THE HOWL
Girl
POV: Araya
Sometimes, when I caught my reflection, I wondered if the mirror was lying.
The girl staring back didn’t look entirely human.
Skin too pale from lack of sun.
Cracked lips.
Eyes holding no light.
Not empty — hollow.
As if something inside me had curled up long ago and never woken.
Maybe that was why they hated me.
Maybe they saw what I was before I did.
Or maybe cruelty was simply easier than compassion.
---
I rarely spoke. Only when I had to.
The last time I screamed was at twelve — shielding a pup from the others’ cruelty.
I had thrown myself between them, trembling, hands already bloodied.
They broke three ribs for it.
The pup left for another pack the next day.
I was left behind.
The Alpha hadn’t cared about the fight — only that I had forgotten my place.
Stay small.
Stay unseen.
Stay silent.
Not because I was numb.
Numb would’ve been easier.
---
They used me for training — to test blades, arrows, and pain.
Once, a warrior poured boiling water across my arms to see if wolfless flesh burned the same as theirs.
It did.
They laughed.
I didn’t scream.
---
At fourteen, the worst winter came.
Nine days of snow.
No food.
No mercy.
They accused me of hoarding scraps, though my ribs jutted sharp as knives.
The Luna slapped me for “stealing blessings.”
The Gamma shoved my face into the snow until my lungs burned.
Even the pups threw stones when no one was watching.
I endured. As always.
But that night, I cried.
Not from the bruises — but because I started to believe them.
Maybe they were right.
Maybe the Moon had erred in letting me live.
And in that frostbitten moment of doubt—something inside me cracked.
Not broke.
Cracked.
And something old… breathed.
---
It didn’t come from the woods or the sky.
It came from within.
A slow pulse through bone.
A breath that wasn’t mine.
Ancient enough to make my soul feel young.
I thought I had imagined it.
But it didn’t soothe me.
It terrified me.
Because if I could still feel fear—
I still had something left to lose.
Hope.
And hope was the most dangerous thing of all.
---
That night, I dreamed of fire.
Not an ordinary fire.
Fire with breath.
Fire with eyes.
A flame that watched me.
A voice, dry as old ash, whispered—
“You are not theirs.”
When I woke, I was still Araya.
Still nothing.
Still dirt underfoot.
---
The Moon Festival neared, and the pack buzzed with preparation — new furs, wildflowers for the temple steps, bright dyes.
I was sent to scrub blood from the hunting stones.
Alone.
For hours.
My fingers split. Knees bruised. Cold seeping into my bones.
I scrubbed anyway.
That’s what dirt does — it gets stepped on, wiped away, forgotten.
---
That afternoon, banners hung in the trees, fluttering bright.
The Season of Blessings had begun — when the Moonstone chose mates and marked destinies.
I knelt on the temple steps, a vinegar rag clutched in aching hands.
“Be careful,” a voice sneered. “Don’t get your filth on sacred stone.”
Lior. The Gamma’s son. Cruel, spoiled, with power he hadn’t earned.
“Hey,” his younger brother added, “you think the Moonstone glows if a wolf bleeds on it?”
“Wanna test it?”
They laughed.
---
Later, I stood waist-deep in the stream beyond the ridge, scrubbing filth from my clothes.
The water was silent.
Behind me—
“Why do you even try?”
Lior again. Drunk. Friends in tow.
“Trying to look clean for the kennels?”
I didn’t answer.
Silence always made them meaner.
“What’s wrong, ghost girl? Did your imaginary wolf bite your tongue?”
“I bet she bleeds black.”
“Bet she’s not even real.”
A slap to the side of my face. Playful, deliberate.
“Think the Alpha keeps you because he pities you? Or does he just like watching you crawl?”
I rose slowly. Knees shaking. Hands bleeding.
I looked him in the eye.
He grinned.
“Gonna bite me, wolfless? Where’s your dog? Oh, right… Maybe it chewed its own throat to escape you.”
The words cut deeper than the slap.
But it wasn’t pain that answered.
A voice inside me whispered—
“Not yet.”
I flinched.
Then it was gone.
Like it had never spoken.
---
That night, I dreamed again.
Of a wolf — but not a wolf.
Fur smouldering like slow-breathing embers.
Flames curling from its ribs with every inhale.
Ash drifting from its back like dying wings.
It stood at the edge of a dead forest, colossal and still.
Paws scorching the earth.
Breath melting stone.
It did not move.
Did not growl.
Did not blink.
It only watched me.
Eyes like deep coals, lit from within.
A gaze that had witnessed the ruin of ages.
I wanted to move closer — but recognition froze me.
It knew me.
My name.
My flame.
The death I was born from.
Then—
The forest ignited.
Trees screamed.
The sky cracked.
The ground split.
I fell — into heat, into shadow, into silence.
---
I awoke choking, lungs dragging in air that felt wrong.
Hands throbbing.
Heart hammering.
No flames.
No burns.
Only the ghost of smoke clung to my bones.
And outside…
Far beyond Blackthorn’s borders—
A howl rose.
Low. Long. Unholy.
Not a call.
Not a greeting.
A summoning.
The kind of sound that stirred when curses woke.
When the gods looked away.
When something ancient remembered its claim.
And somewhere beyond mortal reach—
A divine wolf opened its eyes.
And the world shivered.