Yeah, the forest was burning.
Again.
Lina crashed through the trees, wheezing like she'd run a marathon uphill, while branches whipped at her arms—jerks, honestly, like bony fingers trying to trip her up.
The smoke? Brutal. She might as well have been gulping down dirty pond water—except, you know, pond water doesn't taste like burnt dreams and regret.
And the noise? God, the wolves. Not just one or two—nope, a whole orchestra of teeth and fur, howling and snapping somewhere behind her.
She tripped.
Of course she did.
Because fate's got jokes like that.
Bare feet, meet evil roots.
The fire wasn't just a backdrop, either. It moved with her, hungry and wild, like it wanted her for dessert.
And the moon—don't even get her started on the moon. It wasn't the soft, pretty kind. It was bleeding, red and angry, like the sky itself got stabbed.
And through all that chaos, she could feel it—someone (something?) watching her.
Eyes. Everywhere.
Then, boom. A voice.
Deep. Scary as hell. Gave her shivers.
"You can't run from what you are, little spark."
And out came this thing from the fire. Not a wolf, not a dude. Something stuck in-between, with gold eyes that looked like they'd seen the end of the world—and maybe started it, too.
She screamed.
Next thing, she's upright in bed, gasping like she just ran a marathon, hair plastered to her forehead, clutching the sheets like they were a life raft.
The dream was still with her, sticky as smoke. Every damn detail, still burning holes in her brain.
Her room? Quiet. Boring, even. Same old lavender curtains. Radiator hissing in the corner. No wolves. No fire. Just that awkward silence of early morning trying to sneak in through the trees.
Just a dream.
Right?
But her shoulder—oh, that was new.
It burned.
She hesitated, then yanked her shirt to the side.
There it was.
A mark, faint but definitely glowing, shaped like a fat crescent moon, pulsing orange like someone hid embers under her skin.
She poked it.
Warm. Too warm.
Like it smuggled a piece of the fire out of her nightmare.
"What the hell…"
She bolted for the mirror.
The mark stared back at her, smug as hell.
Like, Surprise! Bet you wish you'd stayed asleep.
And yeah, it hadn't been there yesterday. Or any other day.
She'd remember something this weird.
"Okay. Okay, Lina. You're losing it. Stress. Hormones. Stupid moon stuff."
She tried to laugh it off.
It sounded more like a dying cat.
And then—knocks. Three of them. Not super loud, but enough to make her jump.
"Lina?"
Mom. Selene. Always calm, always put-together, even in yoga pants with her mug of weird herbal tea. Keeper of the World's Secrets, apparently.
"You're up early."
Lina yanked her sleeve down, like that would fix anything.
"Yeah. Nightmare."
A pause.
"The forest again?"
"…Yeah."
God, her mom just knew. Like she had a sixth sense for Lina's weirdness—and they never, ever, talked about it.
"I'll make chamomile," Selene called. "Kitchen?"
"Sure."
Lina waited until her mom's footsteps faded before turning back to the mirror.
The mark was quieter now, barely glowing, but still there.
A little reminder she wasn't crazy—well, not totally.
Definitely not just a dream.
Her gut knew it, even if her brain was still in denial.
Downstairs, the house smelled like rosemary and, yeah, someone tried (and failed) to make toast.
Their place was old, tucked in with the trees, filled with more dusty books and weird charms than anyone could possibly need.
Her mom was at the stove, braid streaked silver, humming some tune that probably predated Spotify by a couple centuries.
"Chamomile with lavender," Selene said, not even looking up. "It'll help ground you."
Lina rolled her eyes.
"I'm not a tree."
"You're more rooted than you think."
Whatever.
She slid onto her usual stool, watching the rain-washed light crawl through the windows. Everything outside still smelled like wet pine and secrets.
Selene finally glanced over, eyes scanning Lina's face like she was trying to decode ancient runes or something only moms could read.
"The nightmares are worse."
"I said I'm fine."
"You didn't have to."
Selene's voice—soft, but, man, it landed heavy.
Lina wrapped her hands around the mug.
Didn't drink.
The warmth was fake, didn't reach her fingers.
"You ever feel like there's something wrong with you? Like... broken?"
Selene blinked. Something flickered across her face for a split second.
Then, gone—replaced by her usual mystical zen.
"No," she said, careful. "But I've felt... out of place. Like everyone expects me to be something I'm not."
Lina stared into her tea, wishing it would give her answers.
"What if the world's just wrong?"
"Then you prove it."
That was the kind of answer only a Luna could give—elegant, vague, and utterly frustrating.
Lina stood.
"I'm going for a run."
"In your pajamas?"
"I'm not running for fitness. I'm running to shut my brain up."
Selene didn't argue. She rarely did. That was the worst part.
The forest trail behind the Ashford estate wasn't part of the official Flameborn territory, but Lina knew it well.
She'd played there as a child, following fireflies and whispering to tree knots like they were secret-keepers.
Now the woods felt colder.
Different.
The trail was slick with dew, the air thick with the earthy breath of early morning. Her heart slowly found rhythm with her feet.
She was almost calm when she stopped near the edge of the deeper forest—where the trees grew darker and older, and the air got weirdly still.
Then she saw it.
Claw marks.
Deep and deliberate, carved into the bark of a tree just yards from her usual path.
Three parallel gouges, each the size of a wolf's paw.
But they weren't old.
The sap was still bleeding from them.
Fresh.
Her chest tightened. She stepped closer, breath shallow.
The markings were the same as in her dream.
Exactly the same.
Her knees threatened to buckle.
You can't run from what you are, little spark.
Lina spun, scanning the trees.
No movement.
No sound.
Just that awful, pulsing silence, like the forest was waiting for something to happen.
She touched the mark on her shoulder.
It was warm again.
Burning.
That's when she felt it—eyes.
Not imagination this time.
Something was watching her.
Not human.
Not pack.
Something else.
She backed away slowly, her wolf stirring just beneath her skin.
Not shifting. Not yet.
But awake.
Then—a twig snapped.
Sharp. Deliberate.
She didn't wait.
She ran.
She burst in through the back door like the house owed her money, gasping so hard her chest felt like it might collapse.
Her heart? Forget it—thundering like a rock concert in her ears.
"Lina?"
Selene appeared from the hallway, eyes wide.
"Don't ask. Just… were there patrols out this morning? Anyone near the east ridge?"
Selene frowned.
"No. That trail's restricted this week. Ritual prep."
"There are claw marks."
That got her attention. Selene moved closer.
"Show me."
Lina hesitated.
"There's more. The dream I had—the forest burning… I saw those exact claw marks. Same shape. Same tree."
Selene didn't speak for a long time.
Then she said, very quietly:
"Take off your shirt."
"What?"
"The mark. On your shoulder."
Lina froze.
"You knew?"
"I suspected."
Lina peeled her shirt back.
The crescent mark still glowed faintly, like fire trapped beneath skin.
Selene's face paled.
Not with fear.
With recognition.
"Not yet," she whispered. "It's too soon."
"What is it?" Lina demanded. "What the hell is happening to me?"
Her mother looked at her—really looked—and for the first time in her life, Lina saw fear in her eyes.
"It's begun," Selene said.
"The veil is burning."