Page 115 of The Moonborn's Curse

"My moonbeam... What happened to you?" she whispered. "You look so tired."

"I need to speak to the Crone," Seren said quietly.

Her mother froze, her expression crumpling. Her voice broke. "I didn't want to upset you but... she passed, love. In her sleep, two nights ago."

Seren didn't respond.

Tears spilt over, quiet and relentless.

"I tried, Mamma," she whispered. "I really did. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry..."

Her mother's voice cracked with panic. "Seren—what happened? Tell me, please—what's going on? Is it Hagan? Is it the tribe? Baby, talk to me—"

But Seren just stared at the screen.

And then, with trembling fingers, she ended the call.

Leaving her mother's desperate voice echoing into the void.

She set the phone down, curled forward, and buried her face in her hands as the tears came harder, deeper—shaking her shoulders and soaking the sleeves of her tunic.

She curled forward and cried into her hands—raw, silent, and alone.

Much later, she sat on the floor and opened the book the Crone had gifted her. A Practical Herb Grimoire, it read. It was a collection of notes of useful plants. Remedies. Salves. Warding smoke. She had read and reread it many times.

But tucked between the pressed flowers and lined pages were spells.

Old ones. Faded. Illegible in places.

Still, nothing of use to her.

She searched the Oracle's library, slipping through shelves of brittle parchment and dust—but found nothing.

It was only when she went back to the Crone's book, flipping pages slowly by lamplight, that a folded yellow envelope slipped free and landed in her lap.

Her breath caught.

She remembered—barely—being handed it years ago as she said her goodbyes, the Crone's voice a whisper in her memory: "For when the path is lost, and all doors are locked."

She opened it with shaking fingers.

The writing was shaky. Faded. But each word made her heart beat faster.

The knock at the door startled her.

Hagan.

He stood there, exhausted and unshaven, his voice raw with hope and desperation.

"You need to come back," he said, his voice already frayed, barely above a whisper. "Please, Seren. The bond... it's eating me alive."

She didn't answer.

He swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the ache building in his throat. "I'll do anything. Anything you ask. You can mark me with the whip, exile me, make me wear silver until I bleed—just say the word."

She stared past him, hollow-eyed.

"I deserve it," he said, stepping closer. His voice cracked. "I know I deserve it. But please, don't leave me in this silence."

---