The ruins of Lys Myr were nothing like Jayden had imagined.
He'd expected crumbling stone towers and moss-covered halls, maybe the eerie silence of a forgotten kingdom. Instead, the place hummed—with tension, with magic, with the echo of something that refused to die.
The moonlight wells, once sacred fountains of lunar power, now oozed with black mist. The water shimmered like oil, its surface broken by the occasional ripple of movement beneath. Something lived down there. Something hungry.
Jayden tightened his grip on the silver blade Eryndor had given him. He was tired, cold, and unsure if his legs would hold him much longer. He hadn't slept in nearly two days. The forest had tried to kill him twice—once with a nest of stingerhawks, and again with roots that had writhed like snakes beneath his feet.
Now this.
The air was thick with magic. It pressed against his skin like heat, making his teeth ache.
That's when he heard her.
A low whistle, sharp and mocking, echoed from the shadows of the broken archway behind him.
He spun around, blade up. "Who's there?"
A girl stepped into the moonlight.
She was barefoot, standing on the cold stone like she didn't even feel it. Her hair was short and wild, the color of embers. Her clothes were stitched together from scraps of velvet and leather, like she'd raided a noble's closet and set it on fire just for fun. A crooked smile played on her lips, and a pair of knives gleamed at her hips.
"Easy, moon-boy," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Didn't they teach you not to swing your sword at strangers before asking their name?"
Jayden didn't lower his blade. "Are you Aerin?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Depends. Are you the soft-looking orphan they sent from the temple?"
He blinked. "That's… specific."
"Thought so." She crossed her arms. "You look exactly like the kind of boy who gets chosen by mystical prophecies and still trips over tree roots."
Jayden opened his mouth to protest, then remembered that he had, in fact, tripped over a tree root yesterday.
"Right," she said, not waiting for a reply. "Let's get something straight, Jayden. I'm not here to be your sidekick, your friend, or your tragic backstory bonding buddy. We're here because something woke up in these ruins. Something bad. And if you slow me down, I will leave you behind."
Jayden narrowed his eyes. "Nice to meet you too."
Aerin flashed him a grin. "Now we're getting somewhere."
They moved through the ruins in silence after that—well, mostly silence. Aerin had a habit of muttering to herself, half-spells and curses under her breath. Her magic wasn't like Jayden's. It was sharp and fast, unpredictable. She moved like a flame—beautiful and dangerous.
Jayden tried not to stare too much.
She stopped suddenly near the largest of the wells. A wide, circular pool sat at the center of the ruined courtyard, surrounded by broken statues of moon spirits.
The water rippled again.
Jayden stepped closer, feeling the magic tug at something deep inside him. "It's… calling."
Aerin nodded slowly. "That's the problem."
Before he could ask, the surface exploded.
A thing burst from the water—twisted, wet, and wrong. It had no eyes, only a gaping maw full of teeth that glowed like molten silver. Tentacle-like arms lashed out, dragging behind it the scent of rot and forgotten spells.
Jayden froze.
Aerin didn't.
She moved in a blur, knives flashing as she danced toward the creature, slicing through one of its limbs. The thing screamed—not with sound, but with pressure, a psychic shriek that made Jayden's nose bleed.
"Don't just stand there!" Aerin shouted. "Use the Moon!"
Jayden staggered back, raising his hand. The air shimmered. Power surged up from his chest like a tidal wave. For a heartbeat, he hesitated—terrified of what might happen if he lost control.
Then he remembered Eryndor's words: It's not in your blood. It's in your heart.
He exhaled.
Moonlight exploded from his hands in a beam of pure silver, searing through the monster's chest. The creature convulsed, shrieked again—and dissolved into mist.
Aerin whistled. "Well, damn. Guess you're not completely useless."
Jayden collapsed to one knee, panting. "You're welcome."
She offered him a hand—then yanked it away the second he reached for it. "Kidding. Get up, moon-boy."
He groaned. "You are the worst."
"And you are the Chosen One with a nosebleed. We all have our roles."
The Message in the Mist
After the creature vanished, the air grew strangely still. The black mist faded from the well, and for the first time, Jayden could see the bottom.
There was something there.
He stepped forward, peering into the depths—and saw a stone tablet, etched with the same runes Eryndor had shown him. But these were different. They pulsed with blue light instead of silver.
Aerin frowned. "That's not lunar magic."
"No," Jayden said slowly. "It's older."
And then the runes moved—shifting into words, written not on the stone, but in his mind.
The Moon chose one. But the Shadow chose another. When light and dark meet in the child of stars, the world will break—or be remade.
Jayden stumbled back, heart racing.
Aerin caught him, her expression unusually serious. "What did it say?"
Jayden looked at her, pale. "That I'm not the only one the prophecy chose."
Aerin's eyes narrowed. "Well, that's not terrifying at all."
They stood in silence, the ruined city around them holding its breath.
Far above, the Moon watched.
And far below, something else began to wake.