Whisper Of The Moonlit Heart

The rain lashed against the windows of the old library, a relentless drumming that matched the frantic rhythm of Elara's heart. She clutched the tattered journal to her chest, its pages humming with an energy she couldn't explain. The words inside were written in a language she didn't recognize, yet somehow, she understood them—felt them—like whispers in her blood.

*"You shouldn't be here."*

The voice came from the shadows, low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine. Elara spun around, her breath catching as a figure emerged from between the towering bookshelves. Kael. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach twist, his jaw set in a way that told her he wasn't here to exchange pleasantries.

"I could say the same to you," she shot back, though her voice wavered. The journal pulsed against her fingers, as if reacting to his presence.

Kael stepped closer, the dim light catching the silver scars that traced his forearms—scars she knew weren't from any ordinary wound. "That book doesn't belong to you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's dangerous."

Elara tightened her grip. "Then why does it feel like it's *mine*?"

For a moment, something flickered in his gaze—something like recognition, or maybe regret. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar guardedness. "Because it's playing with your head," he muttered. "Just like it does with everyone else who touches it."

The wind howled outside, rattling the windows as if the storm itself was alive. Elara swallowed hard. She'd spent weeks piecing together the fragments of her dreams—visions of a moonlit grove, of a woman with her face but not her voice, of a heart that beat in time with the earth. And now, with this journal in her hands, she was closer than ever to understanding why.

"You don't know what I've seen," she said, lifting her chin. "What I *feel*."

Kael's expression darkened. "I know more than you think." He reached for the journal, but Elara sidestepped him, her back hitting the shelves. The air between them crackled with something unspoken, something electric.

"Then tell me," she demanded. "Why do I dream about a place I've never been? Why does this book *sing* to me?"

His jaw clenched. "Because you're one of them. A *Lunara*."

The word hung between them, heavy with meaning. Elara's breath hitched. She'd heard that term before—in the hushed conversations of the townsfolk, in the warnings muttered behind her back. The Lunara were whispered about in curses, said to be souls bound to the moon, cursed with gifts that bordered on madness.

"That's impossible," she whispered, but even as she said it, the journal's pages fluttered as if in protest.

Kael's gaze softened, just for a second. "It's not. And if you keep digging, you'll wake something you can't put back to sleep."

Before she could respond, the library doors slammed open with a force that sent books tumbling from their shelves. A gust of wind tore through the room, extinguishing the lanterns and plunging them into darkness. Elara gasped as the journal's energy surged, its glow casting eerie shadows across Kael's face.

"Too late," he muttered, grabbing her wrist. "They're here."

The air grew thick, the scent of damp earth and something metallic filling Elara's lungs. Figures emerged from the shadows—tall, gaunt, their eyes gleaming like shards of ice. The townsfolk called them *Hollow Ones*, the lost souls who'd bargained with forces they didn't understand.

One of them stepped forward, its voice a rasping echo. "The journal. Give it to us."

Elara's pulse roared in her ears. She didn't know who to trust—Kael, who'd warned her but still kept secrets, or these creatures who looked at the book with something like hunger.

Kael pulled her behind him, his body tense. "Run," he hissed.

But the Hollow Ones were faster. One lunged, its fingers grazing Elara's arm before Kael shoved it back with a snarl. The journal's glow flared brighter, its pages peeling open as if guided by an unseen hand. Words lifted from the paper, swirling in the air like smoke.

And then, Elara *heard* it—the voice from her dreams.

*"Remember."*

The world tilted. Pain lanced behind her eyes as images flooded her mind—a moonlit ritual, a betrayal, a heart torn in two. She stumbled, the journal slipping from her fingers as the vision swallowed her whole.

When she came to, she was on the floor, Kael crouched beside her, his hands shaking as he brushed the hair from her face. The Hollow Ones were gone, but the air still hummed with their presence.

"What was that?" she breathed.

Kael's expression was grim. "The truth. And now, they'll stop at nothing to silence it."

Outside, the storm raged on, but Elara knew—this was only the beginning. The journal lay open between them, its final page revealing a single line, written in her own hand:

*"The moon remembers what the heart forgets."*

And for the first time, she wondered if she'd been the one to write it.