Aurora woke to a light that wasn't morning. The world outside her window had gone pale silver, the kind that seemed borrowed from a dream—too sharp, too luminous, and completely unforgiving. Her chest still burned from last night, but now it was accompanied by a new, strange numbness that crept along her arms and fingers.
Her hand moved toward her collarbone almost on instinct—and froze.
There it was.
A mark. Thin, intricate, etched in shades of silver and violet against her pale skin, curling around her shoulder like a living vine. It wasn't there yesterday, yet somehow it had been waiting, hidden beneath the surface of her skin, waiting for her to wake.
Aurora's breath hitched. She pressed her palm lightly to the mark. Heat bloomed beneath her fingers, spreading down her arm like fire through water. Her pulse kicked faster, rattling her entire frame.
A whisper slid through her mind, subtle, teasing: Remember… respond… awaken…
"No," she gasped. "I don't… I won't…"
Her voice cracked. It was small, unsteady. She stumbled back toward the bed, knees threatening to buckle. Every muscle trembled as though her body were unfamiliar terrain she'd never learned to navigate.
The mark seemed alive, curling faintly when she moved, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. Panic clashed with awe, and she staggered toward the mirror across the room.
Reflected back at her was a girl she barely recognized. Dark hair in disarray. Skin pale with silver highlights beneath the strange morning light. And those eyes—already ringed with a sliver of the Moon Shade glow, faint but undeniable.
Aurora's hands shook as she traced the mark again. "What… what are you doing to me?"
A tremor ran through her body, low and insistent, like something under her ribs was clawing to get out. Her vision blurred, and sounds—ordinary sounds—shifted. The creak of the floorboards, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant whisper of wind through the trees—all exploded into awareness, each note amplified into a dizzying, almost unbearable symphony.
She fell to her knees, gripping the bedpost for balance. Her stomach turned, and every breath felt heavy, weighted.
"Aurora," a voice called softly from the doorway. Aunt Mara.
Aurora looked up. Mara's face was pale, lines deepened with worry, eyes widening at the sight of the mark curling over Aurora's collarbone.
"You… you've been marked," Mara whispered, almost reverently.
"I—I don't understand!" Aurora stammered, tears stinging her eyes. "It just… appeared!"
Mara's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's permanent. It's the Moon Shade sign. It chooses its host, and now… it has chosen you fully."
The word "fully" sent a shiver through Aurora. The mark wasn't just a symbol. It was a declaration. Something inside her—ancient, dangerous—had woken completely.
"What… what happens now?" Aurora asked, her voice trembling.
"You survive," Mara said firmly, though her eyes betrayed fear. "And you learn. But first…" She stepped closer. "…you endure."
Aurora tried to stand, but a wave of weakness hit her like a physical blow. Her knees buckled, arms trembling uncontrollably. Mara caught her, supporting her as her vision narrowed to shifting silver and violet patterns.
"You're pushing yourself too hard," Mara warned. "The mark reacts to strain. It's testing you."
Aurora gasped, breath ragged. "Testing me… for what?"
Mara didn't answer immediately. Her gaze flicked to the window, tension coiling in the line of her shoulders. "They'll come," she said finally. "And you'll be ready—or you'll die."
Aurora's pulse spiked at the threat. "Who? Who will come?"
"Hunters," Mara said grimly. "People who will not tolerate what you've become. People who see the Moon Shade as a danger. They're already on their way."
Aurora's stomach sank. Fear clashed with anger, forming a strange, taut energy inside her chest. "And if I don't fight them?"
"You won't have a choice," Mara said. "The mark doesn't allow it."
Aurora swallowed hard, gripping Mara's arms to steady herself. "I don't even know what I can do."
"You will," Mara said. "But first, you must feel it."
Before Aurora could protest, a low rumble traveled through the floorboards. It wasn't the house. It was beneath it, beneath the ground itself. The silver glow of the morning light flickered unnaturally. Aurora's eyes widened as the mark pulsed in time with her heartbeat, sending a wave of pressure through her chest.
The house seemed to tilt. Every sound—the distant calls of birds, the shifting of furniture, the faint rustle of wind—warped into a single, overwhelming cacophony. Aurora clutched at her chest, trying to suppress it, but a scream ripped from her throat.
"Breathe!" Mara shouted, pressing both hands to Aurora's shoulders. "Control it!"
Aurora's vision fractured. The room elongated, spun, shifted. She could see herself—herself moving through the streets, through the city, sensing every shadow, every heartbeat, every flicker of light. It was too much.
And then she felt him.
Not Dante's touch, not his voice, not even his presence exactly—but him. A shadow lingering in the streets outside. Watching. Calculating. Waiting.
Her chest constricted, breath catching. "I… I can feel someone," she whispered. "Outside. Watching me."
Mara's eyes narrowed. "Good. You're learning."
"No!" Aurora cried. "It's too much! I can't—"
The mark flared violently, burning through her veins like wildfire. Her body collapsed against Mara, who braced herself as Aurora trembled, uncontrollable energy coursing through her.
And then, impossibly, she heard a whisper—soft, intimate, almost seductive. Aurora…
The name slid into her chest, stirring something raw and unclaimed. It wasn't Mara. It wasn't her own voice. It was him—Dante.
Aurora's breath caught. Heat surged through her body in response, rapid, confusing, alarming. She knew nothing of him, yet every fiber of her being seemed to answer that single call.
"Focus!" Mara shouted, snapping Aurora back. "You're not ready to let him in, not yet!"
Aurora shook her head, trying to disentangle the feelings rising in her chest—confusion, fear, awe, and something… something dangerously like desire.
The mark pulsed again, slower this time, deliberate, deliberate like a heartbeat responding to an outside rhythm. Aurora's head spun. Every nerve ending thrummed. She staggered back, gasping, trying to ground herself in reality.
"I can't control it!" she admitted. Her voice broke. "I can't control anything!"
"You don't have to," Mara said, voice quiet but firm. "Not yet. But you will learn. The Moon Shade chooses how it wakes you—but the rest… that is your responsibility."
Aurora clenched her fists, knuckles white. Her body was weak, trembling, but her resolve hardened. If the mark wanted to change her, she would not let it own her entirely. Not yet.
And then—a sound from outside. Not footsteps. Not wind. Not the subtle vibrations of distant city life. Something heavier. Something deliberate.
Aurora froze. Mara's gaze went sharp. The air quivered as though aware of the presence, pressing against the walls and windows.
"They're here," Mara whispered.
Aurora's heart hammered. The mark throbbed against her skin. Her chest constricted, vision narrowing to the figure waiting beyond the glass. She could feel every beat of its heart, every subtle movement.
Instinct and fear collided with raw, untrained power. Aurora's legs wobbled, knees threatening to buckle. Heat and light flared along her veins. She staggered forward—her body reacting before her mind could process.
And then, impossibly, the doorbell rang.
A single, deliberate chime.
Aurora's eyes widened. Mara stepped in front of her, hand gripping hers tightly. "Aurora… whatever happens, don't go to the door alone."
Aurora nodded, even though her body screamed in defiance. Her chest ached, her senses overloaded, her pulse threatening to betray her. Yet beneath the fear, beneath the panic, a strange thrill coursed through her.
This was her life now.
Marked. Powerful. Dangerous.
And hunted.
The Moon Shade had awakened her.
And outside, someone—he—knew it.