Moonlit Prophecy: A Witchs Curse A Wolfs Redemption

The first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. Lyra stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast forest, her eyes closed as she tried to center herself. The events of the past few days had left her shaken, her mind and body still reeling from the dark ritual they had narrowly prevented.

Fenris approached quietly, careful not to startle her. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Lyra opened her eyes, turning to face him. The concern in his gaze made her heart ache. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Everything feels… off-balance. Like I’m standing on the edge of a precipice, about to fall.”

As if to punctuate her words, a sudden gust of wind whipped around them, far stronger than the gentle breeze that had been blowing moments before. Lyra’s eyes widened in alarm as she realized the wind was emanating from her, responding to her turbulent emotions.

Fenris reached out to steady her, his hand warm and reassuring on her arm. “It’s alright,” he said calmly. “Just breathe. We’ll figure this out together.”

Lyra nodded, taking a deep breath as she tried to rein in the surging power within her. The wind died down, but she could still feel it churning just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

“What’s happening to me, Fenris?” she asked, unable to keep the fear from her voice. “Ever since we stopped that ritual, it’s like… like I’ve tapped into something I can’t control.”

Fenris’s brow furrowed in thought. “The energy from the ritual was immense. When Caden sacrificed himself to close the breach, that power had to go somewhere. It’s possible that some of it was absorbed by you.”

The mention of Caden sent a fresh wave of grief through Lyra. Images of his final moments flashed through her mind – his determined expression, the flash of the dagger, the blinding light that followed. As the memories overwhelmed her, the air around them began to crackle with energy.

Small objects – pebbles, twigs, leaves – started to lift off the ground, swirling around them in a growing vortex. Lyra’s hair whipped around her face, her eyes wide with panic as she realized she was the source of the disturbance.

“Fenris,” she gasped, reaching out to him. “I can’t stop it. I don’t know how to make it stop!”

Without hesitation, Fenris pulled her into a tight embrace. “Focus on me,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the howling wind. “Feel my heartbeat, match your breathing to mine. You’re stronger than this power, Lyra. You can control it.”

Lyra clung to him, burying her face in his chest as she struggled to follow his instructions. She could feel the steady thump of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest. Gradually, she managed to sync her own breathing to his rhythm.

As she calmed, the swirling vortex began to dissipate. The wind died down, and the floating objects fell harmlessly to the ground. Lyra sagged against Fenris, exhausted by the effort of reining in her newfound abilities.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Fenris stroked her hair gently. “You did it yourself. I just gave you a focal point.”

They stood like that for a long moment, drawing comfort from each other’s presence. When Lyra finally pulled back, her expression was one of determination tinged with fear.

“We need to figure out what’s happening to me,” she said. “And fast. I can’t risk losing control like that again. What if I hurt someone?”

Fenris nodded, his mind already working on potential solutions. “There’s an old hermit who lives in these parts – a woman known for her wisdom and knowledge of arcane matters. Perhaps she could help us understand what’s happening and how to manage it.”

Hope bloomed in Lyra’s chest. “Do you think she’d be willing to see us?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Fenris replied with a small smile. “Are you up for a journey?”

Lyra squared her shoulders, pushing aside her fatigue. “Lead the way.”

As they made their way through the dense forest, Lyra focused on maintaining her composure. Every snapping twig or rustling leaf made her jump, afraid that she might inadvertently unleash her powers again. Fenris walked beside her, a steady presence that helped keep her grounded.

“Tell me more about this hermit,” Lyra said, partly out of curiosity and partly to distract herself from her swirling thoughts.

Fenris ducked under a low-hanging branch before responding. “Her name is Elowen. She’s said to be centuries old, though no one knows for sure. Some say she was once a powerful sorceress who grew disillusioned with the ways of the world and retreated

into solitude.”

“And you think she’ll be able to help me?”

“If anyone can, it’s her,” Fenris said confidently. “Elowen has forgotten more about magic than most will ever know in a lifetime.”

As they continued their trek, the forest around them began to change subtly. The trees grew older, their trunks gnarled and twisted into fantastic shapes. Moss hung in thick curtains from the branches, and the air became heavy with the scent of damp earth and ancient growing things.

Lyra felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, as if they were being watched. “Fenris,” she whispered, “do you feel that?”

He nodded, his posture alert but not alarmed. “We’re nearing Elowen’s domain. The forest itself guards her privacy. Stay close to me and keep your mind focused. The trees can play tricks on the unwary.”

No sooner had he spoken than the path before them seemed to shift and blur. Lyra blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the effect only intensified. It was as if the very

fabric of reality was warping around them.

Panic began to rise in her chest, and with it, the now-familiar surge of uncontrolled power. The leaves on nearby trees started to tremble, though there was no wind. “Lyra,” Fenris said sharply, gripping her hand. “Remember what we practiced. Breathe.

Center yourself.”

She squeezed his hand tightly, using the physical contact as an anchor. Slowly, deliberately, she drew in a deep breath and released it, visualizing her chaotic energy settling like silt in a disturbed pond.

As she regained control, the forest around them solidified once more. The path ahead was clear, leading to a small clearing where a humble cottage stood. Smoke curled from its chimney, and a profusion of herbs and flowers grew in neat beds around its perimeter.

Before they could approach, the door of the cottage swung open. A woman emerged

not the ancient crone Lyra had been expecting, but a striking figure who appeared to be in the prime of life. Her hair was a cascade of silver that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light, and her eyes held the wisdom of ages.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Elowen said, her voice rich and melodious. “Come inside. We have much to discuss.”