Chapter 2 – Whispers of Exile
1109 Words
The moon hung high, pale and distant, its light sliding through cracks in the stable roof like shards of broken glass. Kael Draven lay on the rough straw, staring at the fading glow of night through the gaps. Every breath drew in the scent of hay, horses, and something older — the faint metallic tang of his own restraint.
Outside, laughter echoed. The warriors were returning from their midnight run. Their footsteps were heavy with triumph, their voices bright with mockery.
“Did you hear?” one of them jeered. “The stables reek of failure tonight. The Alpha’s disgrace is still breathing.”
Kael shut his eyes. He knew the sound of that voice — Garren, heir to the Frostfang Pack. Once his rival. Now, his tormentor.
The laughter rose again, cruel and sharp. “He can’t even hear his wolf. The Moon herself turned away. What kind of man is that?”
A pause. Then another voice, softer but cutting all the same. “A curse born of shadows. His mother defied the Moon Goddess. Her son pays the price.”
Kael rolled to his side, pressing his hand to his chest. Beneath skin and bone, something old stirred — not a wolf, but a whisper. It was faint, distant, like a heartbeat trapped behind glass.
He whispered into the dark, “If you’re still there… answer me.”
Silence. Only the snort of a restless horse replied.
The moonlight shifted, slipping over the scar that coiled around his wrist — a mark burned into him since the day his wolf failed to rise. The pack had named it The Mark of Silence. The elders called it divine punishment.
Kael called it his chain.
Morning came cold and silver. Mist clung to the trees, the kind that made the world feel half-dreamed. Kael stepped outside the stables, shovel still in hand, and paused as a group of young warriors ran past, their bare feet pounding earth like thunder. They didn’t look his way. They never did.
Only old Master Roen, the stable keeper, gave him a glance. “You’re awake early again.”
Kael forced a faint smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Roen spat into the dirt, grumbling. “You dream too much, boy. Dreams are for those blessed by the Moon. Not for the cursed.”
Kael didn’t reply. He knew Roen didn’t mean cruelty — it was just truth, spoken by those who believed in what they saw.
The village beyond the training fields was alive with sound. Wolves in human form moved like a single breath — mothers hanging hides, children sparring in the dust, elders whispering prayers to the Moon Goddess whose temple gleamed on the hill. The silver statue stood proud, carved with eyes that watched everything — except him.
Kael turned away before the ache could bloom.
By noon, the Alpha’s call thundered across the valley — a deep, resonant howl that rippled through every pack member. Heads tilted upward, chests lifted, and hundreds of wolves answered in perfect harmony.
All except one.
Kael’s throat clenched as the air filled with howls. The sound was supposed to awaken his spirit. Instead, it pressed him down — a reminder that something within him was missing.
A sharp pain bloomed behind his eyes. For an instant, the world blurred. He saw fire — flashes of red and silver — and a figure standing beneath the moon, weeping blood.
Then it was gone.
He dropped the shovel, gripping the edge of the stable door. “What… was that?” he gasped.
“Kael!”
He looked up to see a girl hurrying toward him — Mira, a healer’s apprentice. Her amber eyes shimmered with worry. “You shouldn’t be outside during the Calling. You’ll draw attention again.”
He nodded weakly. “It’s fine. They’ve forgotten I exist.”
Mira frowned. “Don’t say that. You’re still one of us.”
He gave a dry laugh. “One of us? I’m not even one of me.”
Her expression softened. “There are whispers, Kael. The elders say exile might be coming soon. The Alpha can’t keep defending you.”
He felt the ground tilt beneath him. “Exile?”
Mira hesitated, then whispered, “They believe the curse will spread if you stay. The Moon Priestess wants you gone before the next full moon.”
He stared past her — to the temple on the hill, where the silver statue seemed to shimmer in the mist. “If she wants me gone… I’ll go.”
That night, Kael packed what little he owned — a threadbare cloak, a half-dulled dagger, and a shard of mirror he once found by the river. He didn’t know why he kept it. Maybe because it was broken, like him.
The stables were silent now. Even the horses seemed to watch him with mournful eyes.
As he stepped outside, a wind rose, carrying whispers through the trees — not voices of men, but something older.
“You cannot flee what is bound in your blood.”
“The night remembers.”
“The Moon waits.”
Kael froze. The air shimmered around him, faint threads of silver weaving through the mist. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw the shadow of a great wolf standing behind him — tall as the trees, its eyes pools of abyssal black.
Then the image shattered like glass, and the night returned to silence.
He exhaled slowly. “You mock me too, don’t you?”
The wind stirred again, colder now, curling around his voice.
“Not mockery… awakening.”
Kael turned, but there was no one.
The forest at the edge of the valley loomed ahead, dark and endless. Somewhere beyond it lay exile — and maybe, freedom. He took one last look at the village lights flickering below.
Then he stepped into the mist.
Hours passed before the howls began.
They were distant at first — confused, startled — then rising in unison, echoing through the mountains.
Kael paused on the forest trail, heart pounding. He recognized the sound. The pack had found something.
Or someone.
Then a voice rose, carried by the wind — harsh and furious.
“The Moon’s statue! It’s cracked— the eyes are bleeding silver!”
Kael’s blood ran cold. He looked up at the moon above the treetops — and for a moment, it seemed to pulse, veins of shadow spreading across its surface.
“You cannot run from the forgotten, Kael Draven.”
The whisper came again — not from the wind, but from within.
And this time, it answered his fear.
- Writer
