THE HEALER’S SILENCE

Elara POV

I woke to silence. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that felt wrong—too empty, as if the world had pulled away and left me behind.

For several heartbeats, I didn’t move. I barely breathed. I stared at the ceiling above me, my thoughts slow and disjointed, trying to understand where I was.

Dark stone. Smooth. Cold.

Faint symbols were carved into the surface, winding patterns that shimmered softly, glowing as if they were alive. They pulsed in time with my breath, slow, steady, watching.

I had never seen markings like them before.

The air smelled sharp and clean. Crushed herbs. Fresh water. And something bitter underneath that burned faintly in my nose, like smoke after lightning.

I tried to sit up.

Pain exploded through my chest and arms - sharp, sudden, merciless.

A broken sound tore from my throat as my body froze mid-movement, muscles locking as if they no longer belonged to me.

“Don’t,” a woman said calmly. “You’ll make it worse.”

I turned my head slowly.

She stood beside a long stone table lined with folded cloths, shallow bowls, and small glass vials filled with dark liquids. She was older than me, her dark hair streaked with silver and pulled back neatly. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp, keen in a way that missed nothing.

A healer.

I swallowed painfully. “Where am I?”

“The infirmary,” she said. “You collapsed in the Lycan court.”

Memory returned in fragments.

The ring of Alphas.

The crushing pressure in my chest.

Kael’s voice—low, commanding.

Then darkness.

Kael.

My heart stuttered painfully.

The healer was at my side instantly, her hand firm but gentle on my shoulder.

“Easy,” she said. “Your body has been under more strain than it can safely carry.”

“Am I dying?” I whispered.

For the first time, something flickered across her expression.

Almost amusement.

“No,” she said. “But you are not untouched either.”

That did nothing to calm me.

She lifted my wrist carefully, her fingers cool against my skin. She didn’t check my pulse, not really. Her gaze unfocused slightly, as if she were listening beneath the surface, to something only she could hear.

Her brow creased.

Fear coiled tight in my chest.

“What is it?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she placed her palm over my chest, just above my heart.

Warmth spread instantly beneath her hand, slow, deep, unsettling.

My breath caught.

For a heartbeat, my thoughts shattered into sensation.

Heat beneath my skin.

Silver light flashing behind my eyes.

And a pull, low and constant. Drawing something inside me upward, awake, aware.

Maelis stiffened.

She yanked her hand away as if burned.

“Has this happened before?” she demanded.

I shook my head, panic rising. “I’ve fainted before. From hunger. From stress.”

“This was not that,” she said sharply.

She crossed the room in quick strides, poured a dark liquid into a cup, and returned.

“Drink.”

The liquid was bitter and harsh, burning my tongue and throat. My eyes watered, but warmth followed almost immediately, easing the pressure in my chest. My breathing slowed. The pain dulled into a manageable ache.

Maelis watched me closely.

“You are omega,” she said.

I let out a shaky breath. “That’s never been in doubt.”

“But your body does not behave like one,” she replied.

My fingers tightened in the blanket.

“What does that mean?”

She hesitated. Just long enough to terrify me.

“Your body remembers something,” she said quietly. “Something you do not.”

The words struck harder than the pain.

“Remembers what?”

She met my gaze, her expression carefully guarded.

“That,” she said, “I cannot tell you yet.”

Footsteps echoed outside the infirmary. Maelis straightened instantly.

The door opened.

Kael entered.

The room shifted the moment he crossed the threshold, pressure settling into the space like a storm held back by will alone. He did not look at me at first. His attention went straight to Maelis.

“Report,” he said.

“She collapsed from internal strain,” Maelis replied. “Not illness. Not injury.”

Kael’s jaw tightened.

“Why?”

Maelis chose her words carefully. “Her body is reacting to changes it does not fully understand.”

Kael’s gaze cut to me, sharp, assessing.

“What kind of changes?” he asked.

Maelis paused. Too long.

Kael noticed.

“She needs rest,” Maelis said instead. “And observation.”

“That was not my question.”

The air thickened.

“There are signs,” Maelis said slowly. “Signs of an early awakening.”

Kael went completely still.

“Awakening of what?” he asked.

Maelis opened her mouth...

“Enough.”

Kael’s voice was quiet. Deadly.

“You will speak to me privately,” he said. “Later.”

Maelis bowed. “As you command, my King.”

Kael turned to me.

“You will remain here tonight,” he said. “You will not be left alone.”

I nodded.

He stepped closer, but still did not touch me.

“Do you feel pain?” he asked.

“A little,” I admitted. “Mostly… pressure.”

His eyes darkened.

“This does not change what is coming,” he said quietly.

I didn’t know what frightened me more, the words, or the certainty behind them.

“Rest,” he said. “That is an order.”

Then he turned and left.

Maelis released a slow breath.

“You are standing at the edge of something very old,” she said softly. “Something the Lycan Dominion has not seen in generations.”

“And Kael?” I asked. “Does he know?”

“Not yet,” she replied. “But he suspects.”

Night crept in slowly.

Sleep came in broken pieces.

Dreams followed.

The moon burned red in the sky. Blood soaked into black stone. A crown of silver fire rested in waiting hands.

I woke with a gasp.

A horn sounded outside. Deep. Ancient.

Maelis was already at the window, her face pale.

“That sound,” I whispered. “What is it?”

Another horn answered.

Then another.

“The council,” she said. “They’re calling the court.”

My heart pounded.

“Why?”

Her gaze returned to me.

“The Blood Moon,” she said. “It has been announced early.”

“That’s not possible,” I whispered.

Her hand tightened around mine.

“It is now.”

Outside, the horns continued to sound. And as the Blood Moon rose too early, one truth became terrifyingly clear...

It was not the sky that had changed.

It was me.