The door opened before Selene could stand. Cold mist rolled into the cabin and slid across the floor like smoke. For a heartbeat nothing moved. Then a figure filled the doorway. Not the monster she feared but Eira, cloak thrown over her nightshirt, a small hunter’s knife flashing in her hand. Her eyes searched the trees behind Selene.

“They’re closer tonight,” she murmured. “Stay behind me.”

Selene’s wolf bristled, claws itching in her palms, but she stayed quiet. Outside, amber eyes hovered at the edge of the trees—one blink, then another—before they melted into the fog. Eira closed the door gently and slid the latch into place.

“Whatever follows you,” she said without looking at Selene, “is learning your scent. We don’t have much time.”

A tremor ran through Selene’s hands. The smell of wet pine and iron filled her nose, sharp and metallic. She almost asked who “they” were but swallowed the words. Her wolf shifted under her skin like a trapped storm, claws pressing to be free. Outside, the mist hissed against the cabin walls as if it listened.

That night marked the start of everything.

The next morning, under a weak silver sun, Eira led Selene to the glade behind the cabin.The ground was still wet with last night’s rain, and mist drifted low over the ferns. Selene’s boots sank into the soft earth with every step. The forest smelled of pine and damp stone, but also of something older, hidden beneath the scent of morning. Her wolf twitched inside her ribs, uncertain, but curious. She did not speak. She only followed, watching how Eira moved like she belonged to every tree and shadow.

“If you want to survive exile,” she said, “you must listen to the wild, not run from it.”

Selene only nodded, still wary and silent. Her wolf moved under her skin like smoke in glass.

Eira’s gaze flicked to Selene’s belly but gave nothing away.

“Whatever you carry,” she murmured, “is part of this now. The forest feels it.”

Selene folded her arms across herself, saying nothing. She would not reveal what she herself barely understood.

The first lessons were simple.

Eira showed her how to sit with her back to a cedar, eyes closed, palms on the moss.

“Breathe with the forest,” she said. “Not above it—with it.”

Selene obeyed. She sensed a rabbit’s ear twitch, the ripple of a hidden stream.

When she lost focus, Eira straightened her posture with a light touch.

“Again,” she said. “Feel the pulse.”

Afternoons were for movement.

Eira taught her to draw the wolf to the surface without fully shifting—extend claws, sharpen senses, then let them slide back.

At first Selene’s claws came too sharp, tearing moss. Her senses flared until she gasped.

Eira steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “Ease it out. Don’t scare what you’re protecting.”

The words stung. Selene pressed a palm to her belly but kept going.

She trained until sweat soaked her shirt and her breath came in ragged pulls.

Sometimes her belly tightened when the power flared; she would touch it, uncertain, but continue.

Eira only watched, eyes unreadable.

Evenings smelled of herbs.

They walked the forest together, Eira naming plants as they went—moonwort, bloodfern, crow’s-root.

Selene gathered in silence, memorising the leaves, the way sap bled when cut.

Back at the cabin, Eira taught her to grind, steep and strain them into potions: fever-breakers, salves, warding circles.Some plants stained her fingers green, others left a bitter scent on her palms that clung even after washing. Eira explained what each mixture could do, but Selene found herself memorising not the words but the feel of the power inside them—how moonwort pulsed faintly in her hand, how crow’s-root whispered against her skin. Each night she practiced alone, tasting the strange hum of magic in her tongue like metal and rain.

Selene’s hands stained green and brown but her eyes stayed sharp, eager to learn.

Days blurred into weeks.

Trust grew slowly.

One night by the fire, Selene whispered a name for her unborn child—half-formed, not yet chosen.

Eira looked up but said nothing, only gave a small nod.

For the first time the cabin felt like more than a hiding place.

Then one morning Selene woke alone.

The hearth was cold.

Eira’s cloak was gone from its peg.

On the table lay a folded scrap of parchment:

Called to the northern groves. A healer’s duty cannot wait. Ward the cabin. Train. —E.

Selene stared at the empty room.

For the first time since Silverfen she was truly alone.

She warded the door with salt and moonwort as Eira had taught her, then went to the glade to practise.

Each movement felt heavier now.

Each pulse of power echoed inside her belly like a second heartbeat.She paused, palms pressed to the moss, and wondered if the life within her could feel the forest the way she did. The thought scared her but also steadied her. For the first time she imagined not just surviving but teaching—passing on what she learned, shaping a strength no one in Silverfen had ever seen.

By dusk a strange stillness filled the forest.

Birds were silent.

Mist thickened until the trees became pale shapes.

Selene lit the lantern and sat at the table grinding herbs, but her wolf paced inside her, ears pinned, hackles high.

A snap of wood outside.

Not a falling branch—deliberate.

Selene’s hand froze on the pestle.

She crossed to the window.

White mist pressed against the glass.

Something moved within it—too tall for a deer, too silent for a man.

Amber eyes flared—no longer distant but inches from the pane.

Selene’s breath caught.

She backed away, claws sliding from her fingertips without thought.

The latch trembled under an unseen hand.

She remembered Eira’s warning: It’s learning your scent.

She thought of the child.

She thought of the Moon.

Another snap.

The door shuddered in its frame.

Selene’s wolf surged up.

She did not know if she could fight—only that she could not hide.

“Not again,” she whispered. “I won’t run.”

The lantern flickered.

Shadows stretched like claws across the cabin floor.

Then, from the other side of the door, a low, guttural voice whispered a single word she almost knew:

“Moonborn.”

Her heart pounded.

The latch lifted.

The door began to open.