Chapter 2: The Mark of the Flame
Selene Ardora sat cross-legged on the dusty floor of the spell chamber, her fingertips smudged with charcoal and herbs. The air around her shimmered from the heat, though no fire was visible. It danced beneath her skin like a living thing, eager to be unleashed.
"Again," snapped High Witch Virella. "Control the flame."
Selene gritted her teeth. She pressed her palms together, murmured the incantation, and summoned a sphere of fire between them. It hovered—glowing, flickering—then exploded into sparks that scattered across the chamber floor.
Too hot. Too wild.
The witches flinched. One young apprentice shrieked and ducked behind a pillar.
"Out of control, again," Virella hissed. "What else can we expect from a Moon-marked mongrel?"
Selene lowered her hands, fists clenched. A faint glow pulsed beneath her skin, forming a delicate crescent moon on her palm—faint, almost invisible, but undeniably there.
"You act like I asked for this," she muttered.
Virella turned, her long robe sweeping the floor behind her. "You were warned not to explore forbidden magic."
"I didn't explore anything," Selene snapped. "I was born with it."
Gasps rippled through the coven. One of the elders began whispering into another's ear, casting worried glances at the girl who glowed with fire.
She wasn't just powerful. She was dangerous.
Selene remained still as Virella's gaze bore into her. The High Witch's voice was sharp as broken glass. "Perhaps you should be reminded of the consequences of unchecked magic. We do not tolerate chaos within these walls."
Later that night, Selene slipped through the garden behind the coven's compound. She knelt by the stream, letting cool water run over her hands. The mark still throbbed faintly.
The moon reflected back at her, bright and knowing. She reached toward it as if she could touch the sky.
"Why me?" she whispered. "What am I becoming?"
The trees whispered in the breeze. Crickets sang a nervous lullaby. Selene looked deeper into the water's surface and saw more than her reflection—she saw flames flickering across her eyes, and behind her, the vague outline of a man... no, a wolf, silver-eyed and watching.
"Why now?" she whispered again. "What are you trying to tell me?"
The wind picked up. The moon shimmered. A voice echoed inside her mind.
Soon.
She gasped, stumbling backward, heart pounding. The whisper clung to her skin like silk.
Inside her chest, a heat built—not painful, but intimate. Like a lover's breath on her neck. Like a secret begging to be touched.
Something inside her was waking. And it wanted more.
The fire she feared... was beginning to feel like home.
That night, sleep came slowly. And when it did, her dreams were filled with shadow and flame.
And eyes.
Silver eyes.