CHAPTER TWO- Bound to the Cursed One

lyra’s pov

When I woke, the world was broken. The ceiling above me had collapsed, and moonlight bled through the cracks like liquid silver. Dust filled my lungs as I struggled to breathe. The air was thick with smoke, and the sharp scent of blood stung my nose.

The crypt was in ruins. The altar lay in pieces beside me, split clean through as if struck by lightning. The lantern had gone out, but faint trails of light danced across the shattered stones. Kael was gone. No footprints, no trace of him, not even warmth in the air.

For a moment, I thought I had imagined him — the burning eyes, the mark, the storm of light. But when I looked down, my palm told the truth. The crescent mark still glowed there, faint but alive, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

I pressed my hand to my chest, trembling. “What did I do?”

The ground trembled beneath me before I could think of an answer. A distant howl tore through the night, long, raw, and wrong. Then came another, and another, until the air outside erupted into chaos.

I pushed myself to my feet, stumbling toward the cracked stone door. The crypt walls groaned as I forced the door open just enough to squeeze through. The cold hit me first, sharp as claws. The night outside was red.

The moon, usually white and serene, flickered like a wounded flame. Its light spilled across the valley in a crimson haze, painting the snow and the trees with blood. Wolves were everywhere.

They tore into one another, their eyes burning with madness. The air was filled with snarls and screams. Mothers tried to drag their children away from the frenzy, but even the pups turned wild. I saw a young sentry rip at his own arm, his howl breaking into a sob.

The earth itself shook beneath my feet. Shrines toppled, statues cracked, and the sacred banners of the Moon tore free from their poles. I wanted to run to them, to help, to do something — but the moment I took a step forward, pain shot through my palm. The mark flared like fire, and every wolf in sight turned toward me.

Their howls stopped all at once.

A terrible stillness fell over the clearing. Even the air seemed to hold its breath. Then a voice rose from the chaos — low, commanding, and cruelly calm.

“Stand down!”

The Priest of the Moon stepped from the shadows, his silver robes streaked with blood. His hair, white as frost, clung to his face with sweat. In his hands, he held the Moonstaff — a weapon carved with runes that glowed brighter than the moon itself.

He raised it high, chanting words older than our bloodlines. Silver light poured from the heavens like rain. The feral wolves whimpered, claws digging into the earth as if in prayer. One by one, they fell to their knees, their bodies trembling as the madness drained from their eyes.

When the last echo of his chant faded, silence fell again — heavy, suffocating silence. Only the shallow breaths of the survivors filled the air.

And then I realized every single one of them was staring at my hand,he crescent mark was no longer faint. It burned bright now, molten and alive beneath my skin.

“She bears the curse,” someone whispered.

“The Moon has turned from her,” another voice said.

The Priest’s eyes met mine. Cold, unblinking, full of judgment. “You have broken a sacred seal, child. The dead should never wake.”

Before I could speak, Alpha Ceryn emerged through the crowd, his armor glinting in the crimson light. His face was pale, drawn tight with fury and fear.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” I stammered. “He was dying—no, already dead—and I just—”

“Silence!” His voice cracked like thunder. “Do you know what you’ve done to us? The bond is broken. The Moon bleeds because of you!”

I looked around at the wreckage — the blood, the fallen wolves, the trembling children. My heart twisted with guilt so sharp it stole my breath. “I only wanted to help,” I whispered.

Ceryn’s gaze hardened. “Help? You’ve cursed us all.”

Two guards seized my arms before I could move. I struggled, but their grips tightened like iron bands. They dragged me across the snow toward the temple steps. The ground was slick with blood and moonlight. My bare feet slipped, scraping raw against the stone.

The Hall of Judgment loomed above us — the same place where I had been condemned hours ago. Now the crowd was larger, their eyes filled with hatred instead of indifference. Whispers rose like a storm around me.

“She called the dead.”

“She brought ruin.”

“She’s not one of us.”

The Priest followed behind, his expression unreadable. When we reached the base of the dais, he raised his staff once more. “The mark she bears is not of the Goddess. It belongs to something older. Something that should have remained buried.”

Ceryn’s jaw tightened. “So it is true.” He turned to me. “You broke the seal of the Reaper King.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said, my voice cracking. “I just bled. I didn’t know—”

He cut me off with a sharp gesture. “Enough. You’ve defied the Moon’s will, desecrated her temple, and brought death upon your kin.”

“I didn’t bring death!” I cried. “He—he woke on his own! I tried to stop it!”

The crowd shouted over me, voices rising like a wave. I searched for Eira in the sea of faces, desperate for a glimpse of someone who didn’t look at me like a monster. I found her near the steps, clinging to one of the temple guards, crying. Something inside me cracked.

Alpha Ceryn lifted his hand. “Lock her beneath the temple, let the Moon decide if she deserves to breathe.”

The guards dragged me down the stone stairs, through corridors that smelled of damp earth and old blood. They threw me into a cell barely large enough to stand. The door slammed shut behind me, sealing me in darkness once more.

For a long time, I sat there, shaking with my filthy hands streaked with dried blood and ash. The mark on my palm pulsed softly, as if mocking me.

Outside, the wind howled like a wounded beast, the temple above groaned, still bearing the scars of the chaos. I pressed my forehead to my knees and tried to silence the thoughts clawing at my mind.

Kael’s face flashed behind my eyes — the burning runes, the molten gaze, the way he had looked at me like he knew me. Like my blood had called to him.

And then I heard a whisper, soft at first, like wind through a crack in the stone. Then closer and warmer.

“You carry my curse, little wolf,” the voice said, low and cold.

I froze. My breath caught. The mark on my palm flared, flooding the cell with pale light.

His voice grew louder, sharper, edged with fury. “You bound yourself to me. My power lives through you now. When I bleed, you will bleed. When I burn, you will burn.”

The light brightened until it was blinding.

“And now,” he whispered, “my chains are yours.”

The air cracked like thunder as pain tore through my chest as if invisible claws had ripped something out of me. My scream echoed in the dark and somewhere, far beyond the temple, something ancient answered back