would survive.