The Wolf’s Name
335 Words
The forest was not quiet.
It breathed.
Branches creaked like old bones, the wind murmured in a voice older than language, and something unseen padded through the underbrush with soft, deliberate steps.
Asha moved cautiously, barefoot, her cloak torn and damp with river water. The trees closed around her like a cage—dark, twisted things that leaned in too close. But still she followed.
The black wolf had not looked back once.
Only when the sky deepened into violet dusk did it stop. They stood at the edge of a clearing blanketed in wildflowers and moonlit mist. At the center, a fallen stone altar lay cracked and moss-covered, runes glowing faintly across its surface.
The wolf turned, golden eyes locked on hers.
And then it shifted.
A ripple, like water over flame—and the beast was gone.
In its place stood a boy.
No, not a boy.
A man—barely older than her, with black hair, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that still burned with something wild. He wore nothing but shadow and silence, and when he spoke, his voice carried the forest in it.
> “You should have died, Bloodmarked.”
Asha stared, heart pounding.
> “Who are you?” she asked.
He stepped closer. “I am Fen. Sentinel of the old blood. Bound to protect the heir of the wolf thrones.”
> “I’m not an heir,” she whispered. “I’m no one.”
> “Not anymore.”
From the mist, other eyes opened—more wolves, more shadows. Watching.
> “You carry the blood of Veyna, the last moon queen,” Fen said. “And the Silver King will come for you. When he does… you must not kneel.”
Asha’s breath caught. She didn’t understand. She only knew the earth beneath her feet hummed with something ancient—and it was answering to her.
Then Fen knelt at her feet and bowed his head.
> “Your wolves await, my queen.”
- Writer
