Moonlit Prophecy: A Witchs Curse A Wolfs Redemption

Lyra felt tears stinging her eyes, the weight of everything that had happened threatening to overwhelm her. She had the Moonstone – or at least a piece of it – but the victory felt hollow without her companion by her side.

As she neared the end of the ledge, Lyra spotted a path leading down the mountainside. It was treacherous, little more than a game trail, but it was her best chance of reaching safety. She took one last look back at the crumbling temple, silently vowing to return and search for Fenris when she could.

With a heavy heart, Lyra began her descent.

As she picked her way down the mountainside, Lyra’s resolve hardened. She would find Fenris, reunite their unlikely partnership, and see this quest through to the end – no matter the cost.

The fate of worlds depended on it, and she would not let the sacrifices made this day be in vain.

The forest grew denser as Lyra made her way down the mountain, gnarled roots and fallen logs impeding her progress. The events at the Temple of the Moon replayed in her mind, each step weighted with guilt and worry for Fenris. As twilight approached, she found herself in a small clearing, the fading light barely penetrating the thick canopy above.

Exhausted and heartsick, Lyra slumped against the trunk of an ancient oak. She pulled the shard of the Moonstone from her pouch, its soft glow providing a modicum of comfort in the gathering gloom. As she stared into its depths, a twig snapped somewhere in the darkness beyond the clearing.Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Lyra was on her feet in an instant, her free hand crackling with defensive magic. “Who’s there?” she called out, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “Show yourself!”

A familiar growl rumbled from the shadows, sending a wave of relief washing over her. Fenris emerged from the underbrush, his clothes torn and dirty, a fresh set of scratches marring his face. But he was alive, and the sight of him nearly brought Lyra to tears.

“Fenris,” she breathed, lowering her hand. “You’re alright. I thought… I was afraid…”

“That you’d seen the last of me?” he finished, his voice gruff with a mixture of emotions. He approached slowly, his amber eyes never leaving her face. “It’ll take more than a magical explosion and a mountain full of angry witches to get rid of me.”

Lyra’s relief quickly gave way to shame as she remembered her actions in the temple. “Fenris, I’m so sorry. I never meant to–”

He held up a hand, cutting off her apology. “You did what you had to do. I understand that. But we need to talk about what happened up there. All of it.”

The seriousness in his tone made Lyra’s stomach clench with apprehension. She nodded, gesturing for him to join her by the oak tree. As they settled onto the moss- covered ground, she noticed the way Fenris winced, favoring his left side.

“You’re hurt,” she said, reaching out instinctively to examine the injury.

Fenris caught her wrist gently, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Werewolf healing, remember? I’ll be fine by morning. Right now, we have more important matters to discuss.”

Lyra withdrew her hand reluctantly, trying to ignore the lingering warmth of his touch. “You’re right. I owe you an explanation for what happened in the temple. The orb, Morena and her coven, all of it.”

As succinctly as she could, Lyra recounted the events that had transpired after she’d sent Fenris away. She described the confrontation with Morena, the desperate gambit with the orb, and the revelation of the Moonstone shard. Fenris listened intently, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

When she finished, he was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “You took an enormous risk, Lyra. You could have been killed.”

“I know,” she admitted, unable to meet his gaze. “But I couldn’t let Morena get her hands on that kind of power. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of me.”

Fenris sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “That wasn’t your choice to make. We’re partners in this, remember? You can’t just send me away every time things get dangerous.”

The hurt in his voice was palpable, and Lyra felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over her. “You’re right. I’m sorry, truly. It won’t happen again.”

He nodded, accepting her apology. “Good. Because like it or not, you’re stuck with me.

I made a promise to see this quest through, and I intend to keep it.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the soft chirping of night insects. Lyra found herself studying Fenris’s profile in the fading light, noting the tension in his jaw and the faraway look in his eyes. There was so much about him she still didn’t understand.

“Fenris,” she began hesitantly, “back in the temple, when Morena called you my ‘pet wolf’… I saw how it affected you. And you’ve mentioned before that you don’t have a pack. I guess I’m wondering…”

“Why a lone wolf would throw in his lot with a witch on a dangerous quest?” he finished, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s not a pretty story, Lyra. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

She nodded, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his arm. “Only if you’re willing to share it. But yes, I’d like to understand.”

Fenris took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with long-buried pain. “I wasn’t always alone. I had a pack a family. We weren’t the largest or the strongest, but we were happy. Protected

once

each other, you know?”

Lyra nodded encouragingly, sensing the difficulty he was having in sharing this part of himself.

“I was young,” Fenris continued, “barely more than a pup really. But I was strong, and I was ambitious. I thought I knew better than our alpha, better than the elders who had guided us for generations.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “I was a fool.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts before pressing on. “There was another pack, encroaching on our territory. Our alpha wanted to negotiate, find a peaceful solution. But I… I pushed for confrontation. Convinced some of the younger wolves to follow my lead.”

Lyra could see where this was going, her heart aching for the pain she saw etched on Fenris’s face. “What happened?” she asked softly.

“What always happens when young hotheads think they know better than their elders,” Fenris replied, his voice thick with self-recrimination. “We attacked the other pack, caught them by surprise. But we underestimated their numbers, their strength. It was a massacre.”

He fell silent for a moment, lost in the memories.