Mirror of the Greykin

The wind howled through Boneburn Forest, carrying the acrid scent of burned wood. Lia crouched low among the twisted trees, her wolf ears flat against her skull, her senses straining for any sign of movement. Her sharp golden eyes scanned the underbrush, the faint rustling of leaves barely audible over the distant crackling of flames. A human hunting trap lay ahead, its iron teeth glinting in the dim light of the waning sun. "Greyskin," she muttered to herself, a bitter edge to the word. A half-wolf, a cursed creature—her existence was a silent rebellion against the world. Her hand brushed against the cold metal of the trap. A single step wrong, and she'd be caught. Lia's heart pounded in her chest. She wasn't supposed to be here, hunting among the trees that had once belonged to her kind. The humans had grown bold, pushing deeper into the forest, hunting down Greyskins like game. They were always hunting. Always circling. Always waiting. Another fire crackled in the distance, and the smell of smoke twisted her stomach. She stood, the urgency of the moment driving her forward. The last thing she wanted was to stumble upon a Greyskin camp, but she couldn't ignore the evidence: the smell of burning flesh and fur. The humans were on the move, and they wouldn't stop until every last Greyskin was eradicated. Her feet moved swiftly, her breath shallow as she darted through the trees, careful to avoid the traps. Then, she saw it. A Greyskin camp, reduced to nothing more than ash and charred remnants. She felt a pang in her chest, a combination of grief and fury. It wasn't the first camp she'd seen destroyed, and it wouldn't be the last. The flames licked at the sky, and Lia's mind flashed to her family—her people, scattered and broken, the last remnants of a once-proud tribe. Greyskins like her. They had no place in the world anymore. Not among the pureblood wolves. Not among the humans. Lia felt a bitter laugh rise in her throat. **No place, indeed.** Her fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms. She could have burned this whole forest to the ground with the rage building inside her, but it would have been pointless. The world had already decided what they were. But something stopped her. A low sound, a whimper that barely reached her ears. She froze. A shadow moved among the trees, slinking low to the ground. Her heart raced as she crouched down to investigate. There, half-hidden in the brush, lay a white wolf, its body trembling in the dirt. Blood oozed from a deep wound across its side, staining the earth. Lia's breath hitched. A wolf—no, **a pureblood wolf**—wounded in her forest? She was about to turn away when she noticed the silver scar across its eye. The markings. The same noble markings she had seen only in rumors. A member of the North. A high-ranking wolf. But what was he doing here? She approached cautiously, her instincts at war with her mind. Helping a pureblood could risk everything—her life, her people's safety, everything she had fought to protect. Yet, the animal in her—the Greyskin who could not ignore the call of another wolf—pulled her closer. She knelt by the wolf, her heart pounding. The creature's breathing was shallow, its body trembling with pain. Her fingers brushed against its fur, and she was taken aback by the spark of recognition. Her wrist-mark flared to life under her sleeve, a sharp, searing heat running down her arm. The wolf's body twitched in response. She looked down at her own hand, the mark glowing faintly. **No.** It was impossible. The mark of the Greykin. It had not burned this fiercely in years. The wolf's chest rose and fell in strained breaths, and Lia's mind raced. She couldn't leave him here. Not like this. Her heart clenched, but she couldn't turn away. She gritted her teeth and, with one last glance over her shoulder, dragged the wounded wolf toward the cave where she had hidden from the world for so long.