Ciaras's Pov:
I blinked.
He was there—and then he wasn't.
The trees whispered, the torches crackled, but he was gone, like smoke in the wind. Only the echo of his gaze remained, imprinted on my bones, like a phantom touch I couldn't shake.
I turned slowly, my steps leaden beneath the weight of silence. No applause. No congratulations. Just the quiet shame of a girl who did not shift—who stood untouched by the moon's favor.
I heard someone murmur, "Cursed," behind me.
Not too loud
But loud enough
Then Brenna spoke
"Sleeping Beauty didn't even shift," Brenna said loud enough for the entire circle to hear.
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
I stood in the middle of the arena, heart pounding, my bare feet pressed into scorched soil. The fire that once circled the Trial ring crackled low now, dying embers casting flickers of shame across my face.
The elders didn't look at me. Not even my aunt—- Priestess Volkova—who had raised me after the fire. She kept her face hidden beneath her silver veil, her voice neutral as she turned to the next initiate.
Around me, the others shimmered with pride, still half-shifted from their transformations—golden fur, sharp claws, glowing eyes.
And I had nothing.
No shift. No howl. No wolf.
Just silence.
"Well," Brenna added with a faux pout, "maybe she's part squirrel. Or worse—human."
More laughter. Cruel and easy.
My hands balled at my sides. I stared at the ground, fighting the heat stinging behind my eyes. My blood boiled, but not from embarrassment. From something else
Then—pain.
A sudden sting flared in my right palm, sharp and bright. I sucked in a breath and looked down.
A symbol burned there, coiling across my skin in glowing crimson lines: a crescent moon bound by thorned vines. It pulsed once—alive—and then vanished, fading as if it had never been.
I blinked, breathing shallowly.
No one had seen it.
Or so I thought.
Because when I lifted my head, I saw him.
Just beyond the Trial circle, half-veiled in mist, he stood at the edge of the woods.
Tall. Still. Watching.
The man from my dream.
The one with eyes like bleeding stars.
No firelight touched him. No shadow dared obscure him. He didn't belong to this world or this moment, and yet—he was there, smiling faintly, as if this was exactly what he'd been waiting for.
My heart leapt into my throat.
And then he was gone.
The elders said nothing. They exchanged glances, silver ash glittering on their stern faces. A few frowned. One—the High Priestess, cloaked bone-white—stared too long before turning away.
I was led out in silence.
Not a word. Not a punishment. Not a name spoken.
Just shame.
And something that felt far more dangerous than failure.
Later, I sat alone in the stone-walled quarters, the heavy wooden door locked from the outside.
Outside, the pack celebrated. Howls echoed under the Blood Moon—jubilant and wild. The chosen rejoiced. The rest I forgot.
But I couldn't.
I traced the spot on my palm where the mark had burned. It felt… warm, still. Like it hadn't gone. Like it was sleeping beneath my skin.
You were never meant to be hidden.
His voice haunted me. I'd heard it in the dream, and again during the Trial, curling like smoke through my memory.
I didn't understand. But I believed it.
A knock startled me.
I froze. "Who's there?"
A pause. Then a voice, soft and low:
"Are you awake?"
I stepped quietly toward the door. "Who are you?"
No answer. Just another whisper:
"I don't have time. But listen. That mark—someone saw it. It wasn't shifter-born."
My throat tightened. "What was it then?"
"You're not broken," the voice said. "You're Moonborn."
The word made my knees weak. I grabbed the stone wall for balance.
"That's not real," I whispered. "It's a story."
A pause. Then:
"Not a story. A secret."
Footsteps echoed down the corridor, fast and retreating.
"Wait!" I hissed. "Tell me—"
But she was already gone.
The moon was still high when I slipped from my cot.
I couldn't stay locked in. Not now. Not when my blood felt like it was humming.
The corridor was dark and cold as I crept down the hall, past the elders' chambers and the feast halls. No one noticed me. No one cared.
They had already forgotten me.
I pushed open the side door and stepped into the night.
The Trial arena was silent now. The flames had long died, leaving only scorched earth and ritual ash. The air was thick with leftover incense and the faint metallic tang of spilled blood.
I stepped into the circle.
Lifted my hand into the moonlight.
At first, nothing.
Then—warmth.
The mark returned.
It shimmered red across my palm, flickering like starlight caught in water. The crescent moon. The thorned coil.
Real.
Alive.
I wasn't broken.
And I wasn't alone.
I felt him before I saw him.
Behind me. In the trees. The weight of his gaze was like gravity pulling my breath away.
I turned, heart pounding.
No one there.
Just silence.
But I knew he was watching.
I walked back to my quarters and closed the door, before I could take off the trial robe, my aunt came bursting in;
"Ciara don't take off ur clothes, they are coming for you"
"Who is coming for me?"
Ciara I don't have time for explanation, u need to hurry and pick up all the necessary things you need, you need to leave now "
"Why?"
"Because ur sign is a curse"
"How is it a curse?"
"Ciara for once don't ask too many questions and at least go"
I picked the necessary things I would need then we left my quarters.
On our way to the door, I could hear guards screaming from afar
"Catch them"
And my aunt I started running but before we could we were apprehended already. The guard took us high priestess' chamber.
The chamber was deep beneath the keep—carved in black stone, lit only by flickering rune-lamps and cold fire.
A crescent-shaped table sat at its center, behind it a line of shadowed figures. Guardians of ancient law. Keepers of secrets.
One of them stepped forward, his cloak trimmed with bone-thread and a seal pressed to his throat.
"Ciara Volkov," she said slowly. "Moonborn. You carry the mark we swore to erase from this world."
I stiffened. My aunt growled low in her throat beside me.
"You knew," I whispered to her.
"I suspected," she said quietly. "But I didn't think they were still watching."
The High priestess continued, circling us like we were prey. "The Moonborn bloodline died generations ago. Or so we thought. But the mark has returned. Which means…" He stopped in front of me. "So has the heir."
"The heir to what?" I asked, voice trembling.
"To the chained god beneath the moon," he said, as if it were obvious. "To the one whose blood could unravel the entire power structure we've built."
My mouth went dry.
"You were never meant to be hidden," he said, quoting the words I had heard in my dreams. "But we will decide if you were meant to rise."