Torn Between Destinies

Chapter 49: Chapter Forty Nine

The morning air was cool when I woke. Mist still hugged the ground in the hidden valley, curling around stones like sleepy cats. Orrin was already waiting near the tall evergreen, his gray robes moving lightly in the breeze. I rubbed my eyes and stood, feeling stiff but ready. Today, he said, my true training would begin.

Orrin raised one hand in greeting. "Come, Luciana. The First Way waits."

I walked to him and saw a small circle of smooth stones laid out on the moss. Each stone was etched with a mark—half moons, full moons, and a single star. In the center lay a hollow bowl made from silver metal. Water filled the bowl, and its surface reflected the sky even though most of the sky was hidden by trees.

"What is the First Way?" I asked.

"Mooncalling," Orrin said. His voice was calm but carried weight. "This is the oldest song of our kind. It reaches to the sky and pulls the moon’s will into flesh and bone. If done right, it heals and strengthens. If wrong, it can shatter a wolf’s voice forever."

I swallowed. "And if I lose my voice?"

"You will lose more than sound," he said. "You will lose the path. The next trials depend on a clear song. So we must take care."

He motioned for me to sit on one stone. He sat across from me. The silver bowl glowed softly between us. The water inside looked deep, though I knew the bowl was shallow.

"The moon is still in the sky," Orrin said, pointing up through the branches. I saw a faint white circle, pale in daylight. "She listens even in day. You must call to her. Then draw her answer into your heart and let it out as a howl. When it is right, your voice and the moon’s will blend. When it is wrong, the sound breaks you."

I felt fear tighten my chest. My howl was strong back home, but this felt different. Bigger. Dangerous.

Orrin must have seen my worry. He dipped his fingers into the bowl and flicked water toward me. The droplets landed on my forehead, cool and sharp.

"Water remembers every reflection," he said. "It keeps shape and sound. Look into the bowl and see yourself. Then see more."

I leaned over the bowl. My face stared back—tired eyes, messy hair. But as I looked harder, the water shifted. My reflection rippled, and behind it I saw shapes—trees, stars, maybe faces. I wasn’t sure. The images came and went like breath on glass.

"Close your eyes," Orrin said. "Breathe in slowly. Feel the moon above you. Feel her tide run through your blood. Let it gather in your chest."

I closed my eyes and breathed. The cool air filled my lungs. I pictured the pale disk in the sky, far away yet touching the whole world with light. My heart seemed to follow that glow, beating slower, stronger.

"Now," Orrin said softly, "listen for her hum."

At first, I heard nothing. Only my heartbeat. But after a few breaths, a faint note reached my ears. It was soft, like the lowest string of a harp, carried on wind. It thrummed in the bones of my skull, gentle but certain. I let it grow.

"Hold it," Orrin said. "When you feel heavy with her song, open your mouth and let your howl form. Do not force shape. Let feeling shape the sound."

I filled my lungs once more. The hum vibrated inside me. My throat tingled. Fear flickered, but I pushed it aside. Then I parted my lips and howled.

At first, the sound was weak, like a pup’s cry. It wavered and cracked. Pain stabbed my throat. I stopped, coughing.

Orrin’s eyes were kind. "Again. But let go of fear. Fear strangles the note."

I drank from a small leather flask, feeling my throat burn. The water soothed. I closed my eyes again, calling the moon’s hum.

This time, I pictured Erya’s face. I pictured Darius holding her, smiling. I felt why I was here—to save them, to protect every life that trusted me. The fear quieted. Determination grew.

I pulled the moon’s hum into my chest. It was louder now, echoing through ribs, pulsing in veins. When I opened my mouth, the howl rose strong. It lifted from me like a ribbon of silver sound. No break. No crack. My own voice blended with something larger, deeper.

The trees trembled. The mist spun upward in spirals. The water in the bowl glowed, reflecting stars even though no stars filled the sky.

I held the note as long as my lungs allowed. When I finally stopped, the forest fell silent. Even the breeze paused.

Orrin smiled. "Again."

We repeated the call many times. Each howl left me breathless but alive. The moon’s hum stayed clear. Sweat glazed my forehead, and my limbs shook, but my voice held.

Hours passed.

At last, Orrin lifted his hand. "Enough. You have found the true note."

