Chapter 1 — Arrival Under the Moon

Celeste

The road narrowed as I drove deeper into the forest, branches clawing at the edges of my headlights like skeletal fingers. My GPS had given up miles ago, leaving me with only the crumpled map I’d found in my mother’s belongings. The village wasn’t listed on it—just a faded dot surrounded by an ominous expanse of green. My knuckles turned white against the steering wheel, my grip tightening each time the car jolted over uneven ground. The journals on the passenger seat slid with each bump, their worn leather covers a constant reminder of the questions that had haunted me since my mother’s death.

A chill crept through the crack in my window, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The air felt… heavier here, almost alive, as though the forest itself was breathing slowly, deliberately. Every breath I took was weighted, steeped in an unspoken tension that made my pulse quicken. A low hum vibrated faintly in my ears—not the engine, not my imagination, but something else entirely.

Then, through the shroud of fog, I saw a faint glow—a cluster of warm lights flickering ahead, blurred at first but sharpening with each turn of the wheels. The village.

My car sputtered as I rolled into the center of town, the engine coughing in final protest before falling silent. I stepped out into the crisp night, the damp air clinging to me. Surrounding me was a tableau of timber-framed houses, their darkened wood glistening with rain and age. They encircled an open square dominated by a stone circle that loomed like a sentinel under the moonlight. My pendant stirred faintly against my chest—a vibration so subtle it felt like the whisper of my own heartbeat.

I glanced down, puzzled, and brushed my fingers over its cool surface through my shirt. Its faint warmth wasn’t new—I’d felt it occasionally when holding it, puzzling over its presence in my mother’s belongings. But now, standing here, the sensation deepened, a steady thrum that seemed to resonate with the stillness around me.

The village felt as though it had been cut from the fabric of time, suspended between ancient tradition and modern neglect. Lanterns flickered in windows, their dim light casting long, restless silhouettes across the muddy ground. A faint murmur of voices—laughter, perhaps?—drifted on the wind, but the square itself stood eerily quiet.

I moved instinctively toward the stone circle, drawn by a pull I couldn’t name. As I stepped into the shadow of the towering monoliths, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. The stones, worn by centuries of rain and ritual, bore runes etched so faintly they seemed to dance along their surfaces. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. My pendant grew warmer now, its pulse almost in rhythm with my breaths. I lifted it out from under my shirt, its dim glow catching the edge of my vision.

The world seemed to narrow. The hum that had followed me into the village grew louder here, not in volume but in presence, as though the air itself carried the echo of countless voices. The sensation was so strange, so consuming, it took me a full moment to notice the voice cutting through the silence.

“Outsider.”

I turned sharply, the pendant slipping from my fingers to rest against my chest. A man leaned against the wall of one of the houses, the shadows obscuring his face but not the sharpness of his posture. He didn’t move closer, but his words hit me like a shove, heavy with an emotion I couldn’t fully name. Others lingered just beyond the lantern light, their gazes fixed on me with the same wariness.

“Celeste Everhart,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’m—”

“Maeve’s daughter.”

The words were spat more than spoken, laced with disdain and something sharper—resentment, perhaps. My stomach tightened. His voice carried the weight of something personal, something buried in the layers of this village’s history that I didn’t yet understand.

Before I could summon the nerve to respond, the man’s gaze flickered, hesitation breaking through his hostility like a crack in stone.

“That’s enough, Tomas.”

A different voice—softer, but firm—shifted the atmosphere. A woman stepped into the lantern’s glow, her auburn curls catching the light and framing a face that was both warm and weary. She moved with the easy grace of someone accustomed to diffusing tension.

“You’ve had enough to say for one evening,” she said, her words gentle but unyielding.

Tomas’s jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening. But he didn’t argue. With one last glance in my direction, he turned and vanished into the darkness, the others following silently.

“I’m sorry about him,” the woman said, turning toward me. Her voice softened, and she offered a small, welcoming smile. “Tomas doesn’t trust easily. But not everyone here is so… hostile.” She extended a hand. “I’m Sasha. Most people call me the village healer, but tonight, I’m your welcome committee.”

I shook her hand, her grip soft but steady. “Celeste. But I guess you already know that.”

“It’s not every day someone arrives here, especially someone with your family name.” Sasha’s smile faltered for just a moment, her gaze lingering on me with a trace of something unreadable. “You look like her, you know.”

My chest tightened, a quiet ache settling beneath her words. “Apparently not enough to make people like Tomas happy to see me.”

Sasha’s lips twitched, her expression caught between amusement and sympathy. “Trust comes slowly here, and you…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Well, let’s just say you’ve brought a piece of the past with you, and people here have long memories.”

She motioned for me to follow her. “Come on. Let’s get you settled. It’s not safe to linger in the square after dark.”

I glanced one last time at the stone circle. The runes shimmered faintly, their shapes half-lost in the play of moonlight and shadow. The pendant throbbed once more, as though reluctant, before I turned away and followed Sasha down a narrow, muddy path between the houses.

She pointed out the meeting hall, the smithy, and other landmarks as we walked, her voice calm and measured. But my attention kept drifting to the forest looming beyond the village. Its trees rose impossibly tall, their dense canopy swallowing the moonlight. Shadows pooled between the trunks, shifting subtly, as though the forest itself was alive—and aware.

“This will be your room, for now,” Sasha said, opening the door to a small guest house adjoining her ivy-covered cottage. The air inside smelled faintly of herbs, the wooden shelves lined with jars and bottles that gleamed in the dim light. A tapestry of wolves beneath a full moon hung above the modest bed.

“It’s… cozy,” I said, earning a chuckle from Sasha.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Her tone softened, and she laid a gentle hand on my arm. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll talk. There’s much you need to understand about this place.”

As she left, I set my bag down on the bed and pulled out my mother’s journals, their edges worn from my endless searching. Flipping through the pages, I stopped at a line I’d read more times than I could count:

“The circle watches, the forest listens, and the moon decides.”

I traced the faded ink with my finger as my pendant pulsed faintly once more. Its warmth pressed against me, comforting and strange all at once.

The journal slipped from my fingers as exhaustion overtook me. But sleep didn’t come. My thoughts tangled with the weight of Tomas’s venom, Sasha’s guarded kindness, and the pull of the stone circle.

And the forest. Silent. Watching. Waiting.

I wasn’t sure what I had come here expecting to find—answers, closure, maybe even a connection to my mother. But as the wind whispered through the trees and the shadows stirred in the darkness, one thing became clear.

Something in this village had been waiting for me, too.