The town of Alderbridge looked like any other sleepy human settlement—cobblestone sidewalks, shuttered shops with sun-faded signs, and a quaint town square that hadn't seen excitement in decades. But Elara felt it the moment her boots touched the pavement. The wind carried a whisper. A warning. Something ancient, something wrong.
She adjusted the hood of her gray jacket, pulling it low to cover the silver glint in her eyes. Here, among humans, her magic would need to sleep. For now. The pulse of the Moon still beat in her chest, but she buried it under layers of calm.
Caden had insisted she go alone.
"This isn't pack territory," he'd said, standing by the edge of the forest with worry shadowing his sharp features. "If anything goes wrong—"
"Then I'll handle it," she'd cut in. "I need answers. If something about this town is tied to the prophecy, I have to see it for myself."
Now, with the crisp autumn air brushing against her skin and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifting from a nearby vendor, Elara felt the distance between the wild and the mundane more sharply than ever. She had crossed a line.
She entered a small bookshop tucked between a bakery and an antique store. A bell chimed softly overhead. The place smelled like paper, dust, and something faintly metallic—blood, she realized. Old. Faint. But not forgotten.
"Can I help you?" asked a warm voice.
Elara turned. A man stood behind the counter, wiping ink from his hands. Early thirties, lean, with sun-browned skin and tired green eyes. There was something familiar about him. Not his face—but the way he stood. Alert. Like a wolf in human skin.
"I'm just looking," she said, careful with her words.
He nodded. "Most people are."
There was a silence. Not uncomfortable, but watchful. Elara moved toward a shelf labeled Local Histories. Her fingers skimmed the spines, searching not for titles but for that tingle. The pull of magic hidden among paper.
One book caught her eye—"The Lost Tribes of Alderbridge." She pulled it down. As she flipped through the yellowed pages, her breath caught.
A sketch. A familiar symbol.
The Mark of the Moon.
Before she could react, the man was at her side.
"You're not from here," he said softly. Not a question.
Elara closed the book, spine snapping tight. "Neither are you."
Their eyes locked. The air thickened.
He smiled faintly. "I used to be."
Elara's heart thudded. She stepped back just slightly, keeping the book clutched to her chest.
"Who are you?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked back behind the counter, reached beneath it, and pulled out a small glass jar filled with dried leaves—wolf's bane. He set it on the table between them as if it were a test.
"You can call me Luc," he said. "And don't worry, that's old stock. No longer potent. Just a relic for tourists who like spooky stories."
Elara's eyes didn't leave the jar. "You know what I am."
Luc leaned on the counter, eyes never leaving hers. "I knew what you were the moment you walked in. But what you are now… I'm still figuring that out."
Her grip on the book tightened.
"Relax," he added quickly. "I'm not here to out you. If anything, I've been waiting."
That stopped her. "Waiting?"
Luc nodded, then glanced toward the door. "Not here. Come back tonight, after sundown. There's a place—an old chapel on the edge of town. I think you'll want to see it."
Elara hesitated, instincts prickling. "Why should I trust you?"
Luc's expression darkened for just a heartbeat—enough to reveal something buried deep. Pain. Loss. Regret.
"Because I knew your mother."
It was like the room stopped breathing.
"What?" she whispered.
Luc stepped back, already putting space between them. "Midnight. Don't be late."
He vanished through a curtain behind the counter, leaving Elara with the weight of a name she hadn't heard in years—her mother—and a town suddenly pulsing with secrets.
The chapel stood at the town's edge like a forgotten relic, shrouded in ivy and shadow. Its steeple was cracked, the stained glass shattered long ago, yet the air around it felt charged—thicker, humming with hidden energy.
Elara approached just after midnight, as promised. The moon hung high and full, veiled by wisps of cloud. Her footsteps were silent, but her heart was loud in her chest. She pushed open the heavy wooden door.
Inside, candles flickered, casting soft light across the broken pews. At the altar stood Luc, cloaked now in a long coat, the collar turned up.
"You came," he said, as if surprised.
"I need answers," Elara replied. "You said you knew my mother."
He nodded, walking toward a raised dais at the front of the chapel. "She came here once. Before you were born. Before the kingdom fell."
Elara's breath hitched. "Why?"
Luc knelt and pressed his palm to a hidden groove in the stone. With a low rumble, the floor shifted. A panel slid open to reveal a staircase descending into darkness.
"She was looking for something buried," he said. "Same as you."
Without waiting, he began down the steps.
Elara hesitated only a moment before following.
The air below was cold and damp, thick with the scent of earth and old magic. The stairwell opened into a chamber lit by bluish flame. On the far wall, symbols glowed faintly—runes in a language she couldn't read, but somehow understood.
"What is this place?" she asked.
Luc's voice echoed low. "A vault of the old bloodlines. A sanctuary. A warning."
