Chapter 21 Awakening 2
Elara’s hand flew to her mouth.
Her fingers trembled so badly she could barely keep them there as panic and disbelief crashed into each other inside her chest.
“Who… did that?” she asked, voice shaking.
But the sound never reached the room. It stayed inside her head. That was when she realized that she hadn’t spoken.
Her breath hitched sharply.
The growl echoed again in her ears, low and wrong and far too close. It hadn’t come from the room nor had it come from anyone else. It had come from her.
Her heart began to pound violently as her senses surged out of control.
She could smell the bathwater, warm and mineral-rich, layered with herbs she didn’t recognize. She could hear the faint scuff of boots in the corridor beyond the walls. The crackle of torches down the passage. The slow, steady breathing of the guards stationed outside. And it was too much.
"Wh-what's happeneing to me?" She staggered backward blindly, hands scraping against smooth stone until her palm struck something cool and reflective.
A mirror. She didn’t mean to look but she did anyway. Silver hair stared back at her. Her hair spilled loose around her shoulders, bright and luminous, threaded with something darker beneath the surface. Her eyes flickered suddenly, not silver, not gold, but something feral and molten, like light trying to claw its way out.
Elara screamed.
She stumbled back from her reflection, heart hammering so violently it hurt. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no… who is that?"
The moment her palm touched the moon-veined stone, a pulse shot up her arm. It was not electricity. It was deeper, older, alive. The stone beneath her fingers quivered as if it recognized her. The bathwater rippled violently. A low hum began, thrumming against her chest.
Her wolf surged inside her, claws raking at her mind. Raw, urgent, untamed. At the same time, the witch magic she had inherited from her bloodline, tethered to the moonstone and dormant for so long, flared in opposition.
The two powers collided. Her body arched with the force. The wolf howled in instinct, demanding dominance. The witch magic twisted and pulled, attempting to restrain it, organize it, bind it.
The clash sent a tremor through the floor. The moonstone beneath her hands began to crack in hairline fractures. Thin lines of silver light snaked outward, branching across the tiles like frozen lightning. The bathwater surged over the edges in small waves.
Her reflection flickered, molten eyes glowing, shifting between feral and controlled. She screamed, a soundless wail, as her body was literally torn from within.
Air thickened, pressing against her from all sides. The hum of the stone escalated into resonance, almost as if the palace itself were bracing against the energy. Magic and instinct warred inside her, spilling outward, shaking the room, cracking stones, rippling water, and bending light around her.
Arwen reacted at once.
“Everyone stay where you are,” she commanded calmly, voice sharp and steady, the tone of a queen who had ruled through wars and bloodshed. She did not rush. She did not shout. Panic had no place in her presence.
She stepped forward just enough to keep Elara in her sight. “Elara. Look at me.”
Elara couldn’t.
Her senses were screaming now, every nerve alive and burning. Her skin felt too tight. Her heartbeat too loud. Something inside her paced, restless and angry, brushing against her thoughts like claws against bone.
She dropped to her knees, hands pressing against the floor as her breath fractured into broken sobs.
Then, louder, with intent woven into every syllable, “Release the inner wards. Summon the Royal Arcanist.”
The magic responded before servants could.
The air rippled.
Only then did Arwen look back at Elara, stepping closer, lowering her voice. “Hold on, child. Help is coming.”
Magic rippled through the air, controlled and ancient, disengaging layers of protection with surgical precision. The bathroom door opened soundlessly.
Morrigan stepped inside.
She stopped dead.
Her breath left her in a sharp intake as she took in the sight before her. Elara kneeling on the floor. Silver hair glowing faintly. The moon stone reacting beneath her hands.
“Oh,” Morrigan breathed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“She’s awake,” Morrigan said softly.
Then her expression changed.
“And the seal is under strain.”
Elara looked up at her, eyes wild with pain. “Make it stop,” she begged. “Please.”
Morrigan approached slowly, every movement deliberate. “Listen to me, Elara. You’re not breaking. Your body is reacting.”
“To what?” Elara cried. "I didn't ask for this. Who even are you people? What did you do to me?"
Morrigan’s jaw tightened. She glanced at Arwen.
“You are reacting to a bite,” Morrigan said quietly. “Your wolf had been forced awake and well, your witchy side is not taking it calmly.”
Arwen nodded once. “Your wolf is quite dominant.”
“Yes,” Morrigan replied. “And she's coming too fast.”
Elara held her chest as she breathed heavily, "My- my wolf?"
Outside the chamber, Ronan nearly tore the doors apart.
The moment Elara’s panic spiked, it slammed into him through the bond like a blade to the chest. He staggered, one hand bracing against the wall as Fenrir roared inside him.
“She’s drowning,” Ronan growled. “She can’t breathe.”
“You’re flooding her,” Matthew snapped, gripping Ronan’s arm. “Your panic is feeding hers.”
Ronan wrenched free. “She needs me.”
“She needs you not losing control in front of half the palace,” Matthew shot back. “The elders probably already feel this. Keep yourself in check man.”
Ronan didn’t care.
Inside the bathroom, Elara cried out as another surge rolled through her. The air thickened, magic pressing in from all sides.
“She’s being pulled apart,” Morrigan said urgently. “Two forces fighting for dominance. If we don’t stop this now, her body won’t survive it.”
“Then do it,” Arwen said without hesitation. “Whatever you must.”
Morrigan raised her hands, voice lowering into a controlled chant. Magic spread outward, not suppressing but cushioning, binding the chaos just enough to keep Elara whole.
Elara gasped.
Her strength gave out.
She slumped forward as exhaustion crashed into her, body trembling as consciousness slipped.
Morrigan whispered the final word and then, Elara collapsed.
At that exact moment, the door burst open. Ronan was across the room in three strides.
“Enough,” he snarled.
He dropped to his knees and scooped Elara into his arms, holding her against his chest as if afraid she might vanish. Her head lolled against his shoulder, silver hair spilling over his arm.
His eyes burned as he looked up at Arwen. “You should never have kept me out.”
Arwen met his fury without flinching. “And you should remember that losing control helps no one.”
Ronan rose, cradling Elara protectively. “I felt her. Every second.”
“I know,” Arwen said quietly.
He didn’t wait for permission.
He carried Elara out of the chamber, past the stunned guards, past the whispers already spreading through the palace.
Behind him, Morrigan watched with grave eyes.
“Looks like our future queen's first shift is bound to happen soon.” she said softly.