Chapter 644: The Name the Moon Still Remembers

Chapter 643: The Name the Moon Still Remembers

Sophia opened her eyes.

At first, there was nothing sharp about the moment. No jolt, no sudden return to awareness. It was more like drifting up through deep water, slow and weightless, until the surface finally gave way.

And then she realized she was no longer a child—though in her last memory, she was no longer a child. She was an adult.

She lay still for a moment, breathing in the room.

Snowlight filtered through the window in pale, shifting patterns, flakes falling without urgency, like the sky had forgotten how to hurry.

The hearth burned steadily near the corner, casting warm orange light across the medical room. Shadows softened every edge, every surface. The air carried that faint mix of herbs and woodsmoke and something medicinal underneath it all.

It was all familiar and safe.

She turned and noticed Orion.

He was beside her bed, seated slightly sideways in a chair that was too small for his frame, his head resting on folded arms against the mattress. His breathing was steady, deeper than usual, the kind of exhaustion that only came when a body refused to stop long enough to break.

Something inside her softened at the sight.

But it wasn’t only him.

There was something else in her chest—something vast, quiet, and ancient. A presence that didn’t arrive so much as return.

It moved through her like a tide recognizing its shore.

It wasn’t foreign. It was just a presence she had forgotten.

Sophia’s fingers twitched against the blanket. She didn’t need anyone to tell her because she knew—her wolf, Neoma, was with her.

She had always been, but this time, Sophia remembered her, and her presence was unmistakable.

A pulse of warmth spread through her chest, like something fractured inside her had finally clicked back into place, even if only partially.

Sophia slowly pushed herself upright.

Her body felt lighter than it should have, but not weak.

Orion didn’t wake.

Not even when the mattress shifted slightly beneath her movement.

That alone told her how deeply he had fallen asleep.

Sophia turned her head toward the window again.

And froze.

There was a woman in the room with them.

Sophia’s breath caught.

Because she knew her.

Even before recognition fully formed, her body reacted. A tightening in her chest. A pull behind her ribs.

The woman tilted her head slightly.

And smiled.

That smile was gentle, almost playful, yet it carried something far too old to belong to anything ordinary.

White hair moved around her like drifting light caught in wind that did not exist. It shimmered faintly, as though it remembered stars. Her eyes, pale blue, almost translucent, held a depth that didn’t feel like looking at a person, but at a horizon that had never ended.

Her skin looked almost unreal, delicate and luminous, with faint traces beneath it like rivers seen through glass. She stood there in a flowing white gown that moved despite the still air, fabric folding like it had its own quiet life.

She was both beautiful and terrifying—just like Sophia remembered her.

"...You," Sophia whispered.

The woman did not respond immediately. Instead, she stepped closer—though the distance between them did not seem to change. It was more like the world bent to accommodate her presence.

Sophia’s fingers curled into the blanket. Something about that made her suspect she wasn’t fully awake like she had thought she was before.

The woman’s voice came at last.

It was soft.

It didn’t feel spoken so much as carried into the air.

"You have not fully returned yet," she said gently, confirming Sophia’s suspicion.

Sophia swallowed.

"But I am awake."

The woman’s smile deepened slightly.

"Not entirely," she replied. "What you are experiencing is memory finding its shape again. You have not regained consciousness... not in the way you believe. You have simply remembered what you had forgotten for a time."

Sophia frowned.

"My memories..."

"Yes."

Sophia nodded.

"I know you," she said slowly. "You’re the one who told me to go north when I was trying to escape my mother."

The woman nodded once.

"I am."

"Are you going to tell me your name now?" Sophia asked her.

The woman studied her for a long moment, as if weighing whether the answer should be given in words or in something deeper.

Then she smiled again.

"Names are fragile things," she said. "They change depending on who remembers them."

Sophia didn’t blink.

"That’s not an answer."

A faint amusement passed through the woman’s expression.

"No," she agreed softly. "It is not."

"Well," Sophia said with a sigh. "I was just asking as a formality. You are Selene, are you not? The Moon Goddess."

Selene smiled again.

"It has been a long time since anyone called me that," she said. "But yes, I am Selene, and according to your mate, I am the reason for most of the unfortunate things that have happened to you."

"Why are you here?" Sophia asked her.

"Because we need to talk. And it will take quite some time. You’ve wanted to speak with me for a while, have you not?" the woman asked Sophia.

Sophia didn’t reply. There was silence in the room, and Selene didn’t move to fill it with her words. She just watched Sophia.

"I already remember most things," Sophia said finally. "What is there to talk about?"

"But you have questions for me, do you not?" Selene asked her.

Sophia didn’t say anything, and Selene continued speaking, this time turning to face the snow.

"I’ve always loved the snow," she said softly. "To me, it’s more beautiful than my hair. I see children playing in it, making snowballs and laughing as they throw them at each other. Families making little things with the snow, people gathering, drinking hot beverages as they share stories."

"I like the snow too," Sophia said softly. "But it’s not all that good, you know? Especially if you are not used to it. For instance, if you have to migrate to a snow-filled place without appropriate clothes, food, or anything."

Selene turned back to Sophia.

"I know of what you speak," she said. "And I’ll ask again—you have questions for me, do you not?"