Chapter One: The Howl in the Forest
The forest always held whispers.
Some said the trees could talk. Others believed the shadows walked. But in the village of Lethwyn, where old tales clung to cobbled streets like ivy, the forest was feared. Not for what was seen—but for what was heard.
On nights when the moon was full, a strange howl would rise—long, mournful, and not quite wolf, not quite human. The elders warned the children to stay away after sunset. Lanterns were doused. Doors bolted. Prayers whispered under trembling breath.
But King Aldric of Eldwyn did not believe in stories.
He believed in steel, strategy, and the burden of leadership.
The crown had been his since he was nineteen, inherited after his father's untimely death in a border war. Now thirty-two, Aldric had grown into a ruler respected by allies and feared by enemies. Yet for all his control, he felt a distance growing between himself and his people—between the throne and the soil.
Which is why, when a royal invitation turned into a last-minute cancellation, Aldric decided to do something he hadn't done in years.
He rode into the forest.
"It'll do you good," General Caer had said with a knowing smirk, tightening the buckles on the king's armor. "A little air. A little dirt. Remind you of the world outside the walls."
Aldric gave a rare smile. "That's assuming the forest lets us leave."
They rode out with a small hunting party—six men, all seasoned guards, and Aldric at the front. The sky was steel-grey with clouds, but there was no rain. Just the weight of something unspoken pressing on the air. The deeper they rode into the trees, the quieter the birds became. Even the horses seemed uneasy, ears twitching at every rustle.
"We're near the old trails," one guard whispered. "The ones no map follows."
Aldric said nothing. But his fingers stayed closer to the hilt of his sword.
By the time they stopped, dusk had already softened the world into blue and silver. The scent of pine was thick in the air. They dismounted near a clearing surrounded by tall oaks, some of which had grown together at the base like twisted fingers.
"Camp here for the night," Aldric ordered, removing his gauntlets. "We'll return at sunrise."
But that sunrise never came.
Not as they expected.
It started with a sound—too sudden to be wind. A snap of a twig. A breath too close. Then arrows rained from the trees. Screams pierced the dark. Horses reared. Chaos erupted like fire.
"Ambush!" Caer shouted, pulling Aldric behind a fallen log.
But even before Aldric could draw his sword fully, something hit him.
Hard.
He was thrown backward, armor clanging against the earth, breath knocked clean out of his chest. The world tilted sideways. His vision blurred. He saw movement—fast and low—something with claws and a snarl that didn't sound human.
For a moment, he was certain this was how it ended.
The great King Aldric, murdered in the cursed woods, torn apart by a beast no one would ever name.
But then—
She appeared.
Like the forest itself had given her form.
A woman stepped into the fray.
No, not just a woman—something else. Her limbs were graceful and fluid, but her movements were not human. Not entirely. Her eyes gleamed gold even in the darkness, catching the moonlight like a predator's. Her long hair was unbound, whipping like a silver banner as she moved.
And the way she fought…
Aldric had seen warriors, assassins, trained swordsmen—but nothing like this.
She tore through the attackers with feral precision. No weapons. Just claws. Her nails extended into curved points as she struck a man in the throat, then spun, kicking another in the ribs so hard he hit a tree and didn't rise. Her face was expressionless, almost sad, even as she killed.
A blur of teeth and shadow.
And then—
Silence.
All around them, the forest fell still. The ground was littered with bodies—friend and foe alike. Blood soaked the soil. Caer, bloodied but breathing, stared at the carnage in disbelief.
And Aldric looked up from where he lay, just in time to see her watching him.
She stood a few feet away, chest rising with each breath, golden eyes locked with his.
There was something about that moment that would haunt him for nights to come. Not fear. Not pity. Just... recognition.
Then she vanished.
Not with the sound of leaves or branches or footsteps—just gone, swallowed by mist.
The guards searched. They called. But she was nowhere.
"Your Majesty," Caer said quietly, helping him to his feet. "Are you hurt?"
Aldric didn't answer right away. He looked down at his hand, then the blood on the leaves, then up at the sky.
The moon had fully risen.
It glowed bright, fat and heavy in the sky.
And below it, in the dirt where she had stood, something silver shimmered faintly.
He bent and picked it up.
A pendant. Circular. Slightly warm to the touch.
Delicate runes were carved into its surface—unfamiliar and ancient. A soft hum vibrated through it, like something asleep but listening.
He closed his hand around it.
Whatever had just happened—whoever she was—it wasn't over.
They returned to the castle by dawn.
Only three of the eight guards had survived. The others were buried in shallow forest graves, the locations marked for proper rites later. No one spoke on the journey back—not out of command, but because no one had words.
Back at Eldwyn, the court stirred with rumors. A hunting trip turned tragic. An ambush by rebels. Perhaps mercenaries from the southern frontier. Theories bloomed like weeds, but none matched the truth.
And Aldric offered no answers.
He kept the pendant tucked under his shirt, resting near his heart.
He thought of her more than he admitted—even to himself. The way her eyes softened when she looked at him. How she moved like a whisper caught between two worlds. Not human. But not just a beast either.
He remembered the shape of her shadow and the way the mist bent around her.
And he remembered the part that chilled him most.
She hadn't come to kill.
She'd come to save him.
That night, sleep evaded him. The moon still hung high, though waning now. He rose from his bed and walked to his window, looking toward the distant forest.
And he whispered, not expecting an answer.
"Who are you?"
But far away, beyond the reach of castle torches, beyond the protection of battlements and stone...
A howl echoed through the trees.
Soft. Low. Sad.
Not quite wolf.
Not quite woman.
But familiar.
And Aldric, king of men, felt something shift in his chest.
A beginning, born in blood.
To be continued....
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