The White Wolf They Broke

I do not remember when the screaming started, only that it never truly stopped. Even when the forest swallowed the sound, even when distance stretched between me and the burning ruins of my home, it lingered inside my head like an echo that refused to fade. One moment, everything had been normal, or at least as normal as life could be for a werewolf born into a powerful bloodline, and the next moment, everything was gone in fire, steel, and blood. The hunters came without warning, moving like shadows between the trees, their weapons gleaming with a purpose that left no room for mercy. I remember my father’s voice cutting through the chaos, commanding, urgent, filled with something I had never heard before fear. He told me to run, to not look back, to keep moving no matter what I heard behind me. My brother’s hand had been in mine, tight and shaking, but somewhere between the first explosion and the second wave of attacks, his grip slipped away from me. I did not stop to find him. I could not. Survival became instinct, and instinct demanded movement above everything else. Branches tore at my skin as I ran deeper into the forest, each step uneven, desperate, driven by terror that clung to me like a second shadow. The night was alive with noise, with destruction, with the unmistakable scent of blood carried by the wind. I stumbled more times than I could count, my feet catching on roots, my breath breaking into ragged gasps, but I forced myself back up each time because stopping meant death, and I was not ready to die. Not yet. I kept waiting for it, for the moment my wolf would rise, for the power that was supposed to live inside me to awaken and take control, but there was nothing. Only silence. Only emptiness where something vital should have been. I had always known I was different, always known something was missing, but in that moment, it became more than a quiet fear. It became a sentence. A werewolf without a wolf. Useless. Weak, and Alone. The forest stretched endlessly around me, dark and unforgiving, and the further I ran, the more the sounds of my pack’s destruction faded into nothing. In their place came a heavier silence, one that pressed against my ears and settled deep into my chest. I did not know where I was going. I did not know if there was anywhere left to go. All I knew was that I could not turn back. Hours passed, or maybe it was days. Time lost meaning when every moment felt the same, when hunger clawed at my stomach and thirst burned my throat, when exhaustion dragged at my limbs until even lifting my feet felt impossible. I slowed eventually, not because I wanted to, but because my body refused to keep up with the demands I placed on it. When I finally fell, it was not dramatic or sudden. My legs simply gave out beneath me, and I collapsed onto the cold earth, my cheek pressing against damp soil as my vision blurred. For a long moment, I lay there, staring at nothing, my mind drifting between awareness and darkness. I thought about my family then, about my father’s strength, my brother’s laughter, my mother’s quiet warmth, and the realization that I might never see them again settled over me like a weight I could not lift. I should have cried. I should have screamed or fought or done something, but I had nothing left. Even grief required strength, and I had spent all of mine trying to survive. That was how they found me. I heard them before I saw them, the crunch of leaves under heavy boots, the low murmur of voices that did not belong to hunters but were not familiar either. My body tensed on instinct, but I could not move, could not run, could not even lift my head properly as they approached. Shadows fell over me, blocking what little light filtered through the trees, and a rough hand gripped my shoulder, turning me onto my back. “Well, look at this,” a man said, his voice carrying a note of amusement that made something cold settle in my chest. “A stray.” Another crouched beside him, studying me with sharp, assessing eyes that missed nothing. “She’s alive,” he added, as if that was surprising, as if it was something I had not fought desperately to achieve. His gaze lingered for a moment longer before narrowing slightly. “But something’s off.” I knew what he meant. They all did, eventually. “She doesn’t have a wolf,” the first man said after a moment, his tone shifting from curiosity to something closer to disdain. “Can you believe that? A werewolf without a wolf. That’s a new one.” A laugh followed, low and humorless, and I felt my fingers curl weakly against the ground as humiliation burned through me. I wanted to deny it, to argue, to prove them wrong, but I had no strength and no evidence to offer. The truth sat heavy in my chest, undeniable and suffocating. “What do we do with her?” the second man asked, straightening slightly as he looked toward someone standing behind him. There was a pause, and then another voice spoke, deeper, colder, carrying authority that silenced the others immediately. “Take her back,” he said simply. “If she survives, she might be useful. If not, she won’t be a loss.” Useful. The word echoed in my mind, stripping away whatever fragile hope I might have still held. I was not being rescued. I was not being saved out of kindness or compassion. I was being taken because they believed I could serve a purpose, no matter how small or insignificant. Hands grabbed me, pulling me upright despite my lack of cooperation, and the sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness crashing over me. I swayed, barely conscious, as they forced me to walk, my feet dragging against the ground more often than not. Every step hurt, every breath felt like it scraped against my ribs, and still, they did not slow down. The forest blurred around me as they led me away from everything I had ever known, deeper into territory that did not belong to me and never would. I tried to focus, to memorize something, anything that might help me find my way back one day, but exhaustion claimed me piece by piece until even that small effort became too much. Before darkness finally took me, I allowed myself one last thought. I had survived the hunters. But somehow, I knew that what came next would be worse. And for the first time since I started running, I wondered if surviving had been a mistake.