The White Wolf

Prologue

The war takes place in the thick of winter.

The air is harsh and unyielding; a landscape of frozen trees and snow-capped rooftops. A flutter of snowflakes tumbled down midway through the bitter and unpredictableness; pure white amidst the creatures of the night.

Winter months are long and quiet, and its nights are cold and dark. Tonight is no different.

Time feels frozen as the white snow grows thicker and thicker. It is cold. The winters in Malis Empire are frostier than most—the temperature low enough to make your fingertips burn.

There are distant torches and distant shouts. They're running into the dark.

"Kill them! Kill them all!"

It is a single command that echoes, causing the walls and ground to tremble in its wake.

Blood. Smoke. Ashes.

Rotting bodies. Reeking.

All Malis has now is a starless sky, even the moon won't shine. Perhaps she lies behind the unseen clouds, frightened and shivering, because she knows better than anyone how cruel this world is. There is a gloomy feeling that lingers in the night––like omens of death.

All around is nothing but a whirlwind of disorder and violence, a blur of color and vicious motion. The parched, panting tongue collects in dust-choked air intermixed with the bitterness of iron.

Blood pounds in the ears, drumming to a ferocious beat. The sound is barely enough to obscure the cries of men, the screams of injured beasts, and the thunder of steel striking steel.

Someone falls. Another one follows.

Dead bodies falling. Piling up like mountains. Mountains of soulless beings buried slowly under thick snow. The kingdom is suffering under a man with blood for vengeance.

Amidst the chaos, a howl tore through the sky.

A white wolf runs through the forest. Behind him, the people he knew all too well, their screams as they looked death in the eye ringing in his ears, banging against his eardrums unforgivingly.

The winter air doesn’t affect him as it sweeps through his body. But even like this, he can feel the heat. The heat from the fire, the heat of fear burning and growing inside his chest. The kingdom is known for its strongest soldiers. But it’s ironic even for him to run away from such a fight. The white wolf thinks maybe it's a curse that fell on the soldiers. They have been blinded by their power and greed for too long.

His heart raced as he realized that the sound of his heart pounding rapidly and the soft crunch of snow beneath his paws was not the only thing he could hear. An arrow flew past him, missing him by an inch and instead plunging into the tree.

Above him, the trees rustled from the wind, as if equally troubled by the amount of chaos interrupting their peaceful rest.

He dares not look back. More arrows shot past him. He swerves to the right just in time, fear is the only thing encouraging him to run faster. He suddenly stops at the broken bridge connecting to a cliff on the other side. The bridge had been destroyed prior due to a storm and was yet to be repaired. Below him was rushing water flowing out from the mountains, and if he fell from this height, he would not have a chance to survive. He knew of another bridge to cross it, but in order to reach it he would have to take a longer route. And time is not something he has on his side.

The white wolf slowed down with hesitance.

He looked across the cliff to the land on the other side. If only he could jump far enough, there is a possibility that he would land safely. Although it seems like a possibility, it would be better than staying put. He would die regardless. And the white wolf is not one to so simply accept death.

He runs forward at top speed before rearing and kicking his hind legs off the ground. For a moment, he is free flying through the air, and the white wolf only opens his eyes when he feels a sharp sting behind him before landing on the ground.

He’s been shot. Once. Twice.

Glancing back as he ran on, he could see his opponent stopping at the edge. He released a sigh of relief. That would be enough to buy him a few extra minutes.

The snow fell harder and the cold angry winds blew. The white wolf’s stamina is slowly declining from the arrows laced with poison. But he runs until he can see a light ahead of him.

The white wolf stumbles on the open field before his legs give out and he falls to the floor.

He’s lying on his back in the snow. His skin glistened as it bathed under the warm sunlight shining down on him despite the freezing cold beneath him. Blood spills out on the wounds of his body and taints the purity all around him like a child learning to paint for the first time.

He drew in a breath, but couldn’t seem to fully grasp it. He felt his lungs caging in on him and constricting and his chest felt like it had been pierced with thousands of little needles. So, instead he swallows down the lump in his throat—blood? He never liked the taste of iron on his tongue.

His body is shivering from the cold and the lack of clothes on him except for his gray pullover and black jeans. It was cold, he knew, although every part of his body was numb, because he could see the mist escaping his lips every time he pushed a cough out of his throat.

So, instead of focusing on the pain coursing through his body, he directed his gaze to the sky. He realized that the snow had stopped falling––but when? He sees birds flying across the background of blue and white. Birds that can’t help him; that won’t even bother giving him another glance.

He wondered for a moment what it would feel like to be a bird. Free and spirited. Maybe it would be better if he could be reborn as one in his next life. Maybe then dying right now wouldn’t turn out to be that bad.

He was alone. Again.

He had always been alone. He was alone growing up and he’s alone when he’s about to die.

He tries not to laugh at the fact that there’s no one there to see him take his final breath. But only because it hurt his chest even more to voice out a single syllable. As soon as he blinks his eyes, his vision becomes clouded and he thinks: is it really time to go now?

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die.

Silas thought otherwise. Because he saw nothing at all.

He could feel, though. And he felt a lot of things.

The pain he’s been burying inside him; all the emotional pain, bubbling up and adding to the physical pain that’s threatening to rip his body apart from the inside out. Maybe if he just accepted death as he was given it, all of this would stop for good.

No more running. No more hiding. No more struggling with his curse.

So he stops fighting it. His brain is telling him to shut down and give up although his body is trying so hard to stay alive.

How long does this pain have to drag out?

Come on, come on, come on. Die already—

He shut his eyes when he started to see fog instead of the sky.

It’s so hard to live. It’s so hard to die too—

Somewhere near him, a twig snaps. And then his ears automatically twitched upon hearing the sound of footsteps among the uncomfortable silence.

Slowly he peels his eyelids open, but it’s getting harder to see. There was the sun blaring right above him, as if finding joy in his misery. But the footsteps grew nearer. Without a doubt, whoever it is must’ve already seen him there.

He doesn’t believe in a god, but he prays that the person is ignorant enough to just take a glance and walk away.

However, it must be that he doesn’t believe in a god and that his prayers are useless. Because he blinked once and suddenly a face entered his faltering vision. He blinked again. And again. But the face is still a frustrating blur, so he decided not to ponder much over it because it wouldn’t matter who it was after he’s dead anyway—

“You poor thing.”

A girl’s voice.

He couldn't place it, but he felt a sense of familiarity and comfort towards her. It’s just three pitiful words, each word dragged out in a gentle, soothing voice. Like a mother speaking to her newborn child.

Surprising even himself as he let out a huff, he thought that it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

And when he could no longer see the person’s face anymore, he shut his eyes and fell into the welcoming arms of the dark abyss.

“Let’s get you home.”