Moon Bound

Selene felt nothing.

The moment the beast's claws struck her, the world had vanished into darkness. It wasn't like falling asleep or slipping into unconsciousness. It was deeper than that—an abyss of cold, suffocating silence that wrapped around her like a shroud. No pain. No sound. Just endless nothingness.

And then, suddenly, there was fire.

A searing heat tore through her body, a pain so raw it sent shockwaves through her nerves. Her lungs burned as if she were drowning, every breath ragged and shallow. Somewhere, beyond the veil of agony, she could hear voices—shouting, screaming. The clash of steel. The crackle of magic. It was all a blur, slipping in and out of focus.

Then, another voice, one she knew too well.

"Selene!" Damon's voice cut through the haze, frantic and desperate.

She tried to open her eyes, but the weight of exhaustion held her down. Her body refused to move, pinned beneath something heavy—earth, debris, or perhaps the crushing force of magic itself. The last thing she remembered was the beast lunging, its claws glowing with dark energy, and then—nothing.

Something was pulling her back, dragging her from the abyss. But it wasn't gentle. It was violent, like being ripped from the depths of a storm.

With a sharp gasp, Selene's eyes flew open.

Pain surged through her like a tidal wave. Every muscle ached, her skin burned, and her head throbbed with a dull, relentless pounding. She was lying on the ground, partially buried beneath fallen branches and scorched earth. The scent of smoke filled her nose, mingling with the coppery tang of blood.

Blinking rapidly, she forced her vision to focus. The battlefield was a nightmare.

The once-proud trees of the forest were now blackened husks, twisted and broken. Bodies—both friend and foe—littered the ground, the dirt soaked with blood. The air was thick with magic, crackling with unstable energy. The beast that had struck her down was nowhere to be seen, but the battle had not ended. If anything, it had grown worse.

And then she saw him.

Ronan stood in the center of the chaos, his presence commanding, his dark eyes locked onto her. His lips curled into a smirk, his posture relaxed despite the carnage around him.

"I have to admit, Selene," he mused, tilting his head, "I thought that would kill you. But you just don't know when to die, do you?"

Selene clenched her jaw, forcing herself onto her hands and knees. Her body protested, every movement a struggle, but she refused to stay down. She planted one foot against the ground, pushing herself up despite the screaming pain in her ribs.

Damon and the others were still fighting, barely holding their ground. The Centaurs were gravely wounded, their numbers thinning. The elves were exhausted, their magic nearly drained. And Selene—Selene was the last thing standing between Ronan and complete victory.

He took a slow step forward. "You're running out of time. You know that, don't you? This battle is already lost. Your people are dying. Surrender, and I might let some of them live."

Selene's fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword. "You underestimate me."

Ronan chuckled. "No. I know exactly what you are. And I know exactly what you're capable of. But let's be honest, Selene—you're not strong enough to stop me."

He lifted a hand, and the air rippled with dark energy. The shadows twisted, rising from the earth like living creatures, writhing and stretching toward her. The very ground beneath her feet pulsed, the magic thick and suffocating.