The symbol haunted Elara all night. A circle flanked by two crescent moons—it looked simple, but something about it weighed on her chest.
She sat by the window, the tattered cloth still in her hand. The morning air of Lycanthra swirled with purple fog, drifting like curious spirits. This world… was calling her. Not just physically, but spiritually.
She made a decision: she had to find out what it meant. She couldn't stay blind any longer, especially if lives—her own included—were tied to this mystery.
As she stepped out of her chamber, she saw an unfamiliar figure—a hunched old woman carrying a basket filled with herbs and books. Her white hair was tangled, her eyes veiled behind a thin cloth.
"Elara Lysandra Vale," the woman murmured, not even looking up.
Elara stopped. "How do you know my name?"
"Lycanthra remembers who once walked here… and who was once lost."
The woman slowly walked down a side corridor.
Elara followed. "Wait! Please. Do you know what this symbol means?"
She held up the cloth she'd found the night before.
The woman stopped. Long silence. Then a sigh. "I haven't seen that sigil in ages. It's the mark of the Oldest Pact."
"A pact?" Elara frowned.
"Between the first human… and the first king."
Elsewhere in the castle, Lucan stood in a cold chamber where the clans once gathered in secret meetings. He hated this room. Too quiet. Too tight. And betrayal often echoed in such walls.
The Silverhide Clan had sent a scout. The Blackfangs remained silent. And the Ravenborn… they had responded too quickly about Elara.
Lucan stared at the ancient map on the stone table. Four regions of Lycanthra trembled because of one thing: a human.
"What are you hiding, Elara…" he murmured.
Elara sat beneath a great tree beside the old woman, who finally introduced herself as Yara, keeper of the ancient knowledge. Behind her gentle voice was a sorrow she tried to bury.
"The woman from Lucan's vision," Yara said softly. "She once came to this tower. I met her. She carried a child… hiding from all clans."
Elara froze. "You… you're certain?"
Yara nodded. "And if my memory is true… You are that child."
Elara felt her blood stop in her veins.
"Then… why was I taken to the human world?"
Yara's eyes glowed faintly as she replied, "Because fate must be broken… before it can be remade."
Elara couldn't speak at first. Her thoughts spun wildly, trying to piece together all the scattered fragments. Her mother. The vision. The hidden child. It all made sense now… and that terrified her.
"If I came from this world… why don't I remember anything?" she asked softly.
"Because childhood memories can be sealed," Yara replied, arranging dried herbs in her lap. "Especially if the seal was made with blood."
"Blood?" Elara's brows furrowed.
Yara's gaze sharpened. "There are ancient magics that only work through blood sacrifice. Your mother might have decided that hiding you in the human world was the only way to protect you from the clans who wanted your blood… or your power."
"I don't have any power."
"Not yet," Yara said calmly. "But this world will awaken it. Each step you take toward your truth… your blood will respond."
Elara bit her lip. "So what do I do now?"
"You must choose: reject your origin… or embrace it—and prepare to carry its weight."
Elara said nothing for a long moment.
Then, Yara pulled out an old book from her woven basket.
"This belonged to your mother. She gave it to me… before she vanished."
Elara's fingers trembled as she took the book. Its leather cover was cracked and dusty, and on the first page, a name was written that stole her breath:
"Lira Lysandra."
Her mother.
Meanwhile, Lucan stood on the outer platform of the castle, overlooking the fog-filled valley. In front of him, five wolves from the Silverhide Clan, in their half-beast forms, glared at him with suspicion.
"We smelled human blood from far," one of them growled. "You know the law, King Lucan. This realm does not welcome anything not born of pure blood."
Lucan stared at them blankly. "Laws can change."
"Then who is she?" another demanded.
Lucan stepped forward, his voice near a growl. "She is mine."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the wind seemed to halt.
"Is that a threat?" one asked.
"No. It's a promise."
Elara traced her fingers over the name inked into the old book, feeling like she was reaching out to a memory she never had. "Lira Lysandra." The name was foreign, yet her chest trembled as if she had known it all her life.
Yara watched her through the veil of her shawl.
"You were very young when your mother vanished," she said softly. "But a mother's love… sometimes leaves traces beyond blood. In the air. In dreams. Even in flowers, you smell but never notice."
Elara turned the first page. The faded ink formed strange symbols, and near the bottom, a sentence was written in an ancient tongue.
When she touched the words, a pulse ran through her fingers—warm and alive.
"You… felt that?" Yara asked quickly.
Elara nodded, speechless.
"That book recognizes your blood. You are not just Lira's daughter. You are her legacy."
Suddenly, the lantern near them flickered. Wind spun around Elara, flipping the pages by themselves.
For the first time, Elara felt: this world knew her. And there would be no going back.