The morning fog hung thick over the Nocthyr Ridge, softening the jagged rocks and dark trees into shadowed shapes. Aerin Vale sat on a boulder, chest still tight with the memory of last night's terror.
The Moon Crest's mark throbbed faintly beneath their tunic, a constant reminder of what they carried and what the world now demanded of them.
Nyxara paced silently nearby, the curved blade at her side catching the first rays of the rising sun. She moved with the precision of a predator, each step deliberate, quiet, and controlled.
Aerin wanted to ask a thousand questions, but every time they opened their mouth, the enormity of the Crest pressed in on them like the weight of the moon itself.
Finally, Nyxara spoke. "You cannot survive by running alone."
Aerin's fingers clenched the hem of their tunic. "Then what am I supposed to do? I can't even control it!"
Nyxara stopped pacing and studied them with piercing eyes. "Control is not simply a skill. It is understanding yourself and your bond with the Crest. You have it because the moon chose you. That does not make you strong yet."
Aerin swallowed hard. Their mind still burned with fragments of visions from the Crest,cities swallowed by silver fire, armies kneeling before an unseen hand, voices chanting an ancient name.
The weight of destiny pressed down on them like stone.
"Then teach me," Aerin said quietly. "Teach me how to survive."
Nyxara nodded once, sharply. "First, you must feel it not fight it.
The Crest is alive. It senses your heart, your fear, your anger. To control it, you must not suppress these things.you must channel them."
Aerin's stomach twisted. Channel fear? Channel pain? Their life had been ordinary until last night, and now the forest itself seemed alive with threat.
"Stand," Nyxara commanded. She stepped back, raising her blade. "I will strike. You will respond. Control the Crest,or your fear will destroy us both."
Aerin hesitated. Their hands shook, but the pulse of silver under their skin surged, almost like a heartbeat of its own. With a deep, trembling breath, they stood.
Nyxara lunged. The blade shimmered in the morning light, sharp and swift.
Instinctively, Aerin raised their hands and the Crest reacted. A wall of silver energy burst outward, colliding with Nyxara's blade mid-strike, sending sparks and wind scattering through the clearing.
Aerin stumbled back, breath ragged, but the mark pulsed in rhythm with their heart.
"You feel that?" Nyxara said, voice calm but intense. "That is the Crest responding. Not to me,but to you. It obeys your fear, your instinct. Focus. Control it. Bend it."
Aerin nodded, hands trembling but determined. They closed their eyes, inhaling the crisp mountain air, letting the pulse under their skin guide them. When Nyxara attacked again, this time Aerin moved deliberately.
Silver light streamed from their hands, twisting around the strike, redirecting it harmlessly into the air.
Nyxara's eyes widened slightly. "Better. Again. Faster. Sharper. Remember control is not about suppressing power, it's about letting it flow through you."
Hours passed like this, the morning bleeding into noon. Sweat stung Aerin's eyes, muscles ached, and the pulse of the Crest never faded. Each strike, each dodge, each focused surge of silver light brought understanding.
Slowly, painfully, the bond began to feel less like a threat and more like an extension of themselves.
Finally, Nyxara lowered her blade. "Enough for now." Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "You are learning but the real test is coming."
Aerin's chest heaved, but they managed a weak nod. "A real test?"
Nyxara's eyes darkened. "Hunters will come again. And soon.
You cannot hide from them forever. Tonight, you will face them,not alone, but with the Crest fully awakened inside you."
Aerin's stomach churned. Last night's creatures had been terrifying enough but now they were talking about a confrontation with full intent.
" why are they hunting me?" Aerin asked.
Nyxara's jaw tightened. "Because the Moon Crest chooses its bearer.
And anyone who knows it is alive will come for it. Kings, cults, monsters, all will try to claim it for themselves.
The Crest is not just power it is a symbol. And symbols are dangerous."
Aerin swallowed hard, feeling the weight of every word. "And if I fail?"
Nyxara's gaze didn't waver. "Then Elarion dies. And the Crest moves on,to someone else. Someone weaker."
The forest fell silent for a moment. The wind stirred, carrying the scent of pine and distant smoke.
The silver light of the moon broke through the thinning fog, bathing Aerin in its glow. The pulse in their chest felt like a heartbeat. a call.
"I won't fail," Aerin whispered, more to themselves than Nyxara. The word sounded strange even as it left their lips but determination replaced fear. If the Crest had chosen them, then they would fight. They would learn. They would survive.
Nyxara stepped closer, her shadow merging with the silver light. "Tomorrow night, the hunters return.
Be ready. Control the Crest. And remember… it feeds on your heart, not your hands. Fear, anger, hope all of it becomes its weapon. Wield it wisely."
Aerin nodded again, eyes fixed on the mark beneath their tunic. The Crescent burned faintly, not as pain, but as promise. They had survived the first night. They had learned the first lesson.
And they would survive the second.
Above them, the moon glimmered brighter than ever, bleeding silver light across the mountains.
Somewhere deep in Elarion, destiny stirred, whispering of war, blood, and a bearer unlike any the world had ever seen.
Aerin Vale took a deep breath. The Moon Crest pulsed in answer, steady and alive.
The trials had only just begun.