Chapter 2. The Binding

Cold stone pressed against her cheek when she stirred.

The air was thick with dampness and the sharp, coppery scent of rust. Every breath brought it deeper into her lungs—earth and old blood, sour and iron-slick. Somewhere above, water dripped in a slow rhythm, each drop landing with a hollow plip that echoed like a heartbeat in the dark.

Her limbs ached. Her head throbbed with the dull, swollen pressure of too much power forced back into a body too fragile to contain it. Muscles trembled with each breath. When she tried to move, a cold bite of iron closed around her wrists and ankles.

Shackles.

She twisted weakly. The metal held fast—smooth and cold. But not just iron.

Silver.

She recoiled instinctively, panic spiking in her chest. Her breath hitched, her pulse thundering in her ears. She had touched silver once as a child—a charm fallen from an Elder’s robe—and the pain had been instant, violent, unforgettable. Silver was poison. It ate through her veins like fire, turned her blood to ash.

But now... nothing.

The shackle at her wrist was cold and firm, yet her skin did not blister. Her body did not scream. There was no agony, no rejection. Only the pressure of metal. It felt like ordinary iron.

She lifted her arm with effort, the chain clinking softly in the gloom, and stared at the cuff encircling her wrist. Her fingers flexed weakly. The metal left no burn, no searing wound.

Confusion settled in, colder than fear.

Why didn’t it hurt?

Her mind reeled, trying to climb back through the smoke of her memories. Something was wrong. Something was missing.

Fragments returned in flashes. She remembered standing beneath the moonlight in the grove, the ceremonial gown clinging to her like water, the silver veins on her skin glowing with unnatural fire. She remembered Aeron—the look in his eyes when she shifted, not with grace, but with fury. She remembered blood on stone, her own howl tearing through the grove, and the Elders’ voices—harsh, fearful, final:

Monster… Sacrifice… Cursed child…

Their words tangled in her mind, phrases repeating, breaking apart, echoing louder than her own heartbeat.

She cannot live… She’ll bring ruin… The Goddess demands atonement…

She drew her knees to her chest, or tried to, the shackles grinding against her movements. Her body ached in places she hadn’t even known could hurt. The silver in her veins—though dim—still pulsed faintly beneath the skin, casting an eerie glow through the darkness. It was a quiet light now, not the blinding radiance that had overtaken her in the ritual grove. But even diminished, it made her feel exposed, as though the shadows might rise up and swallow her simply for daring to glow.

The cold steadied her—until the silence broke.

A slow creak echoed through the chamber. Heavy iron hinges dragging open.

Then came the soft scrape of boots across the ground, steady and unhurried, approaching from across the chamber.

She held her breath, eyes clamped shut, feigning unconsciousness. Her heart pounded painfully in her ribs.

The steps paused.

A hooded figure loomed over her.

Ismeria’s heart thundered in her chest, each beat an explosion in the silence. She told herself to be still, to stay limp. If they thought she was unconscious, maybe they’d leave.

They didn’t.

A cloth was pressed over her mouth and nose, fast and forceful. Her eyes flew open, too late. A sharp, acrid scent rushed into her lungs—bitter enough to make her gag. She thrashed weakly, but the shackles held her in place. Within moments, her limbs lost what little strength they had left. Her vision swam.

And the dark came for her again.

***

When she opened her eyes, the world swam in firelight.

Pain was the first sensation—deep and piercing, cutting through the fog in her skull like a blade drawn too fast.

She was no longer in the cell.

Stone pressed beneath her again, but this surface was smoother, colder, polished. Her arms were outstretched, her legs bound, her back pinned flat to some kind of altar. She struggled, but the bindings held firm, and then she saw them—a ring of hooded figures, chanting in a low, ancient tongue that her mind couldn’t quite translate, but her blood understood.

The ritual had begun.

Candles flared. The carved runes beneath her ignited with soft blue light. Her silver veins blazed in response, reacting as though summoned. A cry ripped from her lips as pain bloomed, not in her flesh but in her soul—a deep, spiritual severing.

Her wolf howled from within.

