Sleep abandoned Seraphina.
No matter how tightly she wrapped herself in her blanket or how many times she rolled to the cool side of her pillow, the scent from the wind lingered—sweet and ancient, like moonflowers crushed underfoot and the distant memory of cold stone halls. It haunted her, clung to her skin, wrapped around her thoughts like a binding spell.
She sat up with a sharp breath, heart pounding as if she'd been running. The room around her was dark, but not the comforting kind. Tonight, the shadows pressed closer, almost watching.
Something's changed.
She swung her legs over the side of her bed, bare feet brushing the wooden floor. Moonlight filtered through the small window above her desk, casting pale lines across the room. Her eyes drifted to the satchel hanging on the chair—the one she always packed with herbs, just in case. She didn't even remember getting up, but she was suddenly standing in front of it, fingers brushing over the worn leather straps.
The forest was calling again. Louder this time.
And Seraphina... was done ignoring it.
She didn't dress in her usual boots or cloak. There was no time. The moment she stepped outside, the cool night air greeted her like a whisper against her skin. The village of Eldenbrook was still, blanketed in the hush of midnight. No flickering lamps. No bark of dogs. Even the wind tiptoed tonight.
She moved like a shadow between homes, past the apothecary, past the old well where the stones still held her childhood laughter. And then she reached the edge—where cobblestone ended and wilderness began.
The forest loomed, vast and silver-drenched under the moonlight. Mist curled at its base like beckoning fingers. Most villagers avoided it after sunset, but Seraphina had always felt like the trees were watching her, whispering to her in some ancient, forgotten language.
Tonight, they welcomed her.
---
The deeper she went, the less time seemed to matter.
She walked barefoot across moss and root, her senses strangely sharp—each fluttering leaf, every rustle in the branches above, they all sounded like voices. Not threatening. Just... aware. The forest pulsed with life, not wild and chaotic, but purposeful. Guiding.
It was as though her dreams were unfolding around her, breath by breath.
Then she saw it.
The clearing.
It appeared without warning, as if the trees had parted just for her. Moonlight pooled across ancient stones, cracked and softened by time. A broken fountain sat in the center, long dry but still beautiful, wrapped in ivy like nature's crown. And there—standing amidst it all—was him.
The silver-eyed stranger.
Seraphina stopped at the edge, heart thundering.
He was real.
No longer a flicker in her dreams or a half-formed memory, but flesh and shadow and moonlight. His cloak moved even though the air was still, and his gaze—those eyes—locked with hers as if they had always known where to find her.
"You came," he said, voice low and smooth, like the forest itself was speaking through him.
"You called," she replied, and her own voice sounded distant, unreal.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly—not quite a smile, but something gentler. "Just like your mother."
The words hit her like a splash of cold water.
"You knew her?" Seraphina stepped forward, heart racing.
"She saved me once," he said, gaze darkening. "A long time ago. Before the forest turned. Before the curse."
She swallowed hard. "Everyone avoids talking about her. Like her name is a secret too heavy to carry."
"Sometimes names are the most dangerous things," he said quietly. "But yes, I knew Althea. She was fierce and bright. Too bright for this world."
"Where is she now?"
He didn't answer right away. His eyes—those molten silver eyes—looked far away, like seeing something she couldn't. "Gone. Like most good things."
A lump formed in Seraphina's throat. "Is she dead?"
"I don't know," he admitted, his voice suddenly tight. "The curse took much. It twists time and truth alike."
She stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking.
"Who are you?"
"I was Prince Alaric of Ravaryn," he said, dipping his head in a slow, almost reluctant bow. "Now, I am only what the curse allows me to be."
A silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.
"You're the one from my dreams," she whispered. "I've seen your eyes every night since I was a child."
"You're the reason I've woken at all," he murmured.
Her breath hitched. "Why me?"
Alaric tilted his head. "Because you're Moonborn. And the forest remembers its own."
She shivered—not from cold, but from the eerie certainty that he was right. It wasn't just her dreams or feelings anymore. Something had shifted inside her. She could feel the forest like a second skin.
Before she could respond, a sound broke the quiet—soft, but clear. A rustle in the underbrush behind her.
She turned instinctively, but the trees were still.
When she looked back, Alaric was closer.
"Something is coming," he said. "The veil's thinning has awakened more than just me. Dark things move when moonlight returns."
She searched his face. "You mean to protect me?"
"I mean to stop them from reaching you," he replied, voice low and fierce. "Even if it costs me everything."
Her pulse quickened at his words. There was a sincerity in his tone that wrapped around her like a shield.
Another rustle. Closer this time.
"You have to go," he urged. "They must not see you."
"But I have more questions—"
"There will be time. I promise."
A beat passed between them—something almost electric—and then Seraphina turned and ran.
---
She didn't stop until she saw the edge of Eldenbrook, just as the first blush of dawn kissed the sky.
Her feet were aching, her nightgown torn at the hem, her hair tangled with leaves and mist—but she didn't care. Her blood was singing.
She slipped through the back door of the apothecary, breath shallow, heart still racing from more than just the run.
The scent of rosemary and pine greeted her, grounding her back to the present.
Granny Merle stood in the kitchen, already awake, a bundle of herbs in her weathered hands.
"You smell like trouble," the old woman said without turning. "And secrets."
Seraphina paused mid-step. "Couldn't sleep."
Granny looked over her shoulder, one brow raised. "Is that what they're calling barefoot forest escapades now?"
Seraphina offered a sheepish smile. "I needed air."
"Mmm." The old woman set the herbs down and crossed her arms. "Saw him again, didn't you?"
She didn't answer.
"That boy's got a pull on you," Granny said, voice softer now. "Just like his father had on your mother."
Seraphina's head snapped up. "His father?"
Granny grimaced. "More than I meant to say."
"You knew who he was," Seraphina said, stepping forward. "You knew Alaric. You knew about the curse."
"I knew enough to be afraid of it," Granny murmured. "But fear only gets you so far. And it looks like you've already crossed the threshold."
Seraphina's heart thudded. "Then tell me the rest. All of it."
Granny Merle hesitated—then walked to a small cupboard tucked behind jars of dried herbs. From it, she pulled a small, iron-bound box and placed it on the table.
"Inside are letters your mother left for you. I swore I wouldn't open them until the signs were clear."
Seraphina stared at the box, something in her chest tightening.
"And tonight," Granny continued, "the forest gave its answer."
---
Continue...