Page 8 of Moonlit Desires

"The dreams you've been having," Kael says, his voice gentler now. "The silver woods. The eyes watching. These are not nightmares, Lyra. They are memories. Your blood remembering what your mind cannot."

"How do you know about my dreams?" she whispers.

"Because I am one of your guardians. I have been watching over you since you were hidden in this realm. The four of us—myself, Riven, Thorne, and Ashen—we took an oath to protect you until the time was right to bring you home."

The dock worker leans forward, captivated. "Four guardians for one barmaid? She must be important indeed."

Kael's eyes never leave Lyra's face. "More than you can imagine. She is the last of her line. The final hope of a dying court."

Lyra's fingers close around the pendant before she realizes she's reaching for it. The metal is warm against her skin, as if it's been worn recently rather than carried in a pouch. The moment she touches it, the mark on her back flares with heat and light, visible even through her clothing. Several patrons gasp.

"There are others searching for you," Kael says urgently, his formal manner slipping. "Those who would use you for their own purposes, or destroy you to prevent the breaking of the curse. Caelum Stormborn has spies in every corner of this city. It's no longer safe for you here."

Lyra clutches the pendant, her mind racing. "The silver-haired woman and the pale man who were with you—"

"Riven and Ashen," Kael supplies. "Two of your guardians. Riven masters shadows; Ashen sees what may come. Thornewatches the borders tonight, ensuring no enemies follow our trail."

He leans closer, his voice dropping to ensure only she can hear. "The dreams will worsen. The mark will grow. Your power will begin to manifest in ways you cannot control. We can help you, but you must come with us. Soon."

Lyra's throat tightens. "And if I refuse?"

Kael's expression darkens. "Then we will respect your choice. But know this—the Moon Court's enemies will not extend the same courtesy. They will come for you regardless. And they will not be as gentle in their persuasion."

The coin in Lyra's pocket seems to pulse in agreement, urging her toward a decision she isn't ready to make. She looks around the bar—at Maya's concerned face, at the captivated patrons, at the familiar scarred wood and smudged glasses. This has been her world. The idea of leaving it for a place of silver palaces and ancient curses seems absurd.

And yet, the pendant in her hand feels more real than anything she's known before.

"I need time," she says finally.

Kael nods, standing with fluid grace. "Three days. Then we must depart, with or without you." He gestures to the pendant. "Keep that close. It will shield you from the worst of the dreams—and perhaps from those who hunt you."

He turns to leave, then pauses, addressing the small crowd of patrons. "What you have heard tonight, I would ask you to keep to yourselves. For your own safety as much as hers."

Something in his tone—a subtle edge of threat beneath the courtly manners—silences any potential argument. The patrons nod, suddenly eager to return to their drinks and pretend the conversation never happened.

Kael looks at Lyra one last time, his blue eyes ancient with sorrow and duty. "Three days, Lyra Ashwind. Then your true life begins, whether you will it or no."

____________

The pendant lies heavy against Lyra's skin as she locks the tavern doors, her mind crowded with images of silver palaces and royal blood. Night has fully claimed Lythven now, the fog congealing around streetlamps like spectral hands. She stands in the empty street, uncertain which direction leads home anymore. The pendant warms against her collarbone, a gentle pulse that seems to tug her away from her usual path. Before she can question the wisdom of following magical jewelry through darkened streets, her feet are already moving, guided by a memory her blood remembers while her mind still struggles to comprehend.

Maya called after her as she left, concern etched in the furrow between her brows. "Be careful, Lyra. Those Court types—they don't think like us. Don't value life the same way."

Lyra had nodded, clutching the pendant tighter, its silver edge biting into her palm. Now, as she winds through narrow alleys where the cobblestones buckle from age and neglect, she wonders if Maya was right to worry. The moon hangs above, unnaturally full and bright, casting shadows that seem to move independently of their owners.

The pendant pulls her forward, its warmth increasing with each turn until she finds herself before a crumbling archway she's passed a hundred times without noticing. Beyond it lies a courtyard, overgrown and forgotten by the city, where ancient stone benches form a circle around what once might have been a fountain. The space should be empty, abandoned to weeds and rats.

Instead, four figures wait, gathered around a fire that burns silver rather than gold, casting unearthly light across their features.

Kael stands with his back straight as a blade, the firelight catching the planes of his face. Beside him is the silver-haired woman—Riven, Lyra remembers—her posture languid yet precise, like a predator at rest. The pale man—Ashen—kneels at the fire's edge, his colorless eyes reflecting flames that shouldn't exist. And the fourth—this must be Thorne—paces the perimeter, restless energy in every step. His sandy hair shifts in the breeze, catching light one moment and shadow the next.

As Lyra steps through the arch, they turn to her in unison. The mark on her back flares in response, as if greeting kin.

"You followed the pendant's call," Kael says. It isn't a question. "Sooner than I expected."

"I didn't exactly have a choice," Lyra replies, her voice steadier than she feels. "It practically dragged me here."

Riven's lips curl into a smile sharp as broken glass. "Blood recognizes blood," she says, her voice a silken drawl. "Even when the mind forgets."

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