Chapter 27 – I'm home

Chapter 27 – I'm home

Selene’s POV

“I want it to be special,” I whisper, more to myself than to the robed figure seated across the delicate ivory screen in the Moon Temple. “Not extravagant or loud… just something that shows him I understand.”

The words hang in the air like soft mist, fragile and uncertain, quickly swallowed by the sacred stillness of the temple. A breeze slips through the high, arched windows, making the sheer white curtains dance and the silver chimes above the altar sing in haunting harmony.

My fingers twist together in my lap, trembling slightly. They find the smooth band encircling my finger... the symbol of the vow I made to Lucian. A vow that meant more with each passing day.

“Lucian’s not like most people,” I say, my voice just above a breath. “He doesn’t care for ceremonies or applause. He hides behind strength, behind silence. But I know that silence… I’ve lived it.”

A knot tightens in my throat as the memories creep in. “His mother passed when he was just a boy. I lost mine too. And the woman who was meant to fill that void in his life…” I pause, the bitterness slipping in. “She only deepened it.”

My voice trembles. “My father saw my birthday as a disgrace. A waste. I was born under a sacred moon, but I never shifted. So I never celebrated. No cake. No candles. Just shame.” I draw in a shaky breath. “Lucian, he’s strong... respected... but that doesn’t mean he was spared pain. If anything, he just became better at hiding it.”

The Messenger Mage on the other side of the screen remains silent, their energy quiet and ancient, as if listening to more than my words.

“You love him,” the voice finally replies... deep, layered with years and warmth. “And love, child, is knowing what someone needs… even if they don’t know it themselves.”

I nod slowly, heart aching with the truth. “That’s just it. I want to give him something meaningful. Not material. Something that eases the weight he carries in silence.”

The Mage hums, thoughtful. “Then ask yourself... what is it he lacks most?”

I close my eyes.

And the answer rises gently from within, like a tide returning to shore.

“Rest,” I murmur. “Lucian doesn’t rest. He sleeps like someone always waiting for a blade to fall. He tosses. He mutters. He wakes drenched in sweat. Once… he kissed me in his sleep. He didn’t even remember it in the morning. It wasn’t really him... just a part of him reaching for something soft. Something safe.”

There’s a sudden sound behind the curtain... an awkward rustle, like two shadows clashing, followed by a loud thud that echoes through the sanctuary.

I blink. “Is… everything alright?”

“Yes! Perfectly fine,” the voice answers a beat too quickly. “Just… strong spiritual energy in this place. Very… charged.”

“Right,” I say slowly, raising an eyebrow, even though they can’t see me.

Still, the idea has been born, fragile but whole.

If the world won’t give Lucian peace… I will.

---

That night, I climb to the attic... a sanctuary of my own. My makeshift apothecary lab welcomes me with the familiar embrace of herbs and oils. The soft golden glow from enchanted candles bathes the small room in warmth.

Jars line the shelves. Dried lavender, chamomile buds, crushed sandalwood. Scents known to quiet the mind.

I measure carefully, pouring drops and pinches into a simmering beaker of crystal-clear water. The liquid begins to shimmer as I stir, delicate steam curling into the air like whispers.

My hands still.

My last attempt at a healing brew had failed... until I’d added something personal. Something alive.

A trace of my own blood.

It had stabilized the spell. Given it… resonance. Soul.

I stare at the beaker. The ingredients swirl, incomplete. I hesitate only a heartbeat before pricking my fingertip with a silver needle. A few ruby droplets fall into the mixture and spiral like stardust.

The reaction is instant.

The liquid turns smooth, almost luminous, and the air fills with a scent so calming my knees nearly buckle. The aroma is safety itself.

I bottle the potion in a dark crimson vial, sealed with a silvery stopper and tied with a black ribbon... a warrior’s gift in a lover’s wrapping. Under the flickering light, it gleams like a sacred relic.

I press it to my heart, whispering a wish only the moon would hear:

Let this bring him the peace the world has denied.

The morning of Lucian’s birthday dawns soft and pale, like the hush before a prayer. I rise early, brushing sleep from my eyes as I prepare the townhouse in quiet reverence.

Golden streamers twist along the walls... minimal and elegant. Soft candles flicker in corners, casting a gentle glow over the space. On the counter, a small cake waits... dark chocolate with orange zest, made with careful hands and hope.

And beside it, the red velvet box. Nestled inside: the vial of sleep, serenity, and my blood.

A knock sounds.

I pause, a thrill of nerves racing through me. He’s early?

But when I open the door, it’s not Lucian.

It’s Isolde and Theron.

They’re beaming, dressed nicely, holding a bottle of sparkling wine and far too much cheer.

“Happy birthday to Lucian!” Isolde announces, practically skipping inside. “We got your invitation and thought we’d drop by early!”

My heart stutters.

“My… what?”

“The invitation. You sent one, didn’t you?” She walks in as if I’ve just confirmed it, setting the bottle on the table like this is all perfectly normal.

I blink. “No. I... ”

Another knock.

Koda and Zaria enter next, both holding gifts. Koda’s expression is sheepish, but Zaria’s smile is razor-thin.

“Nice setup,” Zaria says, eyes flicking over the room. There’s an edge to her tone. Something smug.

I force a smile, heart beginning to pound. “Thank you… I didn’t realize... ”

And then the final strike lands.

Lucian’s sister, Seris, steps through the door, her brows drawn into a sharp frown.

She surveys the room with disapproval bordering on disgust.

“What is this?” she says flatly. “You know he hates parties, right? His birthday’s the same day their mother died. Why would you throw a celebration now of all days?”

The color drains from my face.

That… that was never mentioned. Not by Lucian. Not by Seris. Only…

Zaria.

She told me the date. She encouraged something small. She must’ve forged the invitations.

A cruel trick. Meant to humiliate.

I feel the ground tilt beneath me.

And then, the sound that makes my heart stop:

The front door key sliding into the lock.

Lucian’s voice follows, steady and unsuspecting.

“Selene? I’m home.”