Chapter 1 — Ashes and Howls
1739 Words
Elara had learned long ago that the night was safer than the day.
By night, the moon cloaked her in silver and shadow. By day, the wolves hunted.
She moved through the ruins like smoke — silent, unseen, a ghost among ghosts. The city around her was nothing but bones now: towers half-swallowed by vines, streets cracked open like old scars, glass glittering under moonlight like forgotten stars. The world had burned long before she was born, and she had inherited its ashes.
Her boots crunched softly against the ground as she crouched beside the wreckage of what once might have been a market. A rusted metal sign hung by a single chain, its faded letters spelling FOOD MART — a cruel reminder of plenty. She pried open the tin she had scavenged from beneath a pile of twisted shelves. The faded label showed peaches. Inside, the syrup was dark and thick, but edible. She didn’t hesitate.
“Happy birthday to me,” she whispered, biting into one.
The sweetness almost hurt. It had been twenty years since she had heard her mother’s voice, fifteen since she had seen another human face. If any still lived, they were like her — shadows that hid between breaths of wind, clinging to myths of what once was.
Sometimes, she thought she remembered laughter. A woman’s song. A soft touch brushing her hair from her eyes. Then the memory would dissolve, like dust under rain, leaving only ache.
The night air carried the scent of rain and rust. Somewhere far beyond the horizon, thunder murmured — or maybe it was something else.
Then came the sound that made her heart stop.
A howl.
Low, powerful, commanding — it rolled through the air like the voice of the earth itself. It was answered by others, a haunting chorus that rose and fell, filling the ruins with living sound. Wolves.
Elara froze, the peach tin slipping from her hand. She could tell, by the pitch and strength of the call, that it came from more than one pack. They were closer tonight.
She rose slowly, scanning the skyline. The moon hung heavy and low, too bright, too alive. Its silver light touched everything — the broken glass, the hollow shells of buildings, the trembling outline of her own shadow.
Then she felt it.
A faint pulse beneath her skin. The mark on her wrist — a small crescent scar — glowed softly, almost imperceptibly at first, then brighter. It always did that when she was afraid, or when the moon was full. She didn’t know why. Only that her mother had died protecting it.
Elara pressed her wrist against her chest and whispered, “Not now. Please, not now.”
The glow dimmed, but the chill remained.
She adjusted the strap of her pack, scanning for an escape route. If the wolves were near, she needed to move. Fast.
Then came another sound — lighter, sharper. Not a howl this time.
Footsteps.
Elara’s breath hitched. She ducked behind a crumbling wall, heart pounding. The footsteps were steady, deliberate — too controlled to be human, too precise to be wild. The faint jingle of metal and leather whispered through the air.
She dared a glance.
Five figures emerged from the shadows. Tall. Cloaked in dark leather lined with silver. Their eyes gleamed faintly, reflecting the moonlight — not entirely human, not entirely beast.
Wolves. Shifters.
“Spread out,” a voice commanded.
Deep, resonant, calm. The kind of voice that didn’t need to shout to be obeyed.
Elara pressed herself closer to the wall, barely breathing.
The speaker stepped into the open, and for a moment, the moonlight framed him like a blade. He was tall — broad-shouldered, his dark hair tousled, his jaw marked by an old scar that caught the light. His eyes were steel grey, ringed with gold. There was power in his stance, the quiet, predatory kind that needed no display.
An Alpha.
Her stomach twisted. She had heard of them in whispers — wolves who could command not just packs, but the wild itself. If this was one, she was already as good as dead.
Slowly, she began to retreat, one silent step at a time, keeping low behind the wall.
Then her boot caught the edge of shattered glass.
Crack.
The sound cut through the silence like a scream.
The Alpha’s head snapped toward her.
Elara froze. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
He moved before she could even think. One instant, he stood ten paces away; the next, he was there — a blur of movement and shadow. A flash of steel. The cold gleam of a blade kissed her throat.
“Wait—please,” she stammered, raising her hands.
The man’s grip was firm, unyielding, his touch strangely warm. His gaze locked onto her face, confusion flashing briefly across his features.
“A human,” he said softly, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
Elara’s breath came shallow. She wanted to lie, to say she wasn’t, but her scent would betray her. Wolves could smell truth — and fear — like blood in water.
