Hour of the Moon

Chapter 28: The Fable of Silver and Shadow

Fable of the Moon Goddess

From the Book of the Lycans

Beware the moon, its silver gleam,
For in its light, a goddess unseen.
Her beauty hides a wicked guise,
A darkness that beneath it lies.

She dances 'cross the starry sky,
Her laughter like a haunting cry.
With every step, a curse she weaves,
And all who see her, tremble and grieve.

Her eyes, twin orbs of chilling frost,
In which all innocence is lost.
She lures the weary with her grace,
And binds them in a cold embrace.

Her whispers echo through the night,
A siren's call, a deadly plight.
Beneath her gaze, the world decays,
As shadows stretch in twisted ways.

Beware the moon, its silver sheen,
For in its light, her power's seen.
An evil goddess, cruel and old,
Whose wicked reign will never fold.

⸻

Keiran

When consciousness returned, it came in fragments—blood, wolves, and fire devouring the edges of my mind. The last image before the darkness had been a man in white stepping through smoke.

Now, in the dim hush of the cabin, that image lingered like a phantom.

My body felt borrowed. Muscles screamed when I tried to move; the air tasted of herbs and iron. My clothes—what remained of them—were stiff with dried blood.

I pushed myself upright, every movement slow and uncertain.

"I see you've awakened," Akita said, his voice soft, resonant, like wind through hollow wood.

He stood near the hearth, head turned slightly toward me, blind eyes catching the faint shimmer of firelight. "Your body resisted death well," he murmured. "That necklace around your throat—don't underestimate it."

I reached up, fingers brushing the amulet that pulsed faintly against my collarbone.

"It saved you," he continued, "but it holds power beyond your comprehension. That relic carries the essence of the Primordial Gods. Kamari forged it to contain the moon's energy, but for mortals..." He hesitated, the faintest shadow passing over his sightless gaze. "For mortals, it is a double-edged sword. It protects—and drains."

"She said it was for protection," I murmured.

"She wasn't wrong," he said. "But even mercy has a price."

The weight of his words pressed on me like another body in the room. "Then why give it to me?"

"Because," he said, turning toward the moonlight slanting through the window, "it recognized you long before you recognized yourself."

Silence stretched between us, thick and intimate.

"You're Kamari's blood," he said finally. "Her echo made flesh. And your story is now tied to the young wolf—Waya. The moon bound you to him before you even met."

Waya's name caught in my chest. "Tied... how?"

"By purpose. By need. By love, if you're reckless enough to call it that." His smile was faint, sorrowful. "Embrace your destiny, or die beneath it."

"I don't know if I can bear it," I said, voice cracking. "I never asked for any of this."

"Reality doesn't care who asked," he replied gently. "It only waits to see who survives disbelief."

He turned his face toward the window, listening to something only he could hear. "Rest now. The storm has moved, but it hasn't ended."

I wanted to obey, but the weight of the world pressed behind my eyes. I still thought of home, of deadlines and ordinary people who didn't know the world was ending. I needed to hear a familiar voice—any voice.

"I need to make a few phone calls," I said.

He nodded once. "Do what you must," he murmured. "But remember—mortals will never hear the whole truth, no matter how loudly you try to speak it."

When he left, the silence grew. I reached for my phone. The screen flickered weakly—barely alive. Dozens of missed calls.

Savannah answered first, her voice fractured by static and fear.

"Oh, thank God! There've been attacks—wolves, things I can't even describe. Cherokee's burning, Keiran. Are you safe?"

"I'm alive," I lied smoothly. "Staying with... a distant relative."

She exhaled relief. "Amanda and Connor are safe too. But two more kids—God, Keiran—they found them on the outskirts. Mauled."

"Jesus."

She continued, "We're coordinating with other reporters. There'll be national coverage by morning. Stay put."

After the call, I scrolled through the messages—Amanda, Nani, even Ahiga. But not Waya. The silence around his name terrified me.

I called Ahiga.

"Please tell me you're safe," he said, breathless.

"I'm fine. Just resting."

"Thank the Elders. Nani's secure with her sister. But Waya..." A pause, heavy and unsteady. "He's alive, but barely. When I found him, he was covered in blood. Looked like he'd seen a ghost."

My pulse stilled. "He saw his brother," I whispered.

"What?" Ahiga's voice hardened. "Wohali's dead."

"I saw it," I said. "Not a dream—a vision. He's back."

Ahiga swore softly. "That's necromancy. No wolf should return from death. The witches are gone, and no fae would be foolish enough to attempt it."

"I'm with Akita," I said quietly.

Silence. Then a muttered curse. "The fae," he said bitterly. "They're never simple. But if he's protecting you, I'll allow it—for now. Stay hidden, Keiran. We'll need you when the moon turns again."

When the call ended, exhaustion dragged me down.

The cabin breathed around me, the air thick with smoke and prophecy. Outside, the moon pressed its pale face against the clouds. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw her—the goddess from the fable—spinning above the treeline, laughter threading through the night.

I closed my eyes, and Akita's warning echoed like a vow:

Reality is only what survives disbelief.

And in the silence that followed, I felt the faint pulse of Waya's pain like an echo beneath my skin.