Page 165 of Moonlit Fate

“You were too young to remember,” she continued, “but we came here together, once. You, my curious little warrior, found it on a day much like this.”

Her words stirred something deep inside me, old memories fluttering like leaves in the wind. My hands moved of their own accord, tracing the contours of the stone.

“I was afraid of its power falling into the wrong hands, so I guided you to bury it here, where only you could find it again.”

I nodded, understanding dawning on me. The stone suddenly felt lighter as I moved it aside, revealing a patch of dark soil. A memory teased me—me as a child, dirt under my nails, giggling uncontrollably. There I was, younger, smaller, with wild hair and a bright-eyed innocence I barely recognized. My mother’s hands covered mine, guiding them to dig a small hole beneath the stone. I watched us work together, a ghost of a time long gone.

We placed a delicately carved artifact within the hole, a relic pulsing with a light that seems to hold the essence of the moon and stars themselves. Its glow intensified when I held it in my palm. It bathed our faces in a soft radiance, shadows dancing around us like silent spectators.

The artifact was simple yet enigmatic, a flat, disc-shaped talisman, carved from moonstone, adorned with symbols that resonated with power. The intricate runes were carved into the stone with such precision that they appeared to float above the surface of the disc. They hummed a melody that matched the thrumming in my blood, a language lost to time but known to my soul.

“Got it,” I murmured, both to my mother and the boy I once was. The dream held me in its grip, refusing to let go until the message was carved into my very bones. I needed to remember, to carry this knowledge back into the waking world.

My mother’s hands left mine, and I felt a pull backward, the dream tugging me away from the memory.

“Remember, my love,” she said, her voice growing weaker. “This artifact is bound to our blood.”

I nodded, trying to keep her words locked inside my head. The twilight dimmed, shadows reaching out to claim whatremained of the glow. The glen started to dissolve, signaling the end of the dream.

“It will amplify your strength,” she continued, her figure now just an outline against the receding light. “Its true power lies in unity, in the bond between those who stand against the darkness.”

“Who?” I asked, desperate for more, but she was fading, becoming part of the air itself.

“Find them,” she whispered, her presence nearly gone. “Stand together.”

I reached out to take her hand, but there was nothing to hold on to. The last shred of twilight vanished, and I woke up.

40

ARIA

The kitchen in Atticus’s den was a pocket of warmth filled with the heavenly aroma of coffee. The first rays of sunlight peeked through the windows. Atticus, Mia, Lyza, and I were huddled around the table like it was any normal day, like our world hadn’t just turned upside down.

“Okay, so I’m not crazy.” Atticus’s voice had an edge, one that told me he’d been through hell and back before breakfast. “The dream was too vivid to ignore.”

The silver streak in his hair caught the light, reminding me of lightning about to strike. The dream he recounted sounded more like a premonition, a warning from the depths of his subconscious.

“Was anyone else there? Can you think of any clues that could help?” Mia asked. She emanated the kind of warmth that could soothe even the deepest wounds.

Lyza snorted. “Forget following dreams. We should just hunt this bastard down before he hurts you. Right,Aria?”

Her words were loaded, a hidden jab at me for past mistakes. For hurting Atticus. I felt her anger. It twisted my gut. But I nodded, shoving down the guilt.

“It could be a trap,” I said, trying to sound as level-headed as Mia. “We need to be careful.”

Atticus nodded along. I could see the wheels in his mind turning. “Let’s think this through,” he said finally. “No rushing in blind.”

“Fine,” Lyza conceded, though the glint in her eye said she’d prefer immediate action. “But if it comes down to it, I’m ready to fight.”

“Of course you are,” Atticus replied with a half-smile. There was more at play here, something personal for him. And I knew better than to think he’d let it go easily.

“I can come with you,” I said.

He shook his head. “Aria, no. This is my past. Mine to confront.” His ice-blue eyes held mine. “You have your own battles. I won’t add to them.”

“But—”

“I need to do this alone.”

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