Chapter 3 — The Burden of Legacy

Mae

The air in the courtyard bites at my skin, crisp and sharp as the pale morning sun struggles to pierce a veil of gray clouds. My breath forms fleeting puffs in the cold as I follow Luca toward the edge of the forest, the distant sound of the Luminous River threading through the silence between us.

“Your bracers are ready,” Luca says, breaking the quiet. His voice is calm, steady, but there’s an undercurrent of something—anticipation, maybe.

I glance at him, his pale blue eyes focused on the path ahead. He walks with his usual deliberate grace, each step measured and precise. It’s a quality I’ve always envied, his ability to seem so centered, so unshaken. My nerves, by contrast, feel raw and exposed, sparking like a frayed wire with every step.

We leave the courtyard behind, stepping beneath the forest canopy where the sunlight fades, replaced by the faint, otherworldly glow of bioluminescent fungi that scatter across the mossy ground. The air grows cooler here, heavier, wrapping around me like a damp cloak. The gentle rush of the river grows louder, a rhythm that should be soothing but only amplifies the storm of thoughts spinning in my mind.

“You made them yourself?” I ask, needing to say something to fill the quiet.

“Mostly,” Luca replies, his tone as unhurried as his movements. He glances at me briefly, his eyes catching the faint light. “The blacksmith helped with the silver frames, but the moonstones—I chose them. Aligned their energy myself.”

There’s pride in his words, quiet and unassuming, and for some reason, it steadies me. Luca has always been meticulous, careful. I know whatever he’s made will be flawless. Still, the weight of what the bracers represent presses heavier on my chest. The connection between the moonstones and the Moonlit Grove whispers faintly in my mind, elusive and unformed, like a half-remembered dream.

The trees thin as we approach the riverbank, and my breath catches. The Luminous River gleams brighter than I remember, its surface rippling with silver light as if the moon itself were trapped beneath the water. The bioluminescence of the fungi along its banks reflects on the flowing current, turning the scene into something out of a dream.

Luca kneels by the water’s edge, pulling something from his satchel. The soft glow of the river illuminates his sharp features, making him look almost otherworldly.

“Here,” he says, standing and holding out the bracers.

They’re beautiful. The silver frames gleam in the muted light, polished to perfection, and the moonstones embedded within pulse faintly, as though alive. The intricate runes etched into the metal seem to shimmer, catching the energy flowing around us. I hesitate before reaching out, my fingers brushing against the cool metal.

“They’ll help you focus,” Luca says, his voice low and steady. “Absorb lunar energy, enhance your reflexes. But they’ll only work if you let them—if you trust yourself.”

Trust myself. The words twist in my chest, an ache that digs deeper with each breath. My thumb traces the runes on the nearest bracer, intricate and deliberate, like a promise carved into silver. A memory surfaces unbidden—Luca’s hand on mine years ago as he guided me through a drill by this very river, his quiet encouragement steadying me through every misstep.

“They’re perfect,” I whisper, though the words feel too small for what I mean.

Luca steps closer, his presence warm despite the chill in the air. “They’re meant to remind you of what you’re capable of,” he says quietly. “Not as the Moon Goddess. Not as the Alpha’s daughter. Just you, Mae.”

His words strike something deep, something tender and raw. My throat tightens, and I nod, unable to speak.

“Thank you,” I manage after a moment, slipping the bracers onto my wrists. The silver is cold against my skin at first, but as they settle into place, they feel… right. Like they belong, like they’ve always been a part of me.

Luca watches me carefully, his gaze searching but soft. He gestures toward the open space along the riverbank. “You should test them. See how they feel.”

I glance at the flowing water, its rhythm steady and unbroken, before stepping away from the edge. The bracers feel strange at first, an unfamiliar weight on my wrists, but as I stretch, rolling my shoulders and testing my movements, they hum faintly against my skin, almost like they’re responding to me.

Luca stands back, giving me space. “Focus on the flow,” he says, his voice calm. “Let the energy guide you.”

