The forest was still dark when Elara opened her eyes.
A faint mist clung to the ground outside her window, and beyond it, the distant call of an owl faded into silence. Her body ached from the training the day before—muscles sore in places she hadn't known existed—but beneath the exhaustion was something new. A spark. A quiet strength waking from its slumber.
She dressed quickly, pulling on the soft leather training gear Mirelle had given her. It was simple but fitted her well, allowing ease of movement while still feeling like armor. As she fastened the belt around her waist, she caught her reflection in the cracked mirror above the washbasin.
Her eyes looked different.
Brighter. Sharper.
She didn't look like the girl who had wandered into these woods weeks ago. She looked like someone who had purpose. Someone who knew what she was becoming, even if she didn't understand it all yet.
Outside, the village stirred slowly. The scent of firewood and early morning dew mixed in the air. A few early risers moved quietly through the mist—mostly warriors, checking the perimeter, preparing for whatever might come next.
Silas waited for her near the edge of the clearing, where the training grounds lay. He leaned against a tall pine, arms crossed, golden eyes catching the early light like twin flames.
"You're early," he said as she approached.
"I couldn't sleep."
He smiled. "Good. The forest doesn't wait. Neither should you."
They walked together toward the clearing where Mirelle and a few others were already gathering. The air here felt different—charged, like lightning beneath the skin. The old stones that circled the training grounds shimmered faintly with ancient sigils, carved so long ago they had become part of the earth itself.
Mirelle stood in the center, staff in hand, her silver hair tied back, her gaze piercing. She nodded at Elara.
"You came," she said.
"I said I would."
"Then we begin."
The training began without ceremony.
Mirelle didn't waste time with pleasantries or encouragement. She moved like water over stone—fluid but unrelenting—as she circled Elara in the ring.
"Shift," she said simply.
Elara's breath hitched. "Now?"
"Yes. You've done it before. Do it again. But this time, own it."
Elara closed her eyes. She reached inward, the way Silas had taught her, searching for that thread of power curled tight inside her chest. At first, there was only silence.
Then… a flicker.
A pulse.
Heat stirred beneath her skin. Her muscles tightened, bones whispering of the change. She focused on that feeling—on the way the moon always pulled at her blood, even when hidden behind clouds.
A low hum filled her ears, and suddenly her body gave way—not painfully, not forcefully, but like wind giving way to storm.
She fell to all fours, her breath ragged, her senses erupting. Everything was sharper—sounds, scents, the beat of her heart thudding in the soil beneath her paws.
Her wolf had come.
Mirelle stepped forward, face unreadable. "Hold it."
Elara tried. But the longer she stayed in the form, the harder it was to think in words. Instinct clawed at her thoughts. She could smell the blood in Mirelle's veins, the faint tension in Silas's body behind her. Her vision honed on movement, shadow, danger. Her legs trembled.
Then she lost it.
The shift fell apart, and she collapsed, panting, back in her human skin.
Mirelle didn't look disappointed—just thoughtful.
"You're fighting it," she said.
"I'm trying to control it."
"There's a difference between control and suppression," the older woman replied. "The wolf isn't your enemy. It's you. Stop treating it like a curse."
Elara wiped sweat from her brow. "Then teach me how to live with it."
Mirelle nodded once. "That's what we're here for."
Silas stepped in then, offering Elara a hand. She took it without hesitation, letting him pull her to her feet. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and their eyes met.
"You're stronger than you think," he said quietly.
She gave a shaky laugh. "Tell that to my ribs."
He smiled. "Pain is proof you're waking up."
The next days passed in a blur of blood, sweat, and howling wind.
Mirelle's training grew fiercer. Shifting was only the beginning. Elara learned to channel the wild magic that stirred in her veins—the ancient energy passed down from the royal line, the mark of the moon that had once made her father a legend.
"You're not just a wolf," Mirelle said one morning as the mist curled low over the training grounds. "You're a conduit. The moon speaks through you. The forest listens to you. You were born to command."
"But I don't know how," Elara said. "Every time I reach for that power, it burns."
