Bound by the Moon’s Call

Chapter 2: Relentless Dreams

The dream always started the same way—the forest. Dark, endless, its trees ancient and gnarled, twisting against the moonlit sky. Shadows flickered between the trunks, moving too fast to be seen but always there, just at the edges of her vision. The mist in the dream was thicker than the fog that clung to Ashen Hollow during the day. It coiled around her feet, cold and damp, whispering secrets in a language she didn’t understand.

Lena stood in the center of the forest, her heart pounding in her chest, the only sound besides the rustling of leaves above. The air smelled of pine and earth, but something else lingered underneath—something primal, almost metallic. Blood.

She couldn’t move, her body frozen as if rooted to the ground beneath her. But she wasn’t afraid. No, that wasn’t the right word. The feeling was more complicated, more tangled. It was anticipation. Something was coming, something that both terrified and exhilarated her in equal measure.

In the distance, she heard the first sound that broke the eerie silence. A howl, long and mournful, echoing through the trees. It sent a shiver down her spine, but again, it wasn’t fear. It was as though the sound was calling to her, pulling her deeper into the dream.

Wolves. They were always there, lurking in the shadows, watching her. She could never see them clearly, but she knew they were near, their glowing eyes piercing through the darkness like flames. They were waiting for something—or someone.

The ground beneath her feet began to shift, and when she looked down, the forest floor had turned to stone. An ancient circle of smooth rocks, etched with symbols she couldn’t read, stretched out around her. Her breath caught in her throat as the mist thickened, swirling faster now, almost alive. The wolves moved closer, though she still couldn’t see them, only sense their presence surrounding her.

And then came the whispering.

Voices, faint and indistinct, rose from the mist itself. Witches. She knew, instinctively, that these were the voices of witches. The sound was soft but insistent, growing louder with each passing second, as if they were trying to tell her something, trying to make her understand.

Lena wanted to speak, to ask them what they wanted from her, but her voice wouldn’t come. Her throat felt tight, her tongue heavy. The only sound she could make was a shaky breath as she turned in place, searching the darkness for answers.

The wolves grew closer, the howls louder, and still, the witches whispered.

“Morrigan… Morrigan… the leyline calls.”

The words echoed in her head, bouncing off the edges of her mind, but they made no sense. Morrigan. Her name. The leyline. What did it mean? What were they trying to tell her?

The wind picked up, rustling the trees as the whispers became urgent, frantic. Something was coming.

Suddenly, there was a break in the mist, and from the shadows, a figure emerged—a tall woman cloaked in black, her face hidden beneath a dark hood. Lena’s heart raced as the woman stepped into the circle of stones, her presence commanding and ancient. She carried an aura of power so strong that it rippled through the air like heat off a fire.

The wolves stopped howling. Silence fell.

Lena wanted to step back, to retreat into the safety of the shadows, but her feet wouldn’t move. The woman came closer, her face still obscured, but Lena could feel her eyes on her, piercing and cold.

The woman stopped in front of her, and with a slow, deliberate movement, she lifted her hand. From beneath the cloak, she revealed something small, something glittering in the faint light. A dagger, its blade silver and etched with the same symbols that covered the stones beneath their feet.

Lena’s breath caught in her throat. The dagger glowed faintly, pulsing with energy, as though it were alive.

The woman’s voice was low, almost a hiss. “The Morrigan bloodline must awaken.”

Before Lena could speak, before she could even blink, the woman thrust the dagger forward, straight toward her chest.

Lena woke with a gasp, her heart hammering in her chest, her sheets tangled around her legs. She sat up in bed, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she clutched her chest. There was no dagger, no woman, no wolves, but the feeling lingered, heavy and oppressive.

She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, trying to calm the storm inside her. It was just a dream, she told herself. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn’t true. The dream had been too vivid, too real. The scent of pine and earth still clung to her senses, the cold mist still tickled her skin.

Lena glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 3:47 a.m. Too early to be awake, but there was no chance she was going back to sleep. Not after that.

With a sigh, she swung her legs out of bed and stood, padding over to the small window beside her bed. The fog outside was thick again, pressing against the glass like a living thing. She could barely make out the street, the familiar shapes of houses swallowed by the mist. It was always like this in Ashen Hollow—fog that never seemed to lift, shadows that never quite went away.

She rested her forehead against the cool glass, her mind still racing. The dreams had been happening for weeks now. Every night, the same forest, the same wolves, the same whispering voices. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were trying to tell her something, something important. But no matter how hard she tried to understand, it always slipped through her fingers like the mist.

The Morrigan bloodline must awaken. The woman’s voice echoed in her head, sending a chill down her spine.

Her family name. Morrigan.

It wasn’t the first time she had heard it in connection with witches. Ashen Hollow was full of old stories, old bloodlines, and hers was no exception. Her grandmother had once told her that their family descended from witches, but Lena had never believed it. It had always felt like a fairy tale, a story told to scare children into behaving. But now… she wasn’t so sure.

She turned away from the window, running a hand through her tangled hair. Her thoughts were jumbled, fragmented, and the dream only made the growing disconnection between her and her own life worse.

She felt like a stranger in her own skin lately. The quiet, ordinary life she had built for herself in Ashen Hollow—her job at the library, her cozy little cottage, her walks through the fog-drenched streets—felt distant, as if she were moving through it all underwater. She was going through the motions, but something had changed. Something was missing.

The dreams, the whispers, the strange pull in her chest that had been growing stronger every day—it was all connected, she could feel it. But the why eluded her.

Restless, she wandered out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, the wooden floorboards creaking under her bare feet. She filled a glass with water, her hand still trembling slightly as she took a sip. The cool liquid grounded her, if only for a moment.

As she stood there, staring out into the dark, empty street, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. Something that would tear apart the quiet life she had known for so long.

And deep down, beneath the fear and uncertainty, a small part of her welcomed it.