The Silver Oath

The first time Sera Vale saw the wolf, it was in her dream. It stood across from her in a field of dead grass under a bruised sky, its silver fur slicked with blood, its eyes glowing violet. Not yellow like a wolf should have — violet, like glass lit from within. It didn’t snarl. Didn’t charge. Just watched her, breathing slow and heavy, as if waiting. Sera reached out. Her hand trembled. And then it opened its mouth and spoke in a woman’s voice. "You’re not ready. Yet." She jolted awake in her bed, breath ragged, heart pounding, every muscle in her body screaming like she’d just run for her life. The cold Virginia air pressed through the cracked window of her foster home, but she was already drenched in sweat. The dreams were getting worse. More vivid. More… real. Downstairs, the old wood floor creaked. Mrs. Langston, probably moving toward the kitchen to start her radio and fry her daily eggs. Another Monday, another sleepy walk to school, another pretending she didn’t feel like she was losing her mind. Sera got up, wiped her face, and dragged herself toward the shower. Her back stung. Again. Same spot, just below her left shoulder blade. Every morning now. When she twisted awkwardly in the mirror, she saw nothing but skin. Pale, scarred, freckled. But it felt like something was *under* it. Not a rash. Not a bite. Like something wanted to come out. A scratch. A symbol. She dressed quickly, ignoring the pulsing ache in her spine, and made it to the kitchen just as Mrs. Langston set a plate of burnt toast on the table. “You’ve been talking in your sleep,” the woman muttered. “Again.” Sera bit back a sigh. “I’m fine.” “You don’t sound fine. Screaming like a banshee. You sure there ain’t drugs involved?” “No, ma’am,” Sera said, biting into the toast. It tasted like ash, but she chewed anyway. “Just nightmares.” “Mm.” Mrs. Langston eyed her. “Maybe you should stop reading all them horror books. That’s what it is. Filling your head with nonsense.” Sera gave her a practiced smile. “Right. I’ll switch to romance.” “Smart girl.” She walked to school with her hood up, earbuds in, but no music playing. Just a buffer between her and the world. She passed rows of frost-bitten houses and leafless trees, their limbs clawing the sky like crooked fingers. She hated this place. Nothing ever grew here. She couldn’t remember much about her life before foster care, just flashes: warm hands, a lullaby in another language, the smell of sage and pine. But she *felt* it, always — the sense that she didn’t belong here. That something had been stolen. Her therapist called it trauma. Sera called it unfinished business. She made it through classes without drawing too much attention, as usual. She was a ghost here — quiet, smart, alone. A few boys tried flirting sometimes, but most kept their distance. Some people could sense when someone wasn’t quite right. But when she reached her locker after final period, something new happened. A letter. No name. No stamp. Just folded, old parchment tucked into the slits of the locker vent. She looked around. Hallway mostly empty. She opened it. *Sera Vale,* *The Hollow remembers you.* *They are coming. Be beneath the bridge at dusk. Come alone.* *— M* The paper was warm. Sera stared at the note for a long moment. The Hollow? She’d never heard of it. The paper, though—it *smelled* strange. Like cedar smoke and winter. And that ink… it shimmered slightly in the light. Almost like silver. *Come alone.* It had to be a prank. Had to be. But her stomach twisted in that familiar way. The same way it had the day she’d found her mother’s pendant buried in a charity box at the secondhand shop. The same twisting that warned her, *Pay attention. This means something.* She stuffed the note into her backpack and slammed the locker shut. She didn’t go straight home. Instead, Sera made a detour—to the school library. Not because she thought it would have answers, but because it was the only quiet place where she could think without Mrs. Langston hovering or the other foster kids nosing through her stuff. She tucked herself into a back corner near the window, where the shelves were mostly dust and forgotten donation copies. She took out the letter again. The Hollow remembers you. Who the hell was she, really? Her records said she’d been found wandering alone in the woods near Blue Ridge when she was three. No relatives. No witnesses. No one ever came looking. Foster care did what it could. Multiple homes, some kind, some cruel. But never permanence. Never answers. Until now? Maybe. She glanced out the window. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the snowy hills. Beneath the bridge. Come alone. Everything told her not to go. Every rule, every scrap of logic. She went anyway. — By dusk, the wind had picked up, cold enough to bite her fingers through her sleeves. The bridge they probably meant stretched over the dry creek bed just past the woods near the school. She followed the crumbling trail, dead leaves crunching under her boots, heart hammering harder with every step. No one was there. She checked under the bridge—just old graffiti, a couple crushed beer cans, and cold rock. Then— A *click*. Something behind her. She spun around. A man stood ten feet away, cloaked in dark gray, the hood shadowing most of his face. But what she could see— His eyes weren’t normal. They glowed faintly. Not yellow. Not red. Silver. “Sera Vale,” he said, voice deep, steady. “You came.” Her instincts screamed. She stepped back. “Who are you?” “Someone who remembers your blood.” “I don’t know you.” “But your blood knows me. It remembers the oath your mother made—and broke.” That stopped her cold. “My *mother*?” He took one step forward, very slow. “The Hollow is unraveling. The packs are stirring. You carry the last piece, Sera. And they’re coming for you.” “You’re insane.” “Am I?” he said quietly. Then, without warning, he pulled something from his pocket—a pendant. Her pendant. The one she wore under her shirt every day, the only thing left of her mother. But she hadn’t told anyone about it. She hadn’t *shown* anyone. “How—” she started. But something howled. Not a dog. Not a coyote. Not human. Something ancient. The man turned sharply, eyes narrowing. “They’re early.” “Who’s they—” He moved too fast to see. One moment standing still, the next he was grabbing her arm and pulling her down into the dry creek bed. A shadow leapt over the ridge. Then another. Shapes. Massive. Dark fur. Eyes burning amber in the night. Wolves—but wrong. Twisted. “They’ve already turned feral,” the man muttered, pushing her behind him. “Stay down.” And then—he shifted. It wasn’t gradual. It was instant. Cloth tore. Muscle expanded. Bones cracked in fluid silence. His skin rippled, and suddenly, where the man had stood, a silver-furred wolf—*the* silver-furred wolf—rose in front of her. *The wolf from her dreams.* The others snarled, launching at him in perfect sync. He met them mid-air. The fight was brutal, a blur of claws, blood, and earth-shaking growls. She backed away, scrambling behind a rock, heart in her throat. What the hell was happening? Why was this *familiar*? Why did part of her *want* to join the fight? The silver wolf pinned one of the attackers and slashed across its throat. The beast yelped, collapsed, and evaporated into a mist of ash. Not dead. *Erased.* The last creature lunged—straight at *her*. She had no time to scream. But before it reached her, she *reacted*. Something inside her *burst*. Not fear. Not adrenaline. *Power.* Her vision blurred white. The air crackled. The beast stopped mid-leap, suspended—eyes wide—as a glowing silver mark flared across Sera’s chest beneath her hoodie. A circle. A crescent moon. Lines intersecting like runes. And then— A *pulse*. The creature exploded into dust. Sera collapsed. Great — here’s *Segment 3* of *Chapter One: The Mark Beneath the Skin* (*The Silver Oath*), continuing directly from the cliffhanger. When Sera came to, the stars had shifted. The air was sharp with pine and ash. Her head throbbed, and her hands were covered in a fine layer of dust—what remained of the creature that had nearly torn her apart. She sat up slowly. The silver wolf stood a few feet away, now back in human form—though barely. His body was half-wrapped in torn fabric, muscles scraped raw, a gash over his brow still bleeding. He was watching her closely. No threat in his stance. Just scrutiny. “What was that?” she rasped. “What did I *do*?” He crouched beside her, his voice low. “You activated the seal. Earlier than expected.” “Seal?” He reached toward her collarbone, hesitating before lifting the edge of her hoodie. She flinched but