Chapter 4
1269 Words
Months Later
Winter had finally loosened its icy grip on the Kingdom of Zuru.
The snow that had covered the mountains melted into rushing streams, feeding rivers that wound through villages still scarred by war.
Burned houses had been rebuilt with rough timber, broken roads were once again crowded with merchants, and children who had never known peace chased one another through dusty streets.
To outsiders
The kingdom was healing.
But beneath every smile
Fear still lived.
No one spoke openly about the wolves anymore.
The old stories had become dangerous.
Parents warned their children never to mention Alpha Oliver or the fallen royal family.
“If anyone asks,” they whispered, “the wolves never existed.”
The children obeyed.
History slowly disappeared.
Exactly as King Lusious intended.
Yet legends are difficult to kill.
Especially those written in blood.
Far to the east of Zuru, hidden among rolling hills and endless grain fields, lay the quiet village of Ashmoor.
Unlike the capital, Ashmoor had escaped the worst of the war.
Its people were farmers.
Shepherds.
Blacksmiths.
Simple folk who wanted nothing more than peaceful lives.
Among them lived a young widow named Clara.
She was barely twenty-two.
The war had taken everything from her.
Her husband.
Her home.
Only one thing remained.
The child growing inside her.
Every evening she would sit beneath the old oak tree outside her cabin, resting both hands on her swollen belly.
“You will never know your father,” she whispered one evening.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“But you will know how much he loved you.”
The baby kicked gently.
Clara smiled through her tears.
“That’s enough for me.”
The first pains came after sunset.
A storm gathered over Ashmoor.
Thunder rolled across the hills.
Rain lashed against the rooftops.
Inside the tiny cabin, candles flashed wildly as the village midwife hurried to prepare hot water.
“Breathe,” she encouraged gently.
“You’ve been stronger than this kingdom.”
Hours passed.
Clara screamed as another surge of pain struck.
Outside
The storm grew fiercer.
Lightning split the heavens.
Then
Everything became strangely quiet.
No wind.
No rain.
No thunder.
The silence felt unnatural.
The old midwife frowned.
“I don’t like this”
Before she could say another word, a newborn’s cry shattered the silence.
The baby had arrived.
A little girl.
Healthy.
Beautiful.
The midwife smiled with relief as she carefully wrapped the child in a clean blanket.
“It’s a daughter.”
Clara reached out with trembling arms.
“My little girl”
She kissed the baby’s forehead.
For the first time in months
She smiled.
“My Nelly.”
The child opened her tiny eyes.
They were an unusual shade of pale gray.
Beautiful.
Calm.
The room suddenly grew cold.
Every candle twinkled at once.
The baby began crying again.
Louder this time.
The midwife carefully adjusted the blanket.
Then
She froze.
Her hands began to tremble.
“No”
Hidden beneath the baby’s tiny collarbone…
Something glowed.
At first it looked like moonlight reflecting against damp skin.
But slowly
Lines began appearing.
Silver narrow as threads.
They spread across the baby’s chest before weaving together into the shape of an ancient wolf’s head.
Around it
Unknown symbols slowly emerged, glowing faintly like stars against the night sky.
The mark pulsed once.
Twice.
Then settled quietly beneath her skin.
The room fell completely silent.
The old woman stumbled backward.
Her face had turned white.
Clara looked up in alarm.
What is it?
The midwife couldn’t answer.
She had seen many births.
Hundreds.
Perhaps thousands.
Never
Anything like this.
“Please”
Clara pleaded.
“Tell me.”
The old woman slowly approached.
Her wrinkled fingers gently touched the baby’s chest.
The mark was warm.
Almost alive.
“It cannot be”
What cannot be?
The midwife swallowed.
“When I was a little girl”
“My grandmother told me stories.”
“Stories about how Wolves Kings come with particular symbols,
Clara stared at her.
“I thought they were only legends.”
She looked at the strange symbol again.
“But legends always begin somewhere.”
Morning arrived.
The storm had disappeared.
But Ashmoor had already begun whispering.
The village blacksmith claimed he had seen silver light shining from Clara's window during the night.
A shepherd insisted wolves had been howling from the eastern hills.
Others swore they had dreamed of a silver moon hanging above the cabin.
No one knew what was true.
But everyone wanted answers.
By midday
Dozens of villagers gathered outside Clara's home.
Some came carrying gifts for the newborn.
Others came carrying fear.
An elderly man slowly stepped forward.
He leaned heavily on his walking stick.
“I’ve seen that symbol before.”
Everyone turned.
You have?
He nodded.
“My grandfather fought beside Alpha Omega the first.”
Gasps spread through the crowd.
“He once showed me a drawing.”
“The royal family carried a sacred symbol.”
Someone whispered,
“The Last Bloodline”
Another woman quickly shook her head.
“No.”
“The royal family died.”
“They all died.”
No one answered.
Inside the cabin
Clara listened as frightened voices gathered outside.
She held Nelly tightly against her chest.
The baby had stopped crying.
Instead
She stared quietly toward the window.
Almost as though she could hear every whispered word.
The midwife suddenly closed the curtains.
“We must leave.”
Clara blinked.
Leave?
“They’ll come.”
Who?
The old woman looked toward the distant capital.
“The King.”
She never finished.
The sound of galloping horses echoed through the village.
Dust rose along the road.
Children ran inside their homes.
Doors banged shut.
Six royal soldiers rode into Ashmoor wearing black armor marked with the crest of King luscious.
The captain dismounted first.
His sharp eyes scanned every frightened face.
“We received reports.”
His voice carried across the square.
“A child was born last night.”
Silence.
He stepped forward.
“Bring me the infant.”
No one moved.
The captain’s gaze hardened.
“I will not ask twice.”
The villagers slowly parted.
Clara emerged from her cabin carrying Nelly.
Her hands trembled.
“My daughter has done nothing wrong.”
The captain looked at the child.
“Remove the blanket.”
“No.”
His voice became colder.
“Remove it.”
Tears filled Clara’s eyes.
Slowly
She uncovered Nelly’s chest.
The silver mark rested peacefully against her skin.
Every soldier froze.
One whispered,
“By the Moon”
Another took an unconscious step backward.
The captain himself stood speechless.
He had spent years hunting the rests of the Wolf Kingdom.
Never
Had he expected to witness something from the old legends.
He knelt before the child.
Not in worship.
In disbelief.
His eyes never left the mark.
“So”
“It truly exists.”
He immediately stood.
Turning to one of his soldiers, he ordered,
“Ride to the capital.”
“Tell His Majesty everything.”
The young soldier hesitated.
What shall I say?
The captain looked once more at the baby.
Then quietly replied,
“Tell the King”
“We may have found the Last Bloodline.”
The messenger mounted his horse and rode away in a cloud of dust.
None of them noticed that, high above the village, a lonely raven watched from the branch of a dead tree.
Its eyes glowed with an unnatural crimson light.
When the messenger disappeared over the hills
The raven spread its wings and flew west.
- Writer
