The Reluctant Witch of Willow Creek: The Shadow Legacy (Book 3)

Chapter 7: The Unseen Wound

The days that followed the confrontation with the Shadow Lord were a blur of exhaustion and uneasy relief. Willow Creek, seemingly untouched by the battle that had raged within the depths of Ravenwood Manor, bustled with its usual autumnal charm. Leaves crunched underfoot, the scent of pumpkin spice lattes wafted from the local coffee shop, and children laughed as they chased fallen leaves in the park. But for Luna, the normalcy felt like a thin veil, a fragile illusion masking a deeper unease.

The Shadow Lord was gone, banished back to the ethereal realm, but the victory felt hollow. The locket, once warm and pulsing with its captive moonlight, remained cold and lifeless against Luna's chest. The emptiness mirrored the ache in her heart, a constant reminder of what she had sacrificed, of what she had failed to reclaim.

"He took something from me, Noah," she confessed one evening, her voice barely a whisper as they sat on the porch swing, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and purple. "Something precious. And I couldn't get it back."

Noah, ever patient, ever understanding, wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close. He didn't press for details, didn't offer empty platitudes. He knew, as well as she did, that some wounds ran too deep for words. He had seen the haunted look in her eyes, the way she flinched at shadows, the way her laughter, once so easy and carefree, now seemed forced, brittle.

"It's okay to grieve, Luna," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her hair. "You lost something important. Don't try to bottle it up."

She leaned into his embrace, drawing strength from his presence, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and leather a source of comfort in the encroaching darkness. But his words, though meant to soothe, only served to amplify the fear that gnawed at her insides. She hadn't told him everything, hadn't confessed the true nature of her loss.

The Shadow Lord hadn't just taken something from her. He had taken someone.

The memory, sharp and painful, flashed through her mind: the swirling vortex of shadows, her mother's terrified face, her outstretched hand disappearing into the darkness. The locket, a gift from her mother on her thirteenth birthday, had grown cold in that moment, the moonlight it contained extinguished as if a candle had been blown out.

Luna had told no one, not even Esmeralda, about her mother's fate. The guilt and grief were a heavy burden to bear alone, but the fear of revealing the truth, of shattering the fragile hope that her mother might still be alive, kept her silent.

As the last rays of sunlight faded and the stars began to appear in the twilight sky, Luna made a silent vow. She would find her mother, even if it meant venturing into the darkest corners of the ethereal realm, even if it meant facing the Shadow Lord once more. She would not rest until the locket glowed warm against her chest, a beacon of hope in the encroaching darkness.