The Wolf Girl's Secret Box

Chapter7

Ancient legends tell (not town history—no one would record such tales in the town annals) that beneath Xiba Town's prosperous facade lay many bloody secrets. Prostitutes vanishing into the night, poor children disappearing without a trace, or beggars roaming the streets who vanished just as suddenly... Tragically, the disappearance of those living at society's lowest rung had no impact whatsoever on the town's development.

Until one day, when a noble residing in a grand estate lost his beloved young daughter, the darkest secret hidden within Xiba Town finally caught the attention of the powerful.

Investigators were swiftly dispatched from above, and their conclusion was clear—some malevolent force lurking in the shadows was corrupting the land. Ironically, the solution proposed by the powerful wasn't to confront this terrifying problem, but to reroute. They poured vast resources into constructing a new thoroughfare, evacuating the upper classes from this perilous place. As for the lives of ordinary folk? Sorry, that wasn't part of their plan.

The powerful’s decision plunged the populace into unprecedented panic. Townspeople began fleeing en masse, leaving not even enough laborers to build the road. Those who couldn't leave for various reasons dwindled visibly. No young, able-bodied man would pass through here, let alone claim the bounty posted on the town bulletin board.

Each morning, the elderly mayor gathered the remaining residents for roll call. Until one dawn, counting himself, only seven souls remained in Xiba Town: four elders, one consumptive, and one widow. Oh, and the mayor's grandson, lying in his baby carriage.

The old mayor was utterly despairing. Even his water pipe, dangling from his waist, seemed to know that within two days, not a single soul would remain in this town. It would become a truly dead town.

His gaze swept over each of the “survivors.” Having endured the initial despair, their faces now bore only confusion and numbness. He knew without looking that his own face mirrored theirs.

His gaze finally settled on his grandson’s pram.

“What are we to do, Mr. Mayor?” The widow, advanced in years, spoke in a voice as hoarse as a broken windmill. She didn't expect an answer, merely seeking to break the unbearable silence.

“God has forsaken us. May you all find rest at last.” The old mayor repeated these words like a broken record, consumed by a madness that had overtaken him. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, he pushed his sleeping grandson out of the town, along the winding path, and into the dense forest.

Such a departure was destined to be one-way, yet not a single person present stepped forward to stop him. For all men are born equal, and the same fate would soon befall them.

The old mayor walked deep into the forest for a long time before finally collapsing beside the pram, overcome by exhaustion. Hours later, he awoke from his stupor to find the sky completely dark. By moonlight, he groped toward his grandson’s pram. The sensation in his hands filled him with dread—the pram lay overturned, its interior empty.

He had intended to end his grandson’s agonizing wait for death sooner, but now, the terror amplified tenfold by the loss of his loved one made him uncertain. Never before had he feared loss so intensely.

Fortunately, things weren’t as bad as they seemed. The stillness allowed the old mayor’s less-than-keen ears to pick up a sound—a faint, sucking noise drifting from the nearby grass.

Stumbling to his feet, he groped toward the thicket in the dim moonlight, carefully parting the blades of grass.

The sight before him froze him in shock.

A pair of glowing green eyes watched him warily from within the foliage. His approach made the creature tense, yet it showed no sign of rising. The owner of those eyes—a massive female wolf—lay on the ground, nursing the old mayor’s grandson. The child was clearly starving, its sucking sounds piercing the night.

The old mayor had imagined hundreds, perhaps thousands, of terrifying scenarios of being torn apart by beasts in the dense forest, but never one where a beast saved him. He couldn't recall how he finally carried his grandson back, nor how he made his way back to town.

All his memory was consumed by the image of those glowing green eyes. Those eyes seemed to follow behind him, escorting him all the way.

Nothing could be more bizarre than this: a beast had stopped the old mayor from taking his own life.

Perhaps that wasn't quite right. After all, an even stranger thing happened the next morning. When they gathered in the town center, the old mayor counted seven people again. Including himself, four elders, one consumptive, and one widow. Oh, and that grandson who’d drunk wolf milk.

Not one was missing.

“What happened?”

They could scarcely believe everyone was still alive.

“I might know something,” the consumptive man spoke up. His sickly pale face shed the numbness and confusion of recent days, now brimming with life. He spoke excitedly, coughing violently in bursts. "A fierce battle raged in the town last night. I couldn't sleep and heard it all. I heard wolves howling, the sound of tearing flesh, and the devil's pleas for mercy in the darkness."

“The gods haven't forsaken us. They sent the Wolf God to save us,” he declared.

