Chapter 2 — The Weight of Destiny
Mae
The morning light filters through the narrow windows of my room in Silverfang Keep, pale and cold, much like the ache still lodged in my chest. I sit on the edge of the small, unyielding cot, tracing the faint patterns stitched into the hem of my tunic. Outside, faint murmurs of activity drift through the thick stone walls. The air feels heavier today, like the weight of expectations has seeped into every corner of the keep.
The events of last night play over and over in my mind, each word spoken by Valerio and the elders tightening the knot in my stomach. *Chosen by the Moon.* The words feel alien, like they belong to someone else—a woman stronger, braver, and surer of herself than I could ever hope to be.
My fingers drift to the faint scar on my cheek, tracing the line that burns whenever my nerves fray. It doesn’t feel like a badge of resilience today—it feels like a reminder of every failure, every moment I wasn’t enough. The memory of the dream claws at me, vivid and unrelenting. The fractured carvings. The figure cloaked in shadows. And those golden eyes, sharp and unyielding.
What was it—a warning, a prophecy? Or just my fears dredged up by the weight of everything I’m now meant to carry?
A soft knock breaks through my spiraling thoughts. My heart jumps, and I glance toward the door, gripping the hem of my tunic tighter. “Come in,” I manage, though my voice barely rises above a whisper.
The door creaks open, and Luca steps inside, his presence as steady as always. His dark hair is tied back loosely, a few strands framing his sharp features. His pale blue eyes meet mine, calm and grounding, and for a moment, the storm raging in my chest stills.
“Morning,” he says softly, closing the door behind him. “I thought you might want some company.”
I force a faint smile, though it feels brittle. “Is it that obvious?”
His lips quirk, the barest hint of amusement in his expression. “Only to those who know you well. Talia mentioned you had a rough night.”
Of course she did. Talia’s inability to keep her concerns to herself is both endearing and exasperating. I shift under Luca’s gaze, suddenly aware of the dark circles beneath my eyes, the disarray of my hair. Not that he would care.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, though the words taste hollow. “Just… adjusting.”
Luca doesn’t press, but his quiet gaze cuts through me all the same. Without a word, he crosses the room and sits beside me on the cot. The mattress dips beneath his weight, and his presence is grounding, like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he says after a moment, his voice low, deliberate. “You have Talia. You have me. We’ll figure this out together.”
His sincerity is almost too much. My fingers twist the fabric of my tunic as I fight the urge to retreat inward. “But it’s not your burden, Luca. It’s mine. I have to—”
“Mae.” His voice is gentle but firm, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. I glance up, meeting his gaze again. There’s no pity in his eyes, only quiet determination. “The only person you need to prove anything to is yourself. Don’t let them make you believe otherwise.”
The words hit something raw, something I didn’t realize I’d been holding back. My throat tightens, and for a moment, I can’t speak. But the knot in my chest loosens, just slightly, enough for me to draw a shaky breath. I nod, the words of gratitude caught somewhere in my throat, and he seems to understand. He places a hand briefly on my shoulder, a small but grounding gesture, before standing to leave.
---
The courtyard is alive with activity when I step outside, the crisp morning air biting at my skin. Warriors spar in the training yard, their grunts and the clash of weapons filling the space. Scouts dart between the trees at the forest’s edge, their movements swift and precise. Life here has always revolved around preparation—preparing to fight, to defend, to survive. But today, everything feels different. The energy is charged, buzzing with something unspoken, and I can feel the weight of every gaze that lands on me as I walk across the stone path.
“They’re staring at me,” I mutter to Luca, keeping my eyes fixed on the ground.
“They’re staring at the idea of you,” he corrects gently. His stride is easy, unhurried, though I can sense the quiet vigilance in the way he stays close. “The Moon Goddess. You’re a symbol now, Mae. That’s what they see.”
“A symbol,” I repeat, bitterness creeping into my tone. “I didn’t ask to be one.”
“No,” he agrees, his voice soft. “But you get to decide what kind of symbol you’ll be.”
His words stick with me, circling in my mind as we approach the center of the courtyard. Talia is waiting, her auburn curls catching the sunlight, her green eyes gleaming with energy. She bounces on the balls of her feet, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as soon as she sees me.
“Finally!” she exclaims. “I was starting to think you’d hole up in that gloomy keep all day.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” I say, though the defensive edge in my voice betrays me. Talia raises an eyebrow, her grin sharpening, but Luca clears his throat before she can press further.
“Maybe we should focus,” he says, his tone pointed but calm. “There’s a lot Mae needs to prepare for.”
Talia’s grin softens, though the spark of humor doesn’t entirely fade. “Right. The great and mysterious duties of our future Moon Goddess.” She winks at me, but there’s something behind her playful tone—a flicker of concern, maybe, or hesitation. “Seriously, Mae, you’ll be fine. You’ve got us. Always.”
Her words are light, almost teasing, but they echo Luca’s, and for a moment, the knot in my chest eases. I nod, though the unease still lingers at the edges of my mind.
Before I can respond, a shadow falls over us, and I turn to see Devon standing at a distance. His broad shoulders are tense, his green eyes almost gold in the morning light. Something flickers in his expression—anger, regret, or something darker—but it’s gone too quickly to decipher. He doesn’t approach, doesn’t speak, just watches. Always watching.
“Devon,” Luca says, his tone carefully neutral. “Something you need?”
Devon’s gaze shifts to him briefly before locking on me. “Valerio’s waiting for you,” he says, his voice clipped. There’s a pause, a hesitation. “Be prepared.”
Something cold settles in my stomach at the mention of Valerio. I nod, my throat tight, and Devon turns without another word, disappearing into the shadows of the keep.
“What’s his problem?” Talia mutters, glaring after him.
“Let it go,” Luca says softly, though I catch the tension in his jaw.
I don’t say anything. Devon’s presence always does this—stirs up emotions I’d rather leave buried. But now isn’t the time to dwell on the past.
---
The council chamber is dim, the air heavy with the scent of wax and old parchment. Valerio stands at the head of the long stone table, his silver-streaked hair catching the flickering torchlight. The moon sigils carved into the walls shimmer faintly, their presence oppressive. His sharp, calculating gaze pins me in place as I enter, and I force myself to meet his eyes, even as unease coils in my stomach.
“Mae,” he says, his voice smooth. “Sit.”
I obey, lowering myself into one of the cold chairs. The silence in the room is suffocating, the faint crackle of the torches the only sound. Valerio studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“Your training begins immediately,” he says finally. “The Ascension demands nothing less than perfection.”
The weight of his words presses down on me, but I nod. “I understand.”
“Do you?” His tone sharpens, and my heart stutters. “The path ahead is not one of ease, Mae. It will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine. You must be prepared to sacrifice everything—your fears, your doubts…” He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly. “…even your attachments.”
Attachments. The word cuts deep, and I stiffen, my hands clenching in my lap. My scar burns faintly, the phantom ache rising with each passing second.
“I’ll do what I have to,” I say, though the words feel hollow in my mouth.
Valerio’s gaze lingers, his sharp features cast in shadow. For a moment, something flickers in his expression—doubt, or maybe something darker—but it’s gone as quickly as it came.
“Good,” he says, his voice cold. “See that you do.”
As I leave the chamber, his words echo in my mind, each one a blade carving deeper into my resolve. The dream lingers, too, the memory of those golden eyes burning like a brand.
Something is wrong. I can feel it. And as I step back into the cold light of the courtyard, I can’t shake the sense that my dream wasn’t just a warning—it was a promise.
