Episode 2
787 Words
The cold bit deeper with every step she took into the dark.
Tree limbs clawed at her cloak. Dead leaves whispered beneath her boots. The sacred clearing faded behind her, swallowed by silence and shame.
Aria didn’t know how far she’d gone. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to get away—from their eyes, from the ritual, from him.
She stopped beside a fallen pine, breath heavy in her throat. Her chest still burned where the bond had once pulsed, like a scar the Goddess had branded into her soul.
He hadn’t hesitated.
Not even a flicker of doubt. Not a word of apology. No struggle.
Just rejection.
Aria sank to her knees.
The ache wasn’t physical—it was worse. It hollowed her out from within, like grief without a funeral, like mourning something that had never truly belonged to her. A piece of her soul had reached for his… and been refused.
“You were never enough,” a voice whispered in her head.
Not pretty enough. Not strong enough. Not worthy of his title. Of his bloodline. Of anything.
She pulled her hood over her face and let the tears fall. Just for a moment. Just here, where no one could see.
A distant howl broke the quiet.
She stilled. Not a mournful sound—no. This was hunger.
Another howl followed. Then another.
They weren’t from her pack.
Rogues.
Her pulse quickened. She rose slowly, brushing dirt from her palms, scanning the shadows.
Three silhouettes moved between the trees—low, fast, feral. Pale eyes flashed in the dark. She backed away, step by step, keeping her breathing low. Her wolf stirred uneasily beneath her skin, dulled from the broken bond but alert enough to warn her.
Too many. Too close.
A growl split the night.
They emerged together—wild fur, matted with blood and leaves. Muscles rippling, teeth bared. These weren’t scouts or hunters. These were starved, banished beasts. Wolves with nothing left to lose.
One lunged.
Aria ducked, rolled to the side, her fingers shifting as claws slid from her knuckles. She slashed upward, catching the rogue across the snout. It yelped and staggered back.
Another struck from behind, knocking her to the ground. She twisted beneath it, claws striking deep, blood splashing onto her cheek.
She rose, panting.
The last one didn’t attack immediately. He circled her slowly, grinning. “Pretty thing, out here alone,” he rasped, halfway shifted. “Bet your pack won’t miss you.”
She lifted her claws again. “Come find out.”
He charged.
Suddenly—another snarl.
Not hers. Not rogue.
A blur collided with the attacker midair, slamming him into a tree. Bones cracked. The air filled with furious snarls, bodies slamming against trunks, claws ripping through flesh.
It ended as quickly as it began.
Three broken bodies lay motionless on the forest floor.
Aria turned, breathing hard.
A tall figure stood among the corpses, half-shifted, dripping with blood that wasn’t his. He wore no crest, no mark of allegiance. His eyes glowed a strange amber. Wild. Untamed.
“Who—?” she managed.
He didn’t answer.
He studied her—not like Kael had, with judgment and distance—but like he saw her. Every wound. Every breath.
“Looks like you needed saving,” he said at last.
“I didn’t ask,” she replied, voice steady despite her trembling limbs.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Didn’t say you did.”
She straightened. “Why help me?”
“Because they would’ve killed you.”
“I could’ve handled them.”
He glanced at the nearest rogue’s shattered body. “Clearly.”
The silence returned, thick and heavy.
He walked closer, eyes never leaving hers. “You’re from Thorncrest, aren’t you?”
She didn’t answer.
He pointed to her torn ceremonial cloak. “I know that crest.”
Aria finally spoke. “You’re rogue.”
He didn’t deny it. “I’m many things.”
“You kill your own?”
“They weren’t mine.”
She studied him. His jaw was bruised. A gash split his shoulder. But he stood like nothing touched him. Like pain knew better than to linger.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He gave her a long look. “Ryder.”
She hesitated. Then, “Aria.”
“I know.”
That startled her. “How?”
“Everyone heard what happened tonight.”
Her face flushed, but she didn’t look away. “Good. Let them.”
“You survived him,” Ryder said softly. “That makes you dangerous.”
“I’m not dangerous,” she said, more to herself than him.
“You will be.”
- Writer