As if to prove his words, for the next fortnight, the howls of wolves echoed nightly. And not one of these seven “survivors” was lost again.

...The story was too ancient to recall in detail, and its contents were sketchy. Edren only remembered the gist, with one ending etched in his memory:

"...From that day on, the demons of darkness were punished by the Wolf God and never appeared on this land again. The displaced people returned to this weathered town and began rebuilding their homes. Xiba Town regained its vitality once more. And the wolf—this bold, intelligent, and powerful creature—endured as the spiritual anchor for Xiba Town's rebirth, its legacy enduring for generations."

The mental agitation from constant pondering left Edren utterly sleepless. He tossed and turned in bed, his gaze settling on the wooden box by his headboard—he seemed to recall something, that persistent sense of unease.

The black wolf—the one that had stared at him—bore an uncanny resemblance to the one that had appeared in his dream not long ago (the one transformed by Olivette).

Coincidence? Or perhaps the wooden box truly was, as the note claimed, “a magical box” that allowed its owner to “foresee” part of the future?

Don't forget, Edren was right in the middle of his most imaginative sixteen years old. Everything impossible in the adult world seemed possible at this age.

Just like everyone who thought, “The next lottery winner will be me,” or “I’m different from everyone else,” Edren couldn't help but harbor a tiny, tiny hope that he possessed something extraordinary.

With this hope, Edren grew restless, a bold idea taking root in his mind.

“What if putting something in the wooden box makes me dream about it?”

To test this theory, he dragged out the large gift box and selected a brand-new Rubik’s Cube. The wooden box wasn’t large, but it was one of the most suitable items he could find.

“Don’t let me down, buddy.” Edren weighed the cube in his hand, placed it carefully inside the wooden box, secured the lid tightly, and returned it to his bedside. His gaze lingered on the box until drowsiness overtook him, yet he couldn't discern anything extraordinary beyond its carved patterns.

The start of this year had not been smooth for the Hoxen family.

Shortly after the New Year, the seal containing the demon experienced a significant tremor. Such disturbances occurred periodically, and they had long grown accustomed to them. This time, however, it seemed different from the usual.

Shortly after that tremor, about half a month ago, the seal developed massive cracks. Though the fissures lasted only briefly, the seal's immense restorative power quickly closed them. Yet that brief window was sufficient for demons to escape.

The trouble was, the patrol squad stationed to guard the seal lacked sufficient numbers to eliminate all the escaped demons. Many had fled amidst the chaos.

This was a headache. A considerable one.

The patrol spent considerable time capturing the escaped demons. Because of this, they nearly missed the monthly gathering.

This was the night of the fullest moon in a decade. Moonlight blanketed everything like white frost, illuminating the land where the Hawksons had taken root.

As children of the Moon God, guardians of the night, and favored by the jungle, the Hawksons—one of the oldest wolf clans—would hold a grand ritual this night, pledging their loyalty to Mother Nature.

Yet on such a crucial day, the patrol nearly arrived late. Without them, the Full Moon Festival couldn't proceed. They nearly ruined this sacred occasion. Fortunately, they arrived just in time, avoiding becoming the “sinners” of the Hawksons.

Olivier and Benny mingled among the wolves, still shaken by their near-miss with the Full Moon Festival. This was their clan’s most important holiday, held so infrequently that each celebration was exceptionally rare. The last Full Moon Festival had occurred before they were born, making this their first—and it filled them with anticipation.

Not only was Benny brimming with excitement for the approaching ceremony, but even Olivette found it hard to contain her restlessness.

The patrol’s last-minute return left the pack little time to travel. They chose to risk crossing the highway through West Dam Town. Finally, they reached the forest’s depths before the moon reached its zenith.

Upon reaching their destination, the tension eased throughout the group. The clan leader, two patrol captains, and several elders made final preparations before the ceremony began. The wolves spontaneously formed a large, irregular circle, surrounding them in the center.

Benny pushed past his companions to reach Olivette. In wolf form, they couldn't use human speech, communicating instead through the pack’s unique vocal frequencies: “Was that Jeep driver we passed earlier Little Beauty?”

After a two-second pause, Olivette decided not to answer. Benny’s tone suggested he hadn’t failed to recognize Edren; he simply wanted more gossip. Besides, the nickname “Little Beauty” made Olivette extremely uncomfortable.

“So why not admit it?” Benny saw through his thoughts and nudged his shoulder. “You know, Oli, your drool was hanging down to your chest just now!”

Only then did Olivette spare no effort in glaring fiercely at his cousin. “Shut up.”