didn’t stop him. There it was—glowing faintly beneath her skin. A silver mark. A crescent surrounded by five curved lines. Not a tattoo. Not paint. Something *alive*. “It’s part of your bloodline,” he said. “Your mother placed it there to hide you. Protect you.” Her chest tightened. “You keep saying that. That she made an oath. Who was she?” He stood. “Alina Vale. The Moonborne heir. Alpha of the Hollow’s first bloodline. Your mother.” “That’s not possible,” she whispered. “She died when I was a baby. She wasn’t some wolf goddess—she was just… gone.” “She *was* more than you know. She defied the Pact and paid the price. The Council erased her. Made her a myth. But myths don’t leave daughters.” Sera rose to her feet, shaky but grounded. “Who are you?” “Kael Thorne. Alpha of Nightfang. Warbound to your family before the Fall.” She blinked. “You were… friends?” “No,” he said. “I was her executioner.” The words hit like a blade. Kael’s expression didn’t shift. But his voice, low and cold, carried weight. “They made me kill her, Sera. And now, they’ve sent others to finish what she started—by wiping *you* out.” Sera turned away, fists clenched. This was too much. Too fast. Wolves that turned to ash, strangers claiming to have killed her mother, glowing symbols on her chest? “You should’ve left me alone,” she whispered. “I tried. But the Hollow is fracturing. The packs are breaking their chains. And you—your blood—may be the only thing strong enough to stop what’s coming.” She looked at him. Really looked. Beneath the blood and dirt and stoicism, there was something in his gaze she recognized. Loss. Regret. Fury. “I’m not who you think I am,” she said. “I’m just a girl.” Kael’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You’re a Vale. And you’re not *just* anything.” Behind them, the night pulsed. A wind stirred the trees. “Come,” he said. “We don’t have long. If they know you’re awake, they’ll call the Highbloods.” “Highbloods?” “The ones who never forgot the old order. They believe prophecy isn’t a warning—it’s a promise.” He turned and began walking deeper into the woods. Sera hesitated. Then followed. — They traveled for what felt like hours through twisting terrain. The deeper they went, the more the forest changed. The trees grew denser. The moonlight turned colder. The air felt ancient. And then she saw it. A shimmer in the distance. A break in the world. Kael stepped through without pause, disappearing into the veil. Sera reached out, and the air bent around her fingers like liquid. She stepped forward. Through. And into *Lunaris Hollow*. — It was like waking up in another century. The Hollow wasn’t a village. It was a hidden world, woven into the mountain basin—stone towers wrapped in vines, lantern-lit walkways suspended between trees, wolves prowling rooftops and guards in cloaks of fur and leather. A massive moonstone rose in the distance, pulsing faintly with silver veins. She could *feel* the magic in the air. Every breath hummed with it. Kael led her through silent paths. No one spoke. But many *watched*. Eyes behind masks. Shadows in windows. The air was thick with tension. “This place is…” she whispered. “Built on the bones of the last war,” Kael replied. “Your mother was the last ruler to keep peace between the packs. After her death, the Hollow fractured.” They stopped before a circular hall built into the side of the mountain. Inside: five figures, cloaked in moon-colored robes, waited in a circle of runes. Kael didn’t bow. But he stood still. One of them stepped forward—a woman with pitch-black eyes and silver braids. “You brought her here,” she said. Not a question. A verdict. “She’s been marked,” Kael replied. “The seal broke. The curse is stirring.” The woman turned her gaze to Sera. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” “I didn’t do anything,” Sera snapped. “You’re the ones with cult robes and glowing rocks.” A flicker of amusement touched the woman’s face. “She has her mother’s fire.” Sera stepped forward. “What *is* the Silver Oath?” The woman paused. Then answered: “It’s the vow your mother broke. The pact that once bound all Alphas to peace. And the curse that will end us—if you survive long enough to fulfill it.” Sera’s breath caught. “Fulfill what?” The woman’s eyes glinted. “To kill us all.” Sera stood frozen. "Kill you?" she echoed, voice hollow. “That’s insane. Why would I—why would my mother—” The robed woman stepped closer. “Alina Vale saw the future. And she feared it. Feared *you*.” “That’s not possible.” “You think power comes without consequence?” another figure said, a tall man with a deep scar across his cheek. “Your bloodline carries more than just strength. It carries *the prophecy*.” Kael’s jaw clenched. “We’re not doing this here.” “Yes, we are,” the woman snapped. “The girl deserves to know.” Sera took a breath. “Know what?” The woman looked at her with grim finality. “That the Silver Oath wasn’t meant to bind the Alphas. It was meant to *stop* the one who would unravel them all. A child born of Alina’s blood, awakened by death and fire.” The scarred man continued. “A child who will inherit the soul of the Moonborne and wield its fury. You.” “That’s ridiculous.” “Then explain the seal. Explain how you vaporized a Feral without lifting a hand. Explain why every ward broke the moment you screamed.” Sera’s legs felt weak. None of this made sense. And yet… deep down, something *clicked*. That ache beneath her skin. The dreams. The hunger she never understood. It wasn’t madness. It was memory. Or maybe instinct. Kael looked at her, quiet. “There’s a war coming, Sera. And you’re the weapon no one wants to admit exists.” “I don’t want to be a weapon.” “You don’t have a choice.” The robed woman raised her hand. “We must vote. She stays, or she dies.” Sera’s blood turned to ice. “Excuse me?” “It’s tradition,” the man said. “Any potential Progenitor must be judged. We vote to bind your power—or eliminate you before the curse spreads.” Kael stepped between them, his voice like steel. “Touch her, and I will burn this Hollow down myself.” “Your oath was broken when Alina died,” the woman replied coldly. “Your word means nothing here.” “Then test me,” Kael growled. Sera stepped back, overwhelmed. Prophecies. Curses. Judgement. She turned, needing air—*something*—and stumbled out of the hall. The Hollow buzzed behind her like a storm ready to break. Somewhere high above, the moon began to rise, full and sharp. Her fingers trembled. She didn’t even know who she *was* anymore. But the world around her knew exactly what it expected her to become. — She wandered into the lower part of the Hollow, where the lights dimmed and shadows moved on their own. Buildings gave way to open ground, frost covering dark grass. A gentle stream wound through broken stones. And there, waiting beside it, sat a girl. Pale, barefoot, no older than Sera. “Are you lost?” Sera asked. The girl turned. Her eyes were bright red. “No,” she whispered. “*You* are.” Before Sera could speak, the girl vanished. Gone. Like smoke. Then— *A whisper.* Not out loud. *Inside* her head. *“You’re not ready. But he is.”* Sera gasped, clutching her chest as the mark flared beneath her skin again—hot and alive. A howl tore through the air. Kael. She ran toward it. — She found him just outside the veil’s edge, surrounded by three figures. Not wolves. Not human. Something in between. Their eyes bled silver tears. Their skin shimmered unnaturally. Kael looked injured—one arm bloodied, his breathing ragged. “Stay back!” he barked when he saw her. The tallest figure turned toward her. “So the seal-bearer walks freely. Interesting.” Kael growled. “You’re not supposed to be here.” “We go where prophecy stirs.” One of them moved closer to Sera. “Your blood called us. You woke the Hollow. Now we return what was taken.” Sera backed away. “I didn’t call anyone.” “Your soul did.” And then—without warning—the creature lunged. Kael intercepted mid-leap, claws out, teeth bared. But he was too slow. The other two grabbed Sera. She screamed— The mark on her chest exploded with light. The world *fractured*. Time slowed. And from the trees behind them, a new figure emerged—cloaked in starlight, skin like ob sidian glass, eyes gleaming violet. The same eyes as the wolf in her dream. “Enough,” the figure said, voice echoing in the marrow of her bones. The creatures *froze*, trembling. Kael dropped to his knees. And Sera… Felt her heartbeat match the figure’s steps. One. Two. Three. The stranger touched her forehead. “Awaken, daughter of moon and flame.” And just like that— *Sera remembered.* The oath. The sacrifice. The fire. And the face of the one who betrayed her mother, Kael.