I close my eyes, drawing in a slow breath. The rush of the river fills my ears, blending with the rustling leaves and the distant cries of birds. I move through the familiar drills—fluid strikes, sweeping blocks, the rhythm of my body aligning with the cadence of the river. The bracers grow lighter with each movement, their hum strengthening, as though they’re becoming a part of me.

Then doubt creeps in, sharp and cold. What if this isn’t enough? What if I’m not enough? The bracers falter, their hum dimming, and my steps stumble along with them.

“Mae,” Luca calls gently, his voice grounding me. “Don’t think. Just move.”

I exhale slowly, letting the river’s flow fill the cracks of my doubt. My movements smooth out, the rhythm returning as I push past the ache in my chest. By the time I open my eyes, the bracers are glowing softly, their pulse steady and constant. They feel alive, as if they’re part of something much larger—something just out of reach.

“You’re a natural,” Luca says, his tone calm but warm. There’s something in his expression—a flicker of pride that softens the sharp lines of his face.

I shake my head, still catching my breath. “I don’t feel like one.”

“You don’t have to,” he replies, stepping closer. His voice is quiet, but there’s certainty in it, unshakable. “Not yet.”

His words linger in my mind as we make our way back toward the keep, the bracers a constant presence on my wrists. They feel heavier now, not in weight but in meaning, as though they carry something far beyond their physical form.

---

Silverfang Keep looms ahead, its gray stone walls stark against the dull sky. My steps slow as unease stirs in my chest. Luca’s quiet encouragement clings to me, but so does the memory of Valerio’s sharp gaze and cryptic words.

“I’ll catch up,” I tell Luca, my voice quieter now. “There’s something I need to do.”

He hesitates, his brows knitting briefly, but he nods. “I’ll be in the training yard if you need me.”

I watch him disappear into the throng of warriors and scouts before turning toward the northeastern wing of the keep. The corridors here are dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of dust and old parchment. My pulse quickens as I near the hidden alcove where I left my mother’s journals.

The loose stone shifts under my hand, revealing the worn leather covers beneath. My fingers tremble as I pull one free, the familiar handwriting filling the fragile pages.

*Trust is a fragile thing, Mae,* one entry reads. *Even those closest to you can be swayed by ambition, by fear. Watch for the cracks in their facade. Watch for the shadow behind their smile.*

The words feel like a blade, cutting deeper with every line. My breath catches as I flip through the journal, each entry more urgent than the last.

*Valerio grows restless. His words are honeyed, but his actions stray. Beware honeyed words, Mae—they often mask a blade.*

The room feels colder, the shadows heavier, as though the walls themselves are listening. My mother’s warnings echo in my mind, her voice almost tangible, and a chill runs through me as I trace the ink with my fingertips.

“Mae.”

The voice startles me, and I slam the journal shut, whirling around to see Devon standing in the doorway. His green eyes glint in the low light, sharp and unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, clutching the journal to my chest.

He steps inside, his broad frame casting a shadow across the scattered journals. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“None of your business.” The words snap out too quickly, too harshly, and regret flickers in their wake.

His gaze flicks to the journal in my hands, then back to my face. For a moment, something softens in his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly to be certain.

“You’re playing with fire,” he says quietly, his voice low and edged with something I can’t name. “You don’t know who’s watching.”

I laugh bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness of the room. “Don’t pretend to care about my safety, Devon. You made your choice.”

His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. “You think I don’t care?”

I don’t answer, the words caught in my throat. The tension between us hangs heavy, suffocating. When he finally speaks again, his voice is softer, almost resigned.

“Whatever you’re looking for,” he says, “just be careful. Not everyone wants you to succeed.”

His words linger as he turns and walks away, his footsteps fading down the corridor. I sink back against the cold stone, clutching the journal tighter.

*Not everyone wants you to succeed.*

The warning feels like an echo of my mother’s words, a thread pulling tighter with each passing moment. As I slip the journal back into its hiding place, a single, chilling thought takes root in my mind.

Who can I trust?

And more importantly—who can’t I?