His eyes dropped to her wrist.
The mark. It had started to glow again, brighter now, bathing her skin in pale silver light.
For a moment, something shifted in his expression — shock, recognition, maybe even fear. Then it vanished. His jaw tightened.
“Alexander,” one of the other wolves called, approaching cautiously. “Orders?”
Alexander. The name felt heavy, dangerous.
He didn’t look away from her. His hand still gripped her wrist, fingers pressing against the burning crescent.
“She’s alive,” he said finally. His voice was quiet, but it carried command. “She comes with us.”
The other wolves hesitated. One, younger, with pale hair and a restless gaze, stepped forward. “She’s human, Alpha. The Elders said they were extinct—”
“Then consider this proof they were wrong,” Alexander cut in, his tone sharp enough to silence argument. “Bind her. Carefully.”
The young wolf hesitated but obeyed, pulling rough rope from his belt.
Elara tried to back away, but Alexander’s hand closed around her arm. His touch was firm, not cruel — but when his skin brushed hers, the mark on her wrist flared, searing white-hot. She gasped, and Alexander hissed softly as if burned.
Their eyes met — hers wide with pain and confusion, his shadowed by something unreadable.
“What are you?” he asked under his breath.
Elara swallowed, shaking her head. “I wish I knew.”
His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, then he turned away. “Move out,” he ordered.
Two of the wolves took point, scanning the darkness ahead. The others surrounded her, silent shadows. Alexander walked just behind her, close enough that she could feel the weight of his presence.
As they moved through the ruins, Elara’s mind raced. She could try to run — but where? The pack would track her easily. And Alexander… there was something about him, something that made her chest tighten in ways she didn’t understand. His voice, his scent, the strange heat of his touch — all of it tangled with the pulse of the mark on her wrist.
What did it mean?
She remembered her mother’s last words, whispered in a fevered breath as the walls burned around them:
“When the moon bleeds red, run to the light, my little one. The wolves will find you — but not all will mean you harm.”
She hadn’t understood then. She wasn’t sure she did now.
But as the moon followed them across the shattered skyline, something in its light seemed to watch her — not just illuminate her path, but claim her.
The wolves led her through what remained of the city and out toward the forest beyond. The air changed — colder, cleaner, alive with the scent of pine and soil. Somewhere in the distance, more howls echoed, the sound of communication, perhaps warning.
Alexander’s pack moved with purpose, their steps silent, almost reverent under the moon. These were not the savage beasts she had imagined. They were disciplined, trained, and bound to him by something deeper than loyalty — by bond.
Still, she saw glances — suspicion, curiosity, fear. She wasn’t one of them. She was prey that walked upright.
At last, they stopped near the edge of a river, where the moonlight rippled across black water. Alexander gestured for the others to hold position, then turned to her.
“Name,” he said simply.
Elara hesitated, then answered. “Elara.”
He repeated it softly, as if testing the sound. “Elara.” Then his eyes narrowed. “How long have you survived out here alone?”
“Long enough.”
He studied her. “You have no pack, no scent of belonging. You shouldn’t have survived at all.”
She forced a smile. “I’m stubborn.”
His lips almost twitched. Almost. Then the stern mask returned. “You’re coming to Silverfang territory. The Elders will decide what happens next.”
“And if they decide I’m a threat?” she asked quietly.
He looked at her then, truly looked — and for a moment, she saw something flicker in those storm-grey eyes. Not cruelty. Not indifference. Something far more dangerous.
“Then you’d better hope I still believe otherwise,” he said.
The words hung between them, heavy as prophecy.
As the pack began moving again, Elara tilted her head up to the sky. The moon had shifted — its light seemed sharper now, bleeding faintly red around the edges. Her mark burned, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
Alexander must have noticed; his gaze flicked briefly to her wrist, then to the moon. His jaw tightened, as though some old memory stirred behind his calm exterior.
Neither spoke again.
But above them, the moon watched — and in its silver light, the ancient prophecy stirred from its long sleep.
That night, beneath the weeping moon, the Alpha heir of the Silverfang Pack dragged the last human of her kind from the ashes of her world.
And neither of them knew that the moment their hands touched, destiny had begun to shift — like the tide turning under the pull of something vast, wild, and eternal.
The moon remembered.
And soon, so would they.
- Writer
