The morning sun bathed Eldenbrook in golden warmth, but for Seraphina, the brightness only emphasized the shadows in her mind. Sleep had come in fleeting bursts, broken by whispering trees and silver eyes watching her through the mist.
She sat on the wooden bench outside the apothecary, her apron tied and fingers absentmindedly peeling dried lavender from its stems. Every breeze felt like a message. Every rustle, felt like a summons.
"You're going to wear a hole in that bench if you keep squirming like that," Granny Merle's voice rang out from inside.
Seraphina startled. "I'm not squirming."
"You've been twitching like a squirrel in a lightning storm all morning," the old woman grumbled, appearing in the doorway with a steaming mug in hand. Her sharp grey eyes narrowed on Seraphina's face. "Dreams again?"
Seraphina gave a small nod.
Granny Merle sighed and sat beside her, her joints cracking in protest. Though the village called her Granny, Merle was no blood relative—just the fiercely independent healer who had taken Seraphina in after her mother disappeared. She was sharp-tongued, tougher than ironbark, and the only person in Eldenbrook who knew the truth about Seraphina's past. Or at least, most of it.
"Same one?" Granny asked, her voice lower now.
"Almost," Seraphina murmured. "But this time… he looked at me. Like he knew me."
Granny Merle sighed again, her gaze drifting toward the woods beyond the village. "You're your mother's child, that's for sure."
Seraphina turned to her sharply. "You've never talked about her. Not really. But now why would you mention about her ?"
"That's because talking about her hurts more than silence," the old woman muttered. "But I'll tell you this—she was drawn to that forest too. Just like you."
Seraphina's breath caught. "Did she ever… go inside?"
Granny Merle didn't answer right away. She stared into the distance, lips pursed. "There are old stories in this village. Of bloodlines touched by moonlight. Of people who don't quite belong."
"Moonborn," Seraphina whispered, remembering the term from old scrolls she'd glimpsed in the attic.
Granny gave her a sideways look. "You know more than I thought."
"I know I'm not normal. I've never been. I hear things. Feel things... The forest calls to me like it knows my name."
"And maybe it does," Granny said softly.
Before Seraphina could ask more, a familiar voice called out.
"Oi, Forest Girl!"
She turned to see Elyas approaching with a grin on his face and a bag of apples slung over his shoulder.
"Don't call me that," she said, but she was already smiling.
He flopped down on the grass in front of her and tossed her an apple. "Thought you might be starving. You always forget to eat when you're busy being mysterious and moody."
"I'm not moody."
"You're moodier than a cat in the rain," he smirked, biting into an apple. Juice dripped down his chin. "So. What's the plan today? Potions? Secret forest meetings with dream-boy? Starting a cult?"
She gave him a long look. "For someone who claims he's not jealous, you sure bring him up a lot."
He choked dramatically. "Jealous? Of a dream guy? Please."
"Mhmm."
Elyas cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Anyway, the market's packed today. Festival's coming up. You going?"
"Maybe," she said, rolling the apple in her hands. "If the forest doesn't swallow me whole first."
His smile dimmed a little. "Don't joke like that."
"I'm not."
A silence stretched between them. Elyas looked down, fingers tugging at blades of grass.
"I know something's pulling you," he said quietly. "I just wish it wasn't pulling you away from me."
Her heart ached at his words.
Before she could respond, a sudden gust of wind swept through the street, carrying with it a strange scent—sweet and ancient, like crushed moonflowers and cold stone. Both of them froze.
"That's not normal," Elyas muttered.
Nearby villagers paused, sniffing the air. Some crossed themselves. Others hurried indoors.
Seraphina stood slowly. The scent tugged at her memory—something from her dreams.
Granny Merle appeared behind them, her hand tightening on her cane. "Something's waking."
"What do you mean?" Seraphina asked.
Granny's voice was barely above a whisper. "A veil's been lifted. The forest feels it. So do you."
Elyas stepped closer to Seraphina. "You're not going in there. Not alone."
"I might not have a choice," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
Because deep in her chest, something had shifted. Like a lock turning. A barrier breaking.
And far beyond the hills, hidden in the heart of the Forbidden Forest, a figure stirred beneath moonlit branches—barefoot, cloaked in shadow, his eyes like molten silver.
The prince had awakened.
And he was searching.
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