Alpha Killian's True Luna

8

“Kaima!!!”

The shout broke through the quiet, sudden enough to make me jump. I turned around, my palms pressing into the soft dirt beneath me.

Standing just a few feet away was a boy. He couldn’t have been older than eight or nine, his small shape silhouetted against the bright day. The moment my eyes found him, a natural smile broke across my face, the kind of expression that required no thought at all. He was a familiar, comforting presence, someone who always managed to make the space around him feel safe.

He did not wait for me to call him over. As soon as he saw me looking, he broke into a run, his small feet kicking up slight puffs of dust as he ran across the garden. He came to a sudden stop right beside me, dropping down onto the grass without a care for the dirt staining his clothes. Before he even caught his breath, he held out his hand. Pressed between his fingers was a fresh flower, clearly taken from one of the nearby beds just moments ago. Its petals were bright, completely untouched by the heat of the day.

I took it from him, my fingers lightly touching his. “Thank you,” I said, the smile never leaving my face. The flower felt delicate in my hand, a small, simple gift that immediately made the afternoon feel a little brighter.

But he was not done. I watched him closely as his hand dropped toward his pocket. There was a sudden, clear shift in his behavior, a quiet excitement that he was trying, and failing, to hide. He moved his hand around for a second before pulling it back out, keeping his fingers tightly closed around whatever he had found. He looked at me, a knowing smile playing on his lips, his eyes dancing with a secret he was dying to share.

My curiosity flared instantly. I leaned in a little closer, my own smile widening in response to his. “What is that?” I asked, trying to peek through the spaces between his fingers.

He pulled his hand back just out of reach, his grin growing wider. “Close your eyes,” he told me.

I hesitated for a small second, the anticipation building up inside me, but I obeyed. I let my eyelids shut, hiding the world from sight, though the warmth of the garden still pressed against my skin.

Without my sight, my other senses became clearer. I heard the rustle of his clothes as he moved closer to me, moving his body on the grass until he was practically breathing the same air. I felt his hands rise, his small fingers touching the skin of my neck gently.

He was being incredibly careful, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were handling something of immense value. A cool piece of metal touched my collarbone, sending a brief chill down my back, followed by the faint click of a clasp being secured at the back of my neck.

As soon as it was done, the warmth of his presence moved away. He shifted back to his original spot on the grass, though I could tell he was leaning forward, watching me intently.

“Open your eyes,” he told me.

I opened them, the light coming back into my vision. The very first thing I did was lift my hands, my fingertips tracing the unfamiliar object resting against my chest. My thumb and forefinger closed around a small piece of metal. I lifted it slightly so I could see it clearly.

It was a necklace. Hanging from the delicate chain was a beautifully detailed pendant. It formed the shape of a half moon, and nestled perfectly within its curve was a wolf, its head thrown back, captured in the middle of a silent, timeless howl. It was crafted so well that the wolf looked as though it were actually sitting right inside the curve of the moon, looking up at a sky only it could see.

I stared at it, completely fascinated. The detail was incredible, far more complicated than anything a boy his age should have possessed. Seconds went by in absolute silence. I could not take my eyes off the little silver wolf, my mind spinning with a sudden rush of questions.

Beside me, the boy shifted uncomfortably. The confident, knowing smile he had worn just moments ago vanished, replaced by a sudden, deep wave of anxiety. He watched my face, trying to read my silence, his shoulders tense.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly with a nervousness that seemed entirely out of place for him. He looked vulnerable, desperate for my approval, as if my reaction to this small piece of metal meant everything in the world to him.

I looked up from the pendant, meeting his anxious gaze. The moment I saw the worry in his eyes, any hesitation I had disappeared. My smile returned, full and genuine, spreading across my face to reassure him.

“I love it!” I said, my voice bright and honest.

But as the initial excitement faded, a sudden realization hit me. I looked down at the necklace again, then back at his small face. Worry began to creep into my chest, making my throat feel tight. We were just children. I was young, maybe his age, maybe even a little younger. We did not have money. We did not have pieces of silver jewelry just lying around.

“But... how did you get this?” I asked, the tone of my voice shifting from joy to deep concern. I looked at him hard, wondering if he had taken something he should not have, or if he had gotten himself into trouble just to give me a gift.

The boy’s whole manner changed in an instant. The nervousness vanished, but it was not replaced by his usual playful grin. Instead, a strange, serious look settled over his features. His jaw tightened, and his eyes grew incredibly serious, a look so intense and mature that it felt entirely wrong on a face that still carried the softness of early childhood.