<b>Chapter </b><b>119 </b>
The silence wrapped around me like a <b>second </b><b>skin</b><b>, </b>cold and suffocating. Iy in the unfamiliar bed, staring <b>at </b><b>the </b>ceiling as shadows from the flickering candlelight <b>danced </b><b>across </b>the stone walls.
My body <b>was </b>still weak, my limbs heavy<b>, </b>and my head throbbed with a dull ache. But it was my heart that hurt most of all.
Francesco’s words wouldn’t stop reying in my mind. “You are my mate. My Eine.”
He had said it with such conviction, such tenderness.
And it shattered me.
Because I wanted to believe him.
Wanted to believe that I belonged somewhere–with someone. That this ache inside me had a name, a reason. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t believe in a life! couldn’t remember. In a love I didn’t understand.
Tears silently trailed down my cheeks. I didn’t know how long I stayed like that, curled beneath the nkets, trembling beneath the weight of an identity that wasn’t mine–and yet somehow, was.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under.
But there was no peace waiting in sleep.
There was only the forest.
I stood barefoot beneath a canopy of ancient trees, bathed in a silver light that made the world shimmer. The air was thick with the scent of earth and magic, and the wind carried whispers I couldn’t understand. I wasn’t alone. I could feel eyes watching me, not with menace, but with recognition.
And then, I saw her.
A great white wolf stood on a rise ahead of me, silhouetted against the moon. Her eyes glowed likenterns in the dark. Familiar. Fierce. Sad. My chest ached at the sight of her.
“Mika…” breathed.
She didn’t speak with words<b>, </b>but her voice curled into my mind, soft and sad.
<b>“</b>You left me behind.”
I fell to my knees in the soft grass. “I didn’t know. I forgot… I forgot everything.”
“They made <i>you </i>forget. They poisoned your truth. Hid your soul beneath a new name.”
“I don’t <i>know </i>who I am,” I whispered, shaking. “Everyone keeps calling me Eine. But I only know Edith.”
Mika stepped closer, her paws silent as falling <i>snow</i>,
“You are both. But I am part of Eine. And I am <b>still </b>here.”
I reached out <b>a </b>trembling hand, and she nudged it with her muzzle. Warm. Real. Tears welled in my eyes.
“I don’t know how to be her.”
<b>“</b>Then let me help you remember.”
<b>The </b>wind shifted. Trees bent <b>as </b>though something powerful approached. Mika’s ears twitched.
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<b>+30 </b>
<b>“</b><b>We </b><b>don’t </b><b>have </b>much time<b>. </b><b>She </b><b>is </b><b>waiting</b><b>.” </b>
<b>“</b>Who<b>?</b><b>” </b>
<b>“</b>The <b>one </b>who gave <b>you </b><b>the </b>gift. <b>The </b>one who knew before anyone else what you would be.”
Before I could speak, the forest began to change. The silver light grew brighter<b>, </b>until it consumed everything.
Now I stood in a vast de, the air humming with ancient magic. Flowers that shimmered with moonlight bloomed all around me. In the center stood a woman cloaked in silver and midnight blue. Her hair was the color of starlight, and her presence made my knees buckle.
“You,” I gasped.
She turned. Her eyes were crystal clear, timeless and kind. Sadness lingered in their depths, but also immense strength.
“Eine,” she said with reverence. “Atst.”
I stepped closer, heart pounding. “Who are you?”
She smiled. “I am Anastasia. I was once Luna of the Lycan Kingdom. Francesco’s first mate.”
The words stunned me. I staggered back.
“But… you’re dead.”
“In body, yes. But not in spirit.”
I couldn’t breathe. “Why are you here?”
“Because it was I who chose you. Who passed the gift of the moon to you before
my
final breath.”
“What gift?”
She raised a hand, and light flowed from her palm. It poured over me like warm rain. Visions flickered behind my eyes–moments I didn’t understand. My hands glowing with magic. Francesco’s arms around me. A crown of silver. A burning hall. A man with eyes like pitch.
“You are not just his mate,” Anastasia whispered. “You are the bearer of the Moon’s Grace.”
I stumbled backward. “No. No, you’re wrong. I’m just… I’m just Edith. I work in a library. I paint. I don’t want any of this.”
Anastasia stepped forward. “I understand your fear. But what was done to you was not your fault. And it is not your destiny to remain in hiding.”
“Then what is my destiny?” I shouted.
The sky darkened. Thunder rolled across the dreamscape.
Anastasia’s <b>gaze </b>sharpened. “<i>To </i>fight the one who defied death. To end what I could not.”
“Luca<b>?</b><b>” </b>I breathed<b>. </b>
She nodded. “He grows stronger. And he seeks you now. Because he knows you are the only one who can end him.”
I shook my head. “I don’t remember how. I don’t remember anything.”
?
“Then remember this,” she said<b>, </b>cing her glowing hand over my heart. “You are loved. By me. By your wolf. By Francesco. <b>That </b>love is your light. <b>Let </b><b>it </b>guide you.”
