Chapter 77
The Ritual of the Moonstone
The sacred grove lay deep within the palace grounds, ringed by ancient trees whose leaves shimmered silver even in daylight. A circle of smooth white stones marked the boundary, humming faintly with old magic. In the center stood a waist-high pedestal carved from a single block of obsidian. Resting atop it was the Moonstone: a large, flawless crystal that seemed to drink in the light rather than reflect it.
Aurora walked barefoot across the soft moss, the white linen gown brushing her ankles. Her hair was loose, dark strands stirring in the warm breeze. To anyone watching, she looked small, fragile, almost ethereal.
Queen Elowen, King Aldric, Prince Kairo, and High Priestess Lirael formed a loose semicircle behind her. Two royal guards stood at the edge of the clearing, silent and watchful.
No audience. No court. This was too intimate, too revealing.
Kairo’s eyes never left Aurora. Worry etched his features—he had argued against the ritual all morning, but the queen had been firm.
“We must know what blood runs in her veins,” Elowen had said. “For her safety. For the future.”
Now the queen nodded to the priestess.
Lirael stepped forward, her silver robes whispering over the ground. Age had not dimmed her presence; her eyes were sharp as winter stars.
“Aurora,” she said gently. “Place your palm over the stone. Do not touch it yet. When you are ready, press down and let a single drop of blood fall onto the center.”
Aurora’s voice was soft. “And then?”
“Then the stone will speak the truth of your wolf.”
Aurora glanced at Kairo. He gave her the smallest encouraging smile, though his fists were clenched at his sides.
She turned back to the pedestal.
Inside, her mind was ice-calm.
She had no idea what would happen.
Her memories were still blank. Her body healed faster than it should, but her wolf—if there had ever been one—remained silent. No shift. No claws. No howl in her blood.
But something deep inside stirred at the sight of the Moonstone. A faint pressure behind her ribs. Like a door creaking open.
She lifted her hand.
The priestess handed her a small silver dagger, its blade thin and ceremonial.
Aurora pressed the tip to her index finger.
A bead of blood welled—bright red against pale skin.
She lowered her hand slowly, letting the drop fall.
It hit the Moonstone with a soft hiss.
For a heartbeat—nothing.
Then the crystal woke.
A low hum filled the grove, rising until the leaves trembled. Light bloomed from the stone’s heart—not white, not silver, but a deep, bruised crimson.
Red fire crawled through the crystal like veins.
Aurora’s knees buckled.
Pain exploded in her chest, sharp and familiar, as though someone had driven a blade between her ribs and twisted. She gasped, clutching at her heart.
Kairo lunged forward. “Aurora!”
The guards shifted, ready to intervene.
But the queen raised a hand, stopping them.
The priestess watched the stone with narrowed eyes.
The red light pulsed—angry, violent—then began to fade, flickering like a dying flame.
Slowly, painfully slowly, threads of dim silver appeared beneath the crimson. Weak. Fragile. But there.
The stone’s hum softened to a mournful note.
Aurora sank to her knees, breathing hard. Tears streaked her face, but her expression remained serene—almost curious.
Lirael spoke first, voice grave.
“Her wolf lives… but it is broken. Severely wounded. The red fire shows deep trauma to the bond—cut violently on one side only. The silver is faint because the beast is starved, buried under pain and loss.”
She looked at the queen.
“She is werewolf. But her wolf may never rise again unless the damage is healed. And that…” The priestess shook her head. “That kind of wound rarely mends.”
Kairo dropped to his knees beside Aurora, pulling her gently into his arms.
“You’re all right,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re safe.”
Aurora let him hold her. Let her body tremble. Let the tears flow.
Perfect.
Inside, she catalogued every word.
Broken bond.
Cut violently on one side.
Wolf starved, buried.
Someone had done this to her.
Someone had abandoned her, severed something sacred, and left her to die.
And she would remember who.
The queen approached, expression softened with something close to pity.
“You are one of us, child. That is enough. Your place here is secure.”
Aurora lifted her head, eyes wide and wet.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
But her mind turned over the priestess’s words again and again.
The wolf may never rise again.
A challenge.
Aurora had survived a river that should have killed her.
She had survived memory loss, a foreign palace, rivals, and lies.
She would survive this too.
And when she remembered the one who cut the thread…
She would make them feel what a starved wolf could do when it finally woke up.
The queen offered her hand. Aurora took it, rising unsteadily.
Kairo kept an arm around her waist as they left the grove.
Behind them, the Moonstone dimmed to silence.
But deep inside Aurora, something growled—low, distant, furious.
The wolf was weak.
But it was not dead.
And it was listening.
A New Resolve
That night, Aurora sat by her window, staring at the moon.
Her finger still bore the tiny cut from the dagger. It had already healed.
She pressed her palm to her chest, where the pain from the ritual still echoed faintly.
Broken bond.
Someone had loved her once—or been meant to.
Someone had chosen to cut her out.
Someone had left her to die.
And someone else… someone else had sent men to make sure she did.
Fragments flickered at the edges of her mind: dark forest, rough hands, running, water closing over her head.
She closed her eyes.
The wolf stirred again—stronger this time. A spark in the dark.
Aurora smiled slowly.
“Wake up,” she whispered to the beast inside. “We have work to do.”
She stood and walked to the hidden panel in her wall. Opened it.
The spymaster waited in the shadows beyond.
Aurora’s voice was no longer fragile.
“Find me everything you can about broken mate bonds. How they happen. How they heal. And who survives them.”
The woman bowed.
“And one more thing,” Aurora added softly.
“Start looking for people who might be searching for a girl who fell in a river six months ago.”
The spymaster’s eyes sharpened. “You remember something?”
“Not yet,” Aurora said. “But I will.”
She closed the panel.
Then she returned to the window and looked up at the moon—full, cold, watching.
“I’m coming,” she whispered to the night. “Whoever you are… I’m coming for you.”
The wolf inside her howled silently.