Chapter One: The Howl in the Forest
The forest always held whispers.
Some said the trees could talk. Others thought the shadows moved. In the village of Lethwyn, where old stories clung to the cobbled streets like ivy, the forest was feared. Not for what people saw, but for what they heard.
On full moon nights, a strange howl would rise—long and mournful, neither quite wolf nor quite human. The elders warned the children to stay away after sunset. They doused lanterns and bolted doors. They whispered prayers under trembling breath.
But King Aldric of Eldwyn did not believe in stories.
He believed in steel, strategy, and the weight of leadership.
He had worn the crown since he was nineteen, having inherited it after his father's untimely death in a border war. Now thirty-two, Aldric had become a ruler admired by allies and feared by enemies. Yet, despite his control, he sensed a growing distance between himself and his people—between the throne and the land.
So, 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 said with a knowing smirk while tightening the buckles on the king's armor. "A little air, a little dirt. It will remind you of the world outside the walls."
Aldric smiled—rare for him. "That's assuming the forest lets us leave."
They set out with a small hunting party—six seasoned guards led by Aldric. The sky was steel-grey with clouds, but rain did not fall. Just the weight of something unspoken pressed on the air. As they rode deeper into the trees, the birds grew quieter. Even the horses seemed uneasy, ears twitching at every sound.
"We're near the old trails," one guard whispered. "The ones no map shows."
Aldric said nothing. His fingers stayed close to the hilt of his sword.
By the time they stopped, dusk had softened the world into shades of blue and silver. The scent of pine thickened in the air. They dismounted near a clearing surrounded by tall oaks, some twisted together at the base like fingers.
"Camp here for the night," Aldric ordered while removing his gauntlets. "We'll head back at sunrise."
But that sunrise never came.
Not as they expected.
It started with a sound—too sudden to be the wind. A snap of a twig. A breath too close. Then arrows rained from the trees. Screams pierced the darkness. Horses reared, and chaos erupted like fire.
"Ambush!" Caer shouted, pulling Aldric behind a fallen log.
But even before Aldric could fully draw his sword, something hit him.
Hard.
He was thrown backward, his armor clanging against the ground, breath knocked out of him. The world tilted sideways. His vision blurred. He saw movement—fast and low—something with claws and a snarl that did not sound human.
For a moment, he was sure this was how it would end.
The great King Aldric, murdered in the cursed woods, torn apart by a beast no one would ever name.
But then—
She appeared.
It was as if the forest had given her life.
A woman stepped into the chaos.
No, not just a woman—something else. Her limbs were graceful and fluid, but her movements were not entirely human. Her eyes shone gold even in the darkness, catching the moonlight like a predator's. Her long hair flowed freely, whipping like a silver banner.
And the way she fought…
Aldric had seen warriors, assassins, and trained swordsmen, but nothing like her.
She tore through the attackers with fierce precision. No weapons. Just claws. Her nails extended into sharp points as she struck a man in the throat, then spun, kicking another in the ribs so hard he slammed into a tree and did not 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.
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 onto 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, branches, or footsteps—just gone, swallowed by mist.
The guards searched. They called out. 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 at the blood on the leaves, and finally up at the sky.
The moon had fully risen.
It glowed bright and heavy in the sky.
And below it, in the dirt where she had stood, something silver shimmered faintly.
He bent down 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 graves in the forest, their locations marked for proper rites later. No one spoke during the journey back—not from command, but because no one had words.
Back at Eldwyn, the court buzzed with rumors. A hunting trip had turned tragic. An ambush by rebels. Perhaps mercenaries from the southern border. Theories sprouted like weeds, but none captured the truth.
And Aldric offered no answers.
He kept the pendant tucked under his shirt, close to his heart.
He thought of her more than he cared to admit—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 how the mist bent around her.
And he recalled the part that chilled him most.
She hadn't come to kill.
She had come to save him.
That night, sleep evaded him. The moon still hung high, though it was 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 safety 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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