<b>The </b>world cracked. The light began to shatter.
“No, wait! Don’t go!”
Anastasia’s voice echoed as the dream faded: “Find the moonstone. It holds the rest.”
I woke with a scream.
Sweat clung to my skin. My heart thrashed against my ribs. The candle was nearly dead. The window was fogged with morning mist.
I sat up, breath ragged, and whispered, “Anastasia… Mika… the moonstone…”
Everything hurt. Everything felt like it was waking up inside me.
Knock.. Knock…
A knock at the door.
“Eine?” It was Francesco. “Are you alright?”
I couldn’t speak. I just opened the door.
One look at my face, and he stepped inside quickly.
“You saw something, didn’t you?”
I nodded slowly.
“She was there. Anastasia.”
Francesco went still. His mouth opened, but no words came.
I gripped his wrist. “She said I had a gift. That I have to stop him. That the moonstone can help me remember.”
His expression turned grave. “Then we have to find it. Before Luca does.”
And in that moment, for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something bloom in my chest.
Not fear.
But purpose.
<b>Chapter </b><b>120 </b>
Ugh<b>…. </b>
The <b>next </b><b>morning</b>, <b>I </b><b>awoke </b>with another pounding headache, the kind that made the light feel like needles against my skull. My body ached, but not from anything physical–it <b>was </b><b>the </b>ache of something deeper. Something missing.
I blinked against the haze, and slowly, the world came into focus.
Frans–no, Francesco–was there, sitting quietly on the couch beside my bed. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers woven tightly together as he leaned forward, watching me with eyes too intense to belong to a stranger.
“Eine…?”
His voice was soft, like <b>a </b>cautious hope he was afraid to voice aloud.
I stared at him for a long moment, the name hanging in the air like a fragile thread I couldn’t quite reach.
“Who…?” I asked, blinking again. But even as the question left my lips, a strange pressure bloomed behind my eyes, like something was trying to
resurface.
Then it hit me in a wave. My name. My real name.
Eine…
The memories were like broken fragments–unreachable, scattered–but the name… it wasn’t foreign. It was familiar in the way a childhood luby
might be, soft and echoing from a ce I couldn’t fully touch.
I shook my head slowly, and gave him a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry… I almost forgot again.”
He didn’t flinch. No frustration crossed his face. Instead, he exhaled, as though he’d been holding his breath the whole time, and leaned closer.
With both of hisrge, warm hands, he gently cradled mine.
“Never say sorry,” he said, voice steady, but threaded with emotion. “Not to me.”
The warmth of his touch seeped into my skin. My heart thudded harder in my chest, reacting before my mind could catch up. I didn’t know this man–not
in the way I should–but my heart…
My heart acted like it had been waiting for him all along.
I looked down at our joined hands, then back at his face. The faint shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the soft creases on his forehead–they told a story I couldn’t remember, but one he’d lived every day.
<b>I </b>swallowed hard. “Why do you look at me like that?” I whispered.
His fingers curled around mine, protectively. “Because I’ve waited so long to see you again. And even if you forget me a hundred more times, I’ll wait a
hundred more<b>.</b><b>” </b>
Tears welled in my eyes, uninvited. I didn’t even understand why I wanted <b>to </b><b>cry</b>. But something in me ached for him–this man who knew me better than I knew myself.
“I don’t understand anything<b>,</b><b>” </b>I admitted in a choked voice. “I feel like my brain is a fog. I wake up and it’s like… pieces <b>are </b>missing.”
Francesco nodded, his <b>gaze </b>never leaving mine. “It’s okay. You don’t need to understand everything yet. Just stay. Breathe. Be here. That’s enough.”
I closed <b>my </b>eyes, his words wrapping <b>around </b><b>me </b>like <b>a </b>nket. Safe<b>. </b>Steady. Home.
<b>1/4 </b>
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<b>“</b>No, wait<b>! </b><b>Don’t </b>go!”
Anastasia’s <b>voice </b>echoed <b>as </b>the dream faded: “Find <b>the </b>moonstone. It holds the rest.”
<b>I </b><b>woke </b><b>with </b><b>a </b><b>scream</b><b>. </b>
Sweat clung <b>to </b>my skin. My heart thrashed against my ribs. The candle was nearly dead. The window was fogged with morning mist.
I sat up, breath ragged, and whispered, “Anastasia… Mika… the moonstone…”
Everything hurt. Everything felt like it was waking up inside me.
Knock.. Knock…
A knock at the door.
“Eine?” It was Francesco. “Are you alright?”
I couldn’t speak. I just opened the door.
One look at my face, and he stepped inside quickly.
“You saw something, didn’t you?”
I nodded slowly.
“She was there. Anastasia.”
Francesco went still. His mouth opened, but no words came.
I gripped his wrist. “She said I had a gift. That I have to stop him. That the moonstone can help me remember.”
His expression turned grave. “Then we have to find it. Before Luca does.”
And in that moment, for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something bloom in my chest.
Not fear.
But purpose.
<b>3/3 </b>