MOONLASH

The scar burned again at dawn.

Elara woke to the scent of wood smoke drifting through the gaps in the mud walls, to the hush of the waking forest beyond the compound fences. The rooster had not crowd yet, but the dogs were restless, ears pinned back, whining at shadows that moved just beyond the clearing.

She sat up on her sleeping mat, pressing her thumb over the crescent-shaped scar on the inside of her wrist. It pulsed faintly beneath her skin, warm and alive, as if it were a second heartbeat no one else could hear.

Outside, the faint cries of market women calling out greetings in soft voices rose with the mist, and smoke curled into the pale morning sky. Elara listened to the village stirring-pots rattling, goats bleating, children arguing over firewood. It should have felt safe, comforting.

It didn't.

Because beneath it, beneath everything, she could hear it.

A low, rolling growl. A howl carried on the wind, so far away she could pretend it was only the night breeze whispering through the baobab trees.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut it out.

When Elara was thirteen, the scar had appeared overnight, like the brush of a hot coal while she slept. She remembered waking to the smell of burning flesh, to the light of the moon painting silver lines across the dirt floor, to her mother screaming when she saw the mark. It was shaped like a crescent moon, the edges jagged as if something had clawed it into her flesh.

No one in the village spoke of it, but they watched her, always watched her, when the moon was high. The elders would fall silent if she passed too close during the stories by the fire. The children who once played with her found reasons to leave when she came near. She learned to walk softly, to lower her eyes, to smile and nod so they would not see the fear that grew in her every time the wind smelled of rain and earth and blood.

"Your fire's dying," her mother said softly, leaning in through the doorway with her wrapper pulled tight around her shoulders.

Elara blinked, the scar fading from her mind for a moment. "I'll fetch more wood."

Her mother's eyes lingered on her wrist before she nodded. "Be careful."

Elara stepped outside, letting the morning air clear her head. The mist clung low to the ground, curling around her bare feet as she crossed the compound toward the small pile of firewood stacked by the fence. The forest stood just beyond the low mud walls, vast and deep, a sea of dark green that pulsed with life. She could feel it even from here, a heartbeat under the soil, the hush of leaves, the calls of unseen birds.

The scar on her wrist tingled again, and she rubbed it, looking up to find a pair of yellow eyes watching her from the treeline.

At first, she thought it was a dog. Then it stepped forward, and the breath caught in her throat.

It was too big, too silent, the way it moved wrong-smooth, purposeful, and almost... human.

The eyes blinked once, twice, before disappearing into the brush.

"Elara!"

She turned so fast she nearly dropped the wood. Kael stood by the fence, the wind lifting the edges of his dark cloak, his eyes reflecting the dawn light like molten gold.

"Kael," she breathed, pressing a hand to her chest.

He looked older than nineteen, always had, with the kind of quiet that made the elders pause when he entered a room. His hair was tied back with a strip of cloth, and across his neck were faint scars that disappeared under the collar of his shirt.

"You saw it, didn't you?" he asked, stepping closer.

She swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes flicked to her wrist, to the scar she still tried to hide under the edge of her wrapper. "You felt it."

"Kael, I don't-"

"You felt the call." His voice was low, urgent, cutting through the dawn stillness. "Elara, you can't keep ignoring it."

The air seemed to grow colder, the mist thickening around them. Elara glanced at the forest, remembering the eyes in the dark, the way the howl echoed in her bones when she tried to sleep.

"It's nothing," she whispered.

Kael's jaw tightened. "It's everything."

She turned away, clutching the firewood against her chest, pretending the weight steadied her trembling hands.

"I'm not like you, Kael," she said, almost too softly for him to hear.

When she looked back, he was gone, leaving only the whisper of leaves as they fell back into place.

That night, the moon rose heavy and red, spilling light over the village like blood. The drums of the evening gathering echoed from the fire circle, but Elara sat alone on the edge of the clearing, her wrist burning as if the scar had been made fresh.

She thought of Kael, of the eyes in the forest, of the stories she heard whispered when the elders thought she could not hear:

The moon chooses the marked. The marked brings the hunt.

A sound came from the forest-a low, mournful howl, closer than before.

Elara stood, the air cold against her skin, and took a single step toward the treeline. Then another.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of earth, of wet leaves, of something coppery and sharp.

She stepped into the forest, branches clawing at her arms, the moonlight bleeding silver through the leaves. The howl came again, louder, and this time, it was not alone.

Eyes opened in the darkness, blinking, glowing.

The scar on her wrist flared white-hot, and Elara fell to her knees, clutching it as pain seared up her arm.

Come.

The word was not spoken aloud, but it filled her mind, wrapping around her like a command, like a promise.

Come.

A shadow moved in front of her, tall, massive, fur glistening under the moonlight. Yellow eyes locked onto hers, and in them, she saw herself reflected-not as she was, but as something else. Something with claws, with fangs, with the same scar burning like a brand.

"Elara."

She turned her head, gasping.

Kael stood at the edge of the clearing, his eyes no longer gold but a deep, feral amber.

"You can't run from this," he said, stepping forward, the moonlight catching on something that moved across his skin like smoke.

Behind him, the forest came alive with howls.

And the last thing Elara saw before the pain took her was the moon, impossibly bright, as if it had opened its eye just for her.