Moonbound Fate

Marrok swallowed hard, blinking against the unwanted tears that refused to stop. His throat felt tight, his chest constricted with an emotion that didn't belong to him. He didn't answer.

Ulva and Raul exchanged a glance, their expressions dark with concern. Outside, the wind rustled through the dense bushes surrounding the manor, carrying the faint whispers of unseen things lurking beyond. The distant creak of tree branches added an eerie undertone to the heavy silence inside.

Marrok wiped his face roughly, as if scrubbing away the evidence of whatever had overtaken him. "It's not mine," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "These feelings… they're not mine."

Ulva frowned, her green eyes narrowing. "Then whose are they? And why does this keep happening?"

Marrok's jaw clenched. He didn't know. He only knew that the sadness was overwhelming—deep, gut-wrenching pain, thick with helplessness and despair. The more he focused on it, the stronger it became, tightening around his heart like unseen chains. Who did these feelings belong to? And why were they bleeding into him?

Raul exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "This isn't the first time, Marrok. And it's getting worse. We can't keep ignoring it—we have to do something."

The air inside the manor felt heavier than before, thick with unspoken thoughts. Marrok's hands trembled slightly before he clenched them into fists. He hated this. The confusion. The helplessness. If only Zeev, would speak to him—explain where these emotions were coming from.

The first time it happened, he was just twelve. He had been training with Raul when an impeccable pain seared across his cheek, like someone had slapped him. Then, without warning, tears welled in his eyes—tears that weren't his own.

Back then, he had assumed the emotions belonged to Ulva. As his mate, she was the only one he should have been able to feel. But when he found her, she was laughing, playing with the other packmates, untouched by pain or sadness. The feelings weren't hers. And nobody—not even the elders—could understand why he had felt them. When he asked Zeev, his wolf had only scoffed and told him not to disturb him, calling him a clueless fool.

That's all his wolf ever does—insult him. If Zeev would just explain things like other wolves do for their humans, maybe Marrok wouldn't always be so clueless. Would he?

Since then, the strange emotions had come sporadically, hitting him like ghostly echoes of someone else's suffering. But ever since he turned fourteen, they had become more frequent. So frequent that he had started hiding them from his family and friends. But every now and then, like today, he slipped—and Ulva and Raul had caught him.

Lately, the episodes had shifted. He no longer felt the physical pain—only the gut-wrenching sadness. It was as if something, or someone, was reaching out to him through sheer agony. And as always, Zeev remained maddeningly silent, as if he didn't exist.

Ulva studied Marrok carefully. Her emerald-green eyes flickered with concern. "Do you think we should abort the mission and go back home?" she asked. "Maybe this is their doing. A witch could be helping them."

Marrok inhaled sharply, forcing his emotions into check. "I don't think so. No supernatural being would help them willingly—unless they were being forced."

Raul sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then we have no choice but to return, Your Highness."

Ulva nodded in agreement. "This—"

"Enough!" Marrok snapped, his golden eyes flashing as he turned to them. His voice was firm, resolute. "We are not aborting the mission until we deal with him."

He exhaled, trying to steady his breathing. "Father promised to find the Fenlori," he reminded them. "Only she can explain what this is."

Ulva's jaw tightened, her fingers curling into fists. "I'll make them pay for messing with you," she said, wiping the last of his tears away.

Marrok's expression softened as he gazed at her. A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Raul sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Here we go again," he muttered under his breath.

→→→→→→→

Sumaya woke up feeling like she had been run over by a speeding train.

As her senses slowly returned, she became aware of the uncomfortable position she had slept in—her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, her back pressed against the cold, hard door. It took her a moment to realize she had fallen asleep like that.

Her back ached as she tried to stretch, her spine protesting with a sharp twinge. Her nose was stuffy, her eyes sore and swollen from crying. A dull throbbing pounded in her skull, and every muscle in her body felt stiff and battered.

She staggered to her feet, wobbling slightly. Gosh, I can't feel my legs. A deep frown creased her forehead as she struggled to get them to work again. It felt like she was stepping on tiny, blunt needles with every movement.

Bracing herself, she stretched, trying to get the blood flowing before slowly shuffling toward her bed. As she moved, memories of the night before came flooding back.

Her father's booming voice.

Her mother's cries.

The sharp, sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh.

Her foolish attempt at playing hero.

The brutal grip on her hair. The way she had been yanked and dragged as if she were nothing more than a ragdoll.

She remembered curling up in a ball on the cold floor, helplessly listening to the horrors unfolding downstairs, her mother's sobs cutting through the darkness like a knife. At some point, exhaustion must have taken over, forcing her into a restless sleep.

She let out a deep sigh and slumped onto her bed, her body sinking into the mattress as she took in her surroundings.

The early morning sunlight was beginning to seep through the curtains, casting a soft, warm glow across the room. Outside, birds chirped cheerfully as if the world hadn't just shattered around her last night.

But inside, the nightmare still clung to her—fresh and raw.

She could still feel the terror, the suffocating helplessness of being unable to stop Jae, of being too weak to save her mother.

It was a nightmare she wished she could wake up from.

She reached out to her bedside table for her phone, only to find it wasn't there. Then she remembered—it was still in her backpack, the one she had dropped downstairs last night when she had rushed to help her mother.

Sumaya pushed herself up from the bed, stretching her stiff limbs before trudging toward the bathroom.

It was time to get ready for school.

And she dreaded it. That wretched place was just another battlefield—no different from home.

She sighed, wondering when—if—she would ever get a break from this cruel world. There was no peace for her, neither at home nor at school.