He stepped to the wall, tracing one rune in particular. "Your mother left a piece of herself here. Her memories. Her truth."
Elara moved closer, heart pounding. As she reached out, her fingers brushed the rune—and the world exploded into light.
Elara fell—not through space, but through time.
Light enveloped her, swirling with fragments of sound—voices, howls, whispers in a language older than the forest. Then, it cleared, and she stood in a moonlit glade. The trees were taller, the air richer with magic.
At the center stood a woman.
Tall. Regal. Her hair was silver, braided down her back, and her eyes—Elara's eyes. She turned, and smiled.
"Elara," she whispered.
Elara's throat closed. "Mother?"
The woman approached, her hands warm as they touched Elara's cheeks. "You've come farther than I dared hope. The path is dangerous, but the blood remembers. You are stronger than I ever was."
"I have so many questions," Elara said. "Why did you leave? What am I becoming?"
Her mother stepped back, gesturing to the moon above. "You carry the Mark because it chose you. Not just for your bloodline, but for your heart. What you are becoming is balance—between human and wolf, magic and earth, light and shadow."
Elara's chest ached. "I don't know if I'm ready."
"You don't have to be," her mother said softly. "You just have to be true."
The scene shimmered. Cracks of golden light formed in the sky.
"Wait!" Elara called. "There's more I need to—"
But her mother was fading, her voice echoing like wind: "Follow the flame that doesn't burn. Trust the one with the shattered howl."
And then everything was gone.
Elara gasped as she returned to the underground chamber, stumbling back from the rune wall. Her skin was slick with sweat, and her hands trembled.
Luc caught her before she fell.
"You saw her," he said quietly.
Elara nodded, swallowing hard. "She left a message. A riddle. Something about a flame that doesn't burn. And a shattered howl."
Luc frowned, his expression darkening. "Then we're running out of time."
Luc helped her to her feet, steady but tense. "We should go. If someone else felt that surge—"
A deep growl interrupted him.
Elara froze. The sound came from the staircase.
Luc stepped in front of her, his body shifting subtly—shoulders squaring, hands flexing. "They followed you."
A dark figure emerged at the top of the steps. Then another. And another.
Three wolves, fur matted and eyes glowing crimson. Rogues.
"Move," Luc whispered, guiding her toward the far wall. "There's another exit. If we're lucky—"
One of the rogues lunged.
Luc met it mid-air with a roar, half-shifting as claws burst from his hands. The two crashed into the ground, growling and snapping. Another rogue bounded down, charging for Elara.
She reacted on instinct.
The moon's power surged up her spine, her bones humming. Her eyes flared silver as she threw her hands out. A wave of energy burst from her, knocking the rogue back against the stone wall with a crunch.
Luc had pinned his attacker, blood on his lip, but the last rogue was circling.
"I've got him!" Elara shouted.
"No," Luc grunted. "I do."
With a blur of motion, he shifted fully—fur bristling, a massive black wolf in the glow of the chamber's runes. He tore into the rogue, teeth flashing, and Elara couldn't look away. He moved like shadow and fire, precise and relentless.
When the dust settled, the rogues were gone—either fled or fallen. Luc shifted back, breathing hard.
"They knew you were coming," he said. "Someone's watching Alderbridge. You were followed."
Elara wiped blood from her temple, her heart still racing. "I have to warn the others. The pack."
Luc nodded grimly. "And I need to find out who let them in. Alderbridge was supposed to be neutral."
He met her eyes. "But one thing's clear—whatever your mother left behind, it's only part of what's coming. And you're right in the center of it."
The town was quiet as they emerged from the chapel. The streets of Alderbridge were dark, the night stretched thin by tension. Not even the wind stirred.
Elara stood in the doorway, blood drying on her sleeve, her mind spinning.
Luc stepped beside her, voice low. "You can't stay here. Not now."
She nodded slowly. "I wasn't planning to."
He hesitated. "But you'll come back?"
Elara looked up at him, searching his face. There was something steady in him—something wounded, yet unwavering. A spark of something she hadn't expected to find in a stranger. Or perhaps… in someone not so strange.
"I will," she said. "There's more here. More she left for me."
Luc's mouth quirked in a shadow of a smile. "I'll be here."
They parted without a goodbye.
Elara slipped into the woods at the edge of town, her body aching, her heart full. The vision of her mother lingered like a lullaby in her thoughts. Her words echoed still:
Follow the flame that doesn't burn. Trust the one with the shattered howl.
The meaning twisted around her like fog. But she didn't need to understand it yet. She only needed to keep going.
By the time she reached the forest's heart, the moon had dipped behind the trees, and the scent of her people reached her on the wind. Caden would be waiting. The pack would want answers.
But what she carried now was more than answers. It was legacy. It was fire. And it had only just begun to burn.