I dropped to my knees, exhausted. My throat felt raw yet strong. Inside my chest, the hum remained, softer now but steady.

Orrin reached for a small clay jar and opened it. A faint scent of mint and pine drifted out. He smeared a cool salve over my neck. Relief spread through sore muscles.

"The moon’s will is yours now," he said. "But you must practice daily. If doubt returns, your howl will fracture."

I nodded, too tired to speak.

He helped me stand. The forest seemed lighter. Motes of silver drifted like dust in sunlight.

"You called wind," Orrin said. He pointed to the bowl. The water no longer showed reflection. Instead, it swirled slowly, forming a tiny whirlpool. "She heard you."

I watched, amazed. "What happens next?"

"Next comes the Second Way," he said. "But tonight you rest. Tomorrow you howl at dusk. We will see if the night sky answers as the day sky did."

We returned to the stone alcove. Orrin laid fresh moss for a bed and gave me a cup of warm tea made from herbs that smelled of honey and smoke. I sipped and felt strength flow back.

As the sunset turned the sky to gold and orange, Orrin spoke from the entrance. "Your howl carried far. The Vale knows you now. Not all who dwell here are friends."

I set the cup down, unease prickling my skin. "What lives here besides you and the Guardian?"

Orrin’s gaze drifted to the darkening trees. "Old spirits. Some remember Elivas’s pain and wish the curse to remain. They may try to twist your note."

I swallowed. "How will I know friend from foe?"

"Listen," he said simply. "Your heart knows the moon’s hum now. Anything that answers with hunger is not the moon."

Night fell.

Stars peeked through gaps in branches. The sky seemed closer here, every star burning bright and unblinking. I lay down, the promise of sleep heavy in my bones, yet my mind drifted to my family far away. I pictured Darius looking up at the same sky, maybe feeling a distant tug as my voice crossed the world.

I whispered, "I miss you," hoping the breeze would carry the words.

Then I slept.

I dreamed of silver rivers and wolf shapes made of starlight. They circled me, singing a song without words. The hum of the moon wove through their music. I followed them deeper into the night until light blazed around us.

I woke just before dawn.

The forest was quiet, but not silent. Somewhere a low hoot drifted—an owl greeting morning. Mist curled like pale fingers above the ground. I stretched, surprised that my muscles felt loose, my throat smooth.

Orrin approached with two clay bowls of porridge sweetened with berries. "Eat."

We ate quietly. My mind already on the evening howl.

After breakfast, Orrin led me to a ridge overlooking the valley. From here, I saw the whole hidden world: rolling mists, tall stone rings, the silver thread of a river shining in first light.

"The Vale breathes through you now," Orrin said. He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Guard its breath until the last trial."

We spent the day walking between ancient trees. Orrin taught me small exercises: shaping air into gentle gusts, weaving mist into temporary images. Each task required the same focus as the howl—gathering the hum, shaping intent, letting it flow.

By dusk, my body buzzed with quiet power.

We returned to the stone circle. The air was cool, the sky dusky purple. The moon hung low, full and radiant.

Orrin stepped back. "Call her."

I closed my eyes. The hum answered instantly, like a string pulled in my chest. I breathed in, lifted my head, and howled.

The sound soared, clear and true. The trees glowed. The water in the bowl brightened. My voice felt limitless, like it could crack mountains.

Then a second note slipped in—sweet but wrong. It slid under my howl, twisting the edges. My throat tightened. My wolf bristled. I pushed harder, pouring faith into the sound.

The false note hissed, then snapped.

Silence rushed in, and I stumbled, catching myself on a stone.

Orrin was at my side in a blink. "You felt it?"

I nodded, panting. "Something tried to drown the note."

He frowned. "Shades of the curse. They have noticed you. They will return."

I wiped sweat from my brow. "Then I’ll be ready."

He smiled, proud but sad.

"The First Way is complete. The moon hears you, and you hear her. Tomorrow, we begin the Second Way: Binding Breath and Flame."

I breathed deep, steadying my heartbeat.

I had faced fear and found song.

I had called the moon and lived.

And though shadows waited, I was not the girl who fell anymore.

I was the Chosen.

And my voice, now bound with the moon’s hum, would not break—no matter how dark the night became.