It clawed at her bones, fighting to rise, to answer the threat. She felt its fury, its confusion, its primal terror. Her breath came in gasps. She begged—not aloud, her throat had no voice left—but mentally, desperately.

No… stop… no… please—

But the chanting only grew louder.

And then the real pain began.

Chains not made of iron but of spellwork—forged of light and shadow, of will and old magic—coiled around the wolf inside her. They struck like lightning, wrapping her spirit in blinding binds, pulling it down, down, down. The creature within her shrieked as it was crushed into silence, as every instinct and howl and sacred fire was shackled.

She screamed.

Until her voice broke. Her eyes rolled back. Her body convulsed once, twice, before going still.

***

The chanting ended.

The hooded female figure stepped back from the altar, slowly lowering her hands.

“It is done,” she rasped, her voice steady and ancient. “Her wolf is bound. Her scent is veiled. The Alpha and his Elders will not find her. Not now. Not ever.”

A second voice spoke—hesitant, young. “But... why spare her? Why protect her, after what she did?”

The woman turned her hooded head, shadow obscuring her features, but her voice carried weight.

“Because the prophecy is not ours to break. The Goddess would not forgive us if we slaughtered her chosen. One day, she will awaken. And when she does…” She looked down at Ismeria’s still body. “Her destiny will burn brighter than anything this world has seen.”

She turned to a few hooded men, her voice firm. “Take her.”

They lifted her with care and wrapped her in coarse cloth, concealing her glowing veins. She weighed almost nothing—her body limp, her light dimmed. And then, like ghosts, they slipped through the stone halls and vanished into the trees.

***

They crossed borders under moonless skies.

Beyond the sacred groves. Past the sentries who watched the pack lands. Into the stretch of wild forest where no wolf dared tread—where magic thinned, and old things lingered.

Finally, they reached the cliffs.

The sea whispered below—salt on the breeze, the rhythmic crash of waves against stone. At the edge of the coastal woods, beneath the gnarled limbs of a centuries-old oak, they laid her gently on the moss.

The hooded woman knelt.

She touched Ismeria’s brow, gently brushing her hair back from her face. Her skin was cold now. Her breath shallow, but steady.

She whispered, “Live, child of the Moon. When the time comes, the Goddess will call you home.”

And then she rose and vanished into the dark.

***

Dawn had not yet broken.

The wind carried the chill of sea spray and distant gulls. Near the tree line, a flicker of golden light bobbed between the ferns—a lantern, swaying gently in a weathered hand.

“Damn knees,” the woman muttered to herself. “Should’ve stayed in bed, but no, out chasing herbs like some wild crone.”

She carried a basket on her arm, earthy with soil and stems. The moon hung low behind her, veiled in mist.

She bent to pull a sprig of valerian when something caught her eye—a pale shape against the roots of the old oak.

She froze.

A girl. No older than eighteen. Draped in torn, bloodied cloth, her limbs slack, her hair tangled with leaves. Her skin was so pale it glowed faintly, and beneath the filth, veins glimmered silver.

The woman dropped her basket.

“Oh, sweet stars,” she gasped, rushing forward.

She knelt beside the girl, brushing matted hair away from her face. Blood crusted along her temple. Her lips were cracked. Her body radiated faint heat—not fever, but something stranger. Something... not entirely human.

Still, she breathed.

“Poor thing,” the woman whispered. “What have they done to you?”

She pulled off her shawl and wrapped it gently around her. Her fingers were deft, maternal, used to broken birds and fevered children.

The girl didn’t stir.

“That’s all right,” she murmured. “You’re safe now. Whatever monsters chased you, they won’t find you here.”

With surprising strength, she lifted the girl into her arms. The gown hung in tatters, and her weight sagged like a sleepwalker’s. Her head lolled against the woman’s shoulder, lips parting on a shallow breath.

“Hush, little one,” the woman whispered. “You’ll mend.”

Lantern light swayed gently as she carried the Moon’s fallen bride into the shadows of the trees, toward the quiet safety of her cottage at the edge of the human town—where fire warmed the hearth and healing herbs waited on the shelf.

A new name would be given. A new life would begin.

And far away, in a grove of cold stone and prophecy, the Moon watched in silence—waiting.