Lucien Draven led Elena through the wilderness in silence, the sun cresting the jagged peaks of the Carpathians behind them. Fog hung low in the valleys, curling around pine branches like ghostly fingers. By the time they reached the citadel, Elena was half-frozen, her muscles aching and her mind whirling.
She expected a ruin. Something abandoned and haunted like the rest of the forest. Instead, what rose before her was a fortress carved into the side of the mountain—grim, ancient, alive. The stone was veined with silver. Towering walls loomed behind thick iron gates. Fires crackled in iron braziers, their smoke curling into the mist.
The air changed when they crossed through the gate. Heavier. Charged. Like stepping into a place where time held its breath.
Inside, Lycans moved with purpose—men and women in leather and furs, some half-shifted with glowing eyes or clawed hands. Some paused to stare at her openly, others whispered behind palms or simply turned away. She didn't belong here. That truth pressed on her with every step she took.
Lucien kept his pace steady beside her, radiating a calm authority that made others shift aside instinctively. Elena clung to that presence like a lifeline.
At the heart of the stronghold, a woman waited.
Sera. The Beta.
Her silver-streaked hair was pulled into a braid tight enough to look painful. Her posture screamed discipline, and her eyes were the color of frost. She didn't bow. She didn't speak to Elena at all.
Instead, she addressed Lucien directly.
"She wears the Queen's pendant."
"She does."
"Then she is either a harbinger or a threat."
"She stays," Lucien said coolly. "Until we know which."
Sera didn't argue. But her gaze lingered on Elena with a quiet, cold warning.
They gave her a room near the north tower—small, stone, and surprisingly warm. Furs covered the bed and walls, and a small hearth burned steadily. A carved bowl of herbs smoked on a shelf, its scent oddly calming.
She wasn't confined, but she wasn't free either. Two guards stood at the end of the hallway day and night. When she asked to leave the citadel, they said the king hadn't given permission.
Elena explored what she could—an open courtyard with sparring Lycans, a shrine to the Moon Goddess, a library carved into the side of the rock. The texts were ancient, many in languages she didn't recognize.
Each night, Lucien came to her. Sometimes for only minutes. Other times for hours.
He asked about wars. Empires. Political shifts and names she hadn't thought of since her university lectures. She answered carefully, omitting anything that might change the course of time too drastically. But he was clever—he read between her silences.
"You're not from here," he said one night, watching her from the window as snow began to fall outside. "Not just this place. This *time.*"
"No," she admitted. "I don't belong here."
"But you do," he said softly. "The land knows you. The wolves feel it."
He turned then and added, "I feel it."
The court was old. Bound by laws older than memory. The Lycans followed ancient traditions, ruled by blood, battle, and loyalty to the Moon Goddess. Every full moon was sacred. Every Alpha swore an oath of protection—not just to the pack, but to the land itself.
And now they whispered that the Queen's relic had returned. That perhaps she had returned with it.
Elena learned of the Queen through overheard stories—tales of a woman powerful enough to tame the wildest beast, loved by the first Lycan king, feared by the humans who hunted her. She had vanished in blood and fire during a red eclipse and was said to rise again when the balance of the world teetered.
That tale used to sound like myth.
Now Elena wasn't so sure.
One afternoon, she stood in the inner courtyard alone, her breath visible in the cold air. She gripped the pendant around her neck, feeling it pulse with warmth.
A child—barely ten, with wild curls and golden eyes—approached her slowly. Not afraid. Curious.
"You smell like moonlight," the girl said.
Elena crouched. "Is that good?"
The child tilted her head. "It's not bad. But it means you're not *just* human."
That night, Lucien visited again. This time, he didn't ask about the future.
He stepped into the firelight and spoke in a low, reverent voice. "You carry the mark of the witch," he said. "One whose power can shift the balance of our world."
"I don't have any powers," Elena replied, even as the pendant warmed in her hand. "I'm just a historian."
Lucien studied her for a long moment. "Then your history is darker than you know."
Elena's breath hitched. "Why am I here?"
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell smoke and pine on his skin.
"Because the past and future are not separate. They are twined like roots beneath the earth. And *you*—Moonborn or witch or whatever else you are—are now a part of this place."
He reached out and touched the pendant, just briefly.
"And because the fate we face... begins and ends with you."