Chapter 2

Elena’s POV

Weeks passed after my mother died, but the pain never really left. If anything, it grew heavier with time, settling into my chest like a weight I could never shake. I became colder and more distant to everyone around me, shutting myself off from the world bit by bit, except for one person.

Michael.

He stayed by my side quietly, never forcing words where they were not needed. He knew that behind my cold eyes were sadness and grief that refused to ease. He knew how much I cried when no one was around. He knew about the nightmares that woke me up in the middle of the night, leaving me gasping for air and clutching my chest as though my heart might tear itself apart.

Sometimes, I wondered how much pain a heart could hold before it finally gave in.

Michael was the only one who knew, because I began to withdraw from everyone else. Walls rose around me, brick by brick, and he was the only one I allowed inside.

He slept over most of the time, hoping his presence would help me somehow, even if only a little. But I had changed. The energetic girl who smiled and laughed at the smallest things no longer existed. What remained was someone hardened and empty, someone who felt like a shell of who she used to be.

Grief had stripped me down to something unfamiliar.

My mother, Luna Nina Armstrong, was more than just family to Michael. She had been a mother figure to him. His own mother died during childbirth, and although his father tried his best to raise him, it was my mother who truly took on that role. Even after she gave birth to me, she still took care of Michael like her own child. She would tease him, scold him when necessary, and always tell jokes to cheer him up on his bad days.

Now she was gone.

The words felt unreal every time they crossed my mind.

Michael’s father grieved deeply as well. His little sister was dead, and Michael was all he had left. Michael had always been someone who spoke less and processed pain differently, but this loss broke him in ways he never spoke about. It created a fear inside him, a deep-rooted fear of losing another person he loved.

That person was me.

Michael could not bear the thought of losing me too.

He was like a twin brother to me. He was older by a few months, but that never mattered. We were inseparable. Michael was always more mature than others our age, always observant and careful, but whenever he was around me, he relaxed. He bantered occasionally, laughed more freely, and allowed himself to let his guard down.

With me, he felt safe.

Now, Michael had to be strong.

He had to be my rock.

School and training became our daily routine. We threw ourselves into it as if discipline and exhaustion could drown out grief. I pushed myself harder than anyone else, refusing to slow down even when my body screamed in protest. Sometimes, I caught Michael watching me with worry in his eyes, as if he feared I was pushing myself too far.

Pain was easier to manage than memory.

One day, I cut my hair.

It was sudden and deliberate. When people saw it, worry spread quickly. Whispers followed me wherever I went, but I did not care. To me, it was a statement. Proof that I was changing, that I was no longer the same girl I had been before my mother’s death.

I looked boyish afterward, but it did not bother me.

It did not bother Michael either.

We trained until we were completely exhausted, day after day. Our uncle was our instructor, and his teachings were brutal. He tested our endurance, strength, and control relentlessly. He never went easy on us, never offered comfort or praise.

Michael watched me endure everything without complaint, and it pushed him to endure as well, no matter how extreme the training became.

My father noticed the change in me.

I saw the worry in his eyes whenever he looked at me, even when he tried to hide it. He tried to talk to me more than once, asking if I was truly fine, but I brushed it off every time and pretended everything was normal. Eventually, he stopped pressing on the surface, but I knew he still cared deeply.

Michael knew it too.

Months passed without mercy, each one blurring into the next.

Eventually, Michael and I decided to begin the secret investigation of the symbol carved into the dagger my mother left behind.

It felt wrong to leave it untouched any longer.

I had kept it hidden in a small box in my room ever since Doctor Mason gave it to me. Only the two of us knew about it. When I finally brought it out, Michael could see the pain in my eyes. Even though I tried my best to conceal it, he saw through the cracks I tried so hard to seal.

The symbol was strange and unfamiliar.

Michael made several sketches of it, carefully copying every curve and marking, trying to memorize every detail. I did the same. We searched for inscriptions and records, but we found nothing.

We checked libraries all over Lucratia, spending hours buried in dusty texts and old scrolls, but nothing came up. It was as if the symbol did not exist at all.

That realization frightened me.

It meant the answers were not in our realm.

It meant the human realm was our only option.

We both knew we were too young to cross safely. We had to be at least fifteen before we could attempt something like that without drawing too much attention. Until then, there was nothing we could do.

So we waited.

And we trained harder.

I knew my father did not have the luxury to grieve.

The pack needed him. Without a Luna, balance was slowly breaking. Tempers rose easily, and conflicts lasted longer than they should have.

It had been a year since my mother died, and the absence could no longer be ignored.

I knew this day would come.

The elders demanded a new Luna. Tradition required it, but my father refused to force a bond. My mother could not be replaced.

Candidates were brought forward. Ceremonies were held.

Each one failed.

The Moon Goddess rejected them all. Some candidates were harmed by the moonlight. Others saw the ceremonial flame extinguish itself.

These were warnings.

Warnings from the Moon Goddess herself.

The elders feared what would happen if they continued. A pack without a Luna was dangerous, but angering the Moon Goddess was worse.

That was when my father made a decision that had not been taken in over a hundred years.

He chose to take on both roles.

Alpha and Acting Luna.

The weight of it was unmistakable.

It was a heavy burden, one that required devotion and sacrifice. The elders were hesitant, but they agreed in the end. They promised their support.

When the decision was announced to the pack, shock spread quickly.

Even I was surprised.

But I understood.

I knew my father had never intended to replace my mother.

He still hadn’t truly gotten over the loss of his wife.

Years passed quickly.

Michael and I finally turned fifteen.

That number carried weight. It meant we could cross the barrier without drawing too much attention. It meant we were strong enough to survive the human realm if things went wrong.

My hair had grown, but I still kept it short. Michael, on the other hand, had gotten a lot taller.

We had built a reputation for being among the strongest of our peers, but strength did not erase my anger. It did not silence my mother’s last words.

Trust no one.

Over the following weeks, Michael and I packed and repacked our things, preparing carefully for what lay ahead.

“Are you sure we’ve packed everything?” I asked again, my voice tense.

“Yes, El,” he replied, visibly rolling his eyes. “For the hundredth time.”

When we finally reached the barrier, we raised our arms together. The mist parted, allowing us to step through.

The human realm felt strange.

Unfamiliar.

For days, Michael and I searched. He pulled out the map again and again as we moved from one library to another, searching records, books, archives, anything that might recognize the symbol.

Each visit ended in disappointment. We did our best to blend in with the humans, learning their routines, their habits, their silence.

By the time we reached the last library we hadn’t searched, it felt no different from the others.

I skimmed through the final book when a piece of paper slipped out and fell to the floor.

Michael picked it up.

I knew something was wrong the moment his expression changed.

There it was.

The symbol.

I leaned closer, my heart pounding, as a paper that looked like it came from an old article was held gently in my slightly trembling hands.

“Greyground University?” I read carefully.