The Sacred Luna

Chapter 11

(Aaron's POV)

I shake off the memory, but it clings like smoke.

That's why I never came. I was already dead, my body burning with my mother's, while Sanya waited at the crossroads for a future that died in the fire.

My hands clench again, and I watch them fade further. More transparent than an hour ago.

Seventy-two hours. That's what the Creator granted me when I begged, when I prayed through the darkness for one more chance.

Not to live. That's beyond even divine mercy.

But to make sure Sanya finds happiness. Safety. A life worth living.

I thought that meant helping her marriage to Tyron work. But after what I saw last night, the way he beat her without mercy...I begin to doubt myself.

How can Sanya live with a man like that?

I move through the mansion like a ghost—which is exactly what I am. Servants pass without seeing me. Family members walk through the spaces I occupy.

Only Sanya has come close to sensing me. That moment in the bedroom when the moon leaf glowed at her touch—she felt something then. And then last night, when I came to heal her wounds.

But she doesn't understand what it means.

And I can't tell her.

If she learns the truth it will destroy her. She's already going through so much. Parents dead, brothers obsessed with family honor, trapped in a marriage to a man I'm now starting to think might be no better than a beast.

Learning about my death would be the final blow.

So I stay silent. Help from the shadows. Let her hate me for abandoning her, because that hatred is easier to bear than watching her world shatter completely.

I make my way to her bedroom. The door is cracked open, and through the gap, I see her.

She's collapsed on the bed, still wearing the torn and muddy princess dress. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, face buried in the pillow.

Every fiber of my being screams to go to her. To hold her. To whisper that everything will be okay.

But I can't. My presence is as good as nothing.

Instead, I stand in the shadows and watch the woman I love fall apart.

"I'm here, Sanya," I whisper, knowing she can't hear. "Everything will be fine. I promise. I will fix everything."

She doesn't respond. Just keeps crying, and each sob feels like another death.

A presence materializes behind me. Cold. Wrong. Making my spiritual form recoil instinctively.

"How touching."

The voice is warped—layered, like multiple people speaking at once. Raspy and creepy and gloating.

I spin to find a woman in black robes standing in the corner. Her eyes are bottomless pits, empty of anything human.

Black witch. One of the cursed thirty.

"Stay away from me," I growl.

She laughs, the sound like nails on glass. "So hostile! I'm only here to help."

"I don't need your help."

"Don't you?" She glides closer, and the air grows colder. "You're fading, ghost. I can see it. Another forty-eight hours and you'll be gone forever. No more protecting your precious Sanya. No more watching over her."

My hands clench, and I see she's right. The transparency is spreading from my fingers to my wrists.

"What do you want?"

"To make you an offer." She produces a crystal ball from her robes, holding it up. Images swirl in its depths. "I can give you more time. Days. Weeks. Months. You could stay by her side forever."

The temptation hits hard. To stay. To keep protecting her. To never abandon her again.

"At what cost?"

"Come with me." Her smile reveals teeth filed to points. "Serve me. And I'll extend your existence. You'll be able to touch her, hold her, protect her always. Such a small price for eternal love. Wouldn't you say?"

"Serve you." I spit the words. "You mean become your puppet. Your slave."

"Such ugly words for a beautiful arrangement."

"I'd rather fade into nothing than sell my soul to you."

The witch's smile sharpens. "Would you?"

She waves her hand over the crystal ball. The image shifts, becoming horrifyingly clear.

Sanya. Chained. Bleeding. Tyron standing over her with his belt raised, rage distorting his features.

"This is her future," the witch purrs. "This is what awaits her tomorrow, next week, next month. Tyron Stone doesn't forgive. Doesn't forget. He'll break her piece by piece until nothing remains. But with my gift, you could save her. You could become her guardian angel."

The image shows Tyron bringing the belt down. Shows Sanya's scream.

My entire being revolts at the sight.

"All you have to do," the witch continues, "is say yes. One word, and I'll give you the power to stop this. To save her."

I stare at the crystal ball. At the nightmare it shows.

Then I look at my fading hands.

Forty-eight hours left.

"The Creator gave me this time for a reason." My voice is steady despite the temptation clawing at my chest. "I trust His plan more than your schemes. Get away from me."

The witch's expression darkens. "Fool. You think divine mercy will save her? Your God gave you seventy-two hours and nothing more. What happens when that time runs out? Who protects her then?"

"That's not for you to worry about."

"It is, though." She leans close, and her breath is like rot. "I care about you. And every moment you refuse me is another moment she suffers. Her blood is on your hands, ghost. Her pain is your responsibility."

"No." I meet those bottomless eyes. "Her pain is Tyron Stone's responsibility. And if the Creator wills it, he'll pay for every mark on her skin."

"We'll see." The witch begins to fade, but her voice echoes. "We'll see how long that conviction lasts when you watch her scream and can't save her. Tick tock, ghost. Tick tock."

She vanishes, leaving only the scent of decay.

I'm alone again with my fading form and growing unease.

Forty-eight hours.

I look at Sanya, still crying on the bed, and make a decision.

If I can't reveal myself directly, I'll work through others. I'll influence Tyron to be kinder—show him glimpses of the woman he married, make him see her value. I'll create situations that bring them together positively. Use my limited time and the Creator's blessing to orchestrate Sanya's happiness.

It's desperate. Probably doomed.

But it's all I have.

Sanya is a wonderful woman. Tyron Stone only needs to see that. Once he does, I'm sure he'll love her, the way I love her.

And when he does, he'll naturally protect her without needing to be told.

I move closer to the bed, close enough to see the tear tracks on her face. Close enough that if I were solid, I could brush the hair from her eyes.

"I'm here, my love," I whisper again. "I never left you. I promised you I'll always be by your side, even after death."

She shifts slightly, like she heard something. But her eyes stay closed.

I turn to leave, to start planning—

And freeze.

Tyron stands in the doorway.

Silent. Watching.

His ice-blue eyes track Sanya's every movement. The way she breathes. The way she cries. The way her fingers clutch the ruined dress.

His expression isn't satisfaction at her pain. Isn't guilt over causing it.

It's something else entirely.

Confusion.

Like he doesn't understand why he's here. Like he doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to care, but something forced him to come.

He came to see Sanya, despite claiming seeing her face makes him sick.

Does this mean there's still hope in him after all?