Page 78 of Moonlit Fate

Eldan’s face softened, and he took a step closer. “I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me,” he said, a sigh escaping him as if he were letting go of old burdens. “I’ve been grappling with some false ideals from my past. But I am working on it, and I will always support you.”

“Thank you,” I said, touched by his sincerity.

I turned away and considered going to my room, but the thought of having four walls around me was too oppressive. Instead, I headed into the forest. With each step away from the Silver Claw’s oppressive walls, my soul felt free, knowing I could find solace in Atticus.

The woods were alive with a strange energy. Branches whipped back and forth, their leaves hissing secrets that only the wind could understand. I pushed forward, my need, my yearning, driving me to find him.

The wind picked up as I moved toward the den. The violence of the gusts matched my inner turmoil, the roar of it drowning out my fears. The trail narrowed, and the dense foliage seemed to reach out for me, snagging at my clothes with desperate fingers. Soon, the gale became merciless, an unrelenting force that seemed to embody the tumult inside me. Each gust threatened to sweep me off my feet, but I pushed on, needing refuge both from the elements and my own spiraling mind.

Just when I thought the wind might blow me back to my father’s manor, the mysterious shack materialized before me,an unexpected haven to shelter me from nature’s fury. It stood stubbornly against the onslaught as if it, too, was fighting its own battles.

I stumbled forward, reaching for the door with hands numbed from the cold. It groaned as it gave way, granting me entry into the dim interior.

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I noticed details of the shack I had never taken the time to study before. Shelves brimming with jars of dried herbs and roots lined the walls. A small fireplace sat cold and unused, the ashes speaking of fires long extinguished.

Moving deeper into the space, I came upon a sturdy desk cluttered with maps and scrolls. Tucked amongst these were sketches, beautiful and intricate renderings of plants and wildlife. These drawings held stories, secrets of the forest that could be unlocked with careful observation and patience.

I studied a drawing of a wolf mid-howl, marveling at the detail.

A heavy tome caught my eye, its cover drawn with symbols that danced and shifted. It called me to open it, to uncover the truths hidden in its pages. Reverently, I flipped through the page, not understanding the words at all.

“Prophecies and puzzles.” I sighed, closing the book with care. “Why must fate be so cryptic?”

From the corner of my eye, I caught a faint glint. I followed it and found a collection of crystals, each pulsing with an inner light that defied the gloom. They were arranged in a deliberate pattern that reminded me so much of the diagram for the ritual Atticus and I had come across in the pages of the book we’d found in this very shack.

“Is this another piece of the puzzle? Are you part of this prophecy, too?” I asked the crystals as if they’d answer me.

In the dimly lit confines of the shack, I marveled at the meticulous arrangement of beakers and vials, each one filled with substances whose hues rivaled the most vivid twilight sky. Just as the seer had promised, I’d been given what I needed. A single piece of parchment lay beside them, its edges curling ever so slightly. The instructions on the parchment next to it all were written in a steady script that was both elegant and assertive. It obviously wanted me to create something—and who was I to resist?

Gathering my hair in one hand, I tied it back to keep it out of my face while I worked. I rolled up my sleeves, ready to face this new challenge with the same fervor I wielded in defense of my pack.

The ingredients called out to me, each a puzzle piece waiting to be placed. I followed the instructions with a precision I never knew I possessed, my every movement deliberate, honoring the craft and the critical role it played in our survival. The vibrant liquids swirled, dancing in a mesmerizing display of color and light.

The safety glasses perched on the shelf caught my eye, and a wry smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. With all the weight of Lycanterra pressing down on me, the notion of donning those glasses was almost a playful reprieve from reality. I reached for them.

“Time to embrace my inner scientist.” I slid the glasses onto my face with a flourish. It was a bizarre kind of thrill, the anticipation of concocting something that could very well tip the scales of destiny.

In this makeshift laboratory, I felt at home. Here, the elements bent to my will, not just in the magical sense, but also through the meticulous science that sprawled before me. My fingers danced over the vials, each one containing a promise or a peril.

The instructions on the parchment guided me through the alchemical process. I measured out powders with precision, and my hands were meticulously steady as they poured liquids from beaker to beaker. The colors swirled, an ethereal dance right under my fingertips.

As the substances mingled and reacted, I leaned in close, watching the solution change, evolve, become more than the sum of its parts. There was a beauty in it, an artistry. This was creation in its purest form. These ingredients would help me finish the triskele. This was the next step. It was everything the book had told me I’d need.

Warmth filled me from the inside out. I had accomplished something on my own. This was more than a potion or an ingredient. It was hope crystallized into tangible form.

19

ATTICUS

Imoved through the forest like a phantom. For hours, I’d dogged Larkin as he interacted with the Crimson Fang. With the sun following its path to the horizon, the afternoon slowly faded away. I watched as he greeted members of the enemy gang like old friends, all within the boundaries of a territory that had been fiercely taken with bloodshed from the Silver Claw. Larkin clearly didn’t care who saw him. His unwavering confidence hinted at a belief in his own invincibility. Just what had instilled that in him?

They’d now moved away from Crimson Fang territories. Larkin and his followers trekked farther into unclaimed territory, and I trailed just behind them, unseen, shadows cloaking me. When the low murmur of voices broke the silence, my throat tightened. They were close, too close, and the clandestine nature of their gathering set every nerve in my body on edge.

I followed them into a clearing. Larkin stood there, his figure cloaked in false sincerity, while the leaders of the Crimson Fang huddled like jackals around a carcass. Their words slithered toward me.

“Control is paramount,” Larkin said with a lecherous smile. “Once we harness the artifact’s power, the forest’s magic will bend to our will.”

“Silver Claw has grown too complacent,” said the alpha of Crimson Fang, a scarred brute whose presence commanded dread. “They believe the magic of these lands is a guardian spirit. Fools. It is a weapon waiting to be wielded.”

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