THE LOST LUNA: BLOODLINES

The dream always began the same way.

A silver moon hung low over a forest she did not know, vast and endless, its light filtering through towering pines like liquid mercury. Mist coiled around the roots and crept along the ground, cold against her bare feet as she ran. The forest breathed around her—ancient, watchful—and somewhere deep within it came the sound of howling. Not wild chaos, but something rhythmic.

Intentional. Like a call. Like a warning.

Aria ran faster, lungs burning, heart pounding as though it remembered something her mind had long forgotten.

Behind her, something moved.

It was fast—far too fast for the way the forest swallowed sound. Branches did not crack beneath their weight. Leaves did not rustle. Yet she felt it, a presence pressing against her spine, powerful and relentless. She dared to glance back only once.

Eyes flashed in the darkness.

Silver. Metallic. Ancient.

They were terrifyingly familiar.

Her foot caught on a twisted root, and she fell hard, palms scraping against damp earth. The forest went silent. No birds. No wind. Only her breath, ragged and panicked. She pushed herself up and turned—

And the world shattered.

Aria jolted upright in bed with a sharp gasp, sheets tangled around her legs, her heart hammering so violently she thought it might tear free of her ribs. Dawn crept through the blinds in pale, uncertain streaks, painting her room in soft gold and shadow. The echo of a howl lingered in her ears, fading slowly, like a memory reluctant to let go.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath her skin.

“It’s just a dream,” she whispered aloud, as though saying it might make it true.

But it didn’t feel like one.

Her skin prickled, a strange warmth spreading under her veins. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and froze. For a brief, terrifying second, something shimmered across her forearm—faint and silver, like moonlight refracting beneath her skin. It vanished almost instantly, leaving nothing behind but goosebumps and unease.

Exhaustion, she told herself. Stress. Hallucinations born from too many sleepless nights.

Still, her hands trembled as she dressed.

“Aria!” her mother called from downstairs. “You’ll be late!”

Late. Right. Normal life demanded attention, whether she felt ready for it or not.

She tugged on a denim jacket, shoved her hair into a messy bun, and forced herself downstairs. The smell of toast and coffee filled the kitchen, warm and familiar, grounding her in the ordinary rhythms of city life—the hum of traffic outside, the muted clink of a spoon against a mug, the rustle of her father’s newspaper.

“You look pale,” her mum said, studying her over the rim of her cup. “Did you sleep at all?”

Aria hesitated. “Weird dreams again,” she said carefully. “Wolves. Forests. Moonlight. The usual.”

Her mum’s hand tightened around the mug. Just for a second—but Aria saw it.

“Dreams can’t hurt you,” her dad said too quickly, folding the paper with deliberate calm. “Probably just all that fantasy stuff you’ve been reading before bed.”

Aria forced a smile. “Right. Because books cause supernatural insomnia.”

They laughed, but the sound felt thin. Fragile. Beneath it lay something else—tension, unspoken and heavy. Her parents exchanged a look, one she had seen far too often whenever she mentioned the dreams.

Her dad reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “You’re fine, Ari. Just stress. Everyone dreams of running sometimes.”

Except she wasn’t running toward something.

She was always running away.

The city air was damp and sharp as she made her way toward the university. Rain clung to the pavement, turning the streets into mirrors that reflected the grey sky above. Silver glinted everywhere—in puddles, in windows, in the curve of passing cars—and the sight of it made her uneasy.

By the time she reached the bridge overlooking the river, the world felt… wrong.

Too quiet.

The usual noise of traffic dulled, fading into a distant hum. A chill swept through her, sudden and primal, raising the hair along her arms.

She wasn’t alone.

Her footsteps slowed. Her heart began to race.

Something was watching her.

Aria turned slowly, scanning the bridge. Fog rolled off the river in thick, curling waves. A cyclist passed behind her without a second glance. Nothing else moved.

And yet the feeling remained.

Then came the scent—sharp and metallic, like iron mixed with rain and ozone. It filled her lungs, unfamiliar and overwhelming.

“Aria.”

Her name.

Spoken softly, intimately, as though it belonged to the air itself.

She spun toward the sound, pulse roaring in her ears.

He stood at the far end of the bridge—tall and still, a silhouette carved from shadow. The fog parted around him as though it feared him. His eyes caught the weak daylight and reflected it in silver, piercing and impossibly bright.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

“Who—?” Her voice failed her.

He moved closer with the silent grace of something not entirely human. Each step was deliberate, controlled. His presence pressed against her senses like the promise of a storm.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth, edged with authority. “The city isn’t safe for what’s waking.”

“What?” she whispered. “Who are you?”

Something flickered across his expression—pain, recognition, regret—but it vanished as quickly as it came. His jaw tightened.

“Forget this,” he said. “Forget me.”

And then he was gone.

Not walked away. Not vanished into fog.

Gone.

The air thickened, pressing in on her from all sides. Aria gripped the railing as dizziness washed over her. Her vision blurred. Somewhere in the distance, a howl rose—faint, but unmistakably real.

She looked down at the river.

The moon stared back at her from the water’s surface.

It shouldn’t have been there. It was daylight.

She blinked, breath hitching—and the reflection shattered, replaced by rippling grey water.

Aria stumbled home in a daze, soaked with rain; she couldn’t remember falling.

That night, sleep refused to come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw silver eyes and felt the echo of his voice wrap around her thoughts.

What’s waking?

She stood by her bedroom window, city lights glittering below. Above them, clouds parted, revealing a pale crescent moon. It tugged at her, deep beneath skin and bone, awakening something restless and wild.

Run.

The word brushed against her mind, not her own voice but something older. Stronger.

Her heart thundered as she pressed a hand to her chest.

“Who are you?” she whispered into the night.

Across the city, on a rooftop bathed in moonlight, Kael Draven watched her from the shadows. Beneath his collarbone, the mark burned—searing and alive.

The mark that only flared for one reason.

He clenched his jaw, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Not her,” he muttered. “Not again.”

But the moon answered anyway.

And it did not care what he wanted.