Chapter 4: A Forgotten Past
577 Words
The dreams start as whispers—faint, fleeting echoes of a life Persephone doesn’t remember.
She stands in a snow-covered forest, the wind howling through the trees. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and blood, the distant cries of wolves echoing in the night.
A village burns before her. Flames lick the sky, devouring wooden cottages, their embers swirling like fireflies in the darkness. Shadows move in the distance—wolves, running, fighting, falling.
Then she sees her.
A white wolf.
Standing at the heart of the destruction, her silver eyes gleaming with sorrow. Her fur is streaked with crimson, her body tense as she faces an unseen enemy.
And then—a voice.
A name, whispered through the wind.
"Selene."
Persephone jerks awake, her breath ragged, her skin damp with sweat.
The fire crackles in the hearth across the room, casting flickering light against the stone walls. She presses a hand to her racing heart, the dream still burning behind her eyelids.
Selene. Who is she?
A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts.
Before she can respond, the heavy wooden door swings open, and Hades steps inside.
His golden eyes immediately lock onto her, his gaze narrowing. “Another nightmare?”
Persephone hesitates, then nods. There’s no use hiding it—he always knows.
Hades exhales, stepping closer. “What did you see?”
She looks away. “I don’t know. A village. A white wolf. A name.”
Silence stretches between them, but Persephone can feel the tension radiating from him.
Then, he speaks. “You need to remember.”
She frowns. “I don’t understand—”
“Your past isn’t lost, Persephone. It’s locked away. And I intend to help you find the key.”
His words send a shiver through her. What if I don’t want to know?
But before she can voice the thought, a howl shatters the silence.
The sound is low, commanding, unfamiliar.
Hades’ expression darkens instantly. He knows that voice.
A second later, Lucian appears at the doorway, tension rolling off him in waves.
“We have a problem.”
The main hall of the Shadowlands Pack is silent, but charged with unspoken tension. Warriors stand at the ready, their hands hovering near their weapons, their eyes fixed on the massive doors.
Persephone stands beside Hades, her pulse quickening as the doors swing open.
A man enters.
Tall, imposing, with storm-gray eyes and silver-streaked hair. His aura is powerful, demanding attention. His wolves flank him, their presence a silent warning.
Hades steps forward, his voice ice-cold. “Orion Frost.”
Persephone’s breath catches at the name. She doesn’t know why, but it sends a chill through her veins.
Orion’s gaze flickers to her, and something flashes in his expression. Something sharp. Knowing.
“Give her back to me.”
The words drop like a stone in the room.
Persephone stiffens. “What?”
Hades’ growl rumbles through the hall, his body tensing beside her. “She isn’t yours.”
Orion meets his gaze without flinching. “She was—long before you claimed her.”
A stunned silence falls.
Persephone’s heart slams against her ribs.
No. That’s impossible.
But deep inside her, something stirs. Something old. Something buried.
And as Orion steps closer, his next words shatter her world.
“Persephone isn’t just any wolf. She is the last heir of the Lunar Bloodline—the lost daughter of the Moonborn.”
- Writer