"Then burn," Mirelle said. "And rise from it."
---
Elara spent her nights in restless dreams.
Visions came—of a silver crown half-buried in snow, of wolves kneeling in moonlight, of fire licking the walls of a crumbling throne room. And always… always, she saw him.
A man cloaked in shadow, eyes the color of storm clouds. Watching her.
Waiting.
She woke most mornings tangled in furs, Silas beside her, his arm heavy across her waist. He never asked about the dreams, but he always knew when she'd had them. He would pull her closer, grounding her without a word.
"I feel like something's coming," she whispered once, curled against him in the pre-dawn hush.
"It is," he murmured. "But so are you."
---
By the second week, Elara stood taller. Her shifts became faster, smoother. She ran with the pack under the moon, her breath syncing with theirs, her paws pounding the earth like war drums.
She was no longer afraid of her wolf.
She was the wolf.
But it wasn't just the shifting that changed. Her senses sharpened beyond normal werewolf limits. She could hear the roots under the soil. Smell truth from lies. Feel when the stars moved in the sky. When she touched water, it stilled. When she spoke to the wind, it answered.
"Your magic is waking up," Mirelle said with a gleam of pride. "The old blood. Your mother had it too."
"And my father?" Elara asked.
Mirelle's smile faded slightly. "He was the storm that followed the fire."
Elara clenched her fists. "Then I'll be both."
---
One night, during a moonless run, Elara chased something she couldn't explain—an instinct pulling her deeper into the woods, beyond the border stones. Silas followed, always near, a shadow at her side.
They broke through the trees into a clearing Elara had never seen before. In the center, a massive stone altar stood—cracked with age, glowing faintly with ancient runes.
Her breath caught.
"I've seen this," she whispered. "In my dreams."
Silas looked around, wary. "This place is sacred. Old magic lingers here."
She stepped forward, fingers brushing the stone. The runes flared beneath her touch, not in warning—but recognition.
A voice echoed in her mind.
"The blood remembers."
Her knees buckled. Silas caught her before she hit the ground.
"Elara!" he said sharply. "What is it?"
Tears filled her eyes. "It's not just power. It's memory. My family… my people… they're in me."
She looked up at him, light pouring from her skin like moonfire.
"I'm ready," she said. "Whatever's coming… I'm ready to fight."
Silas knelt with her, his hand covering hers on the stone.
"Then let's bring the storm."
That night, the pack howled louder than they had in years. The sound rang through the trees like a battle cry, shaking birds from branches and stirring the air with ancient promise.
Elara stood among them, no longer just an outsider or a runaway. Her eyes burned silver in the firelight. Her power was no longer a secret—it was a pulse in the earth, a breath in the wind. And they all felt it.
Mirelle watched from the shadows, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. "They know who you are now," she said.
Elara's gaze met hers. "Good. Because I need them."
"You'll have them," Mirelle promised. "But they'll expect something in return."
---
At dawn, Elara stood before the pack—her first speech, her first command.
"I was born in a palace, but raised in exile. I spent my life searching for where I belonged. And I found it—with you."
A murmur rippled through the wolves gathered in a semicircle, their faces turned toward her, some curious, others reverent.
"I don't want to rule you," she said. "I want to rise with you. To fight for the ones we've lost. To rebuild what was taken. And to make sure no one ever steals from us again."
The silence that followed was thunderous—and then, one by one, they dropped to one knee. Heads bowed.
Not just wolves.
Her people.
Her pack.
---
Later that day, Silas took her to the edge of the cliffs that overlooked the valley. The wind whipped through their hair, the scent of pine and rain thick in the air.
"You did it," he said quietly. "They believe in you."
Elara turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you?"
Silas stepped closer, his voice low and rough. "I believed in you the first moment I saw you. I just didn't know who you were yet."
"And now that you do?"
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Now I'm even more screwed."
She laughed, heart pounding as he leaned in, his mouth a breath from hers.
"I don't care who you are, Elara," he whispered. "Princess. Alpha. Goddess of the damned moon. I'm yours."
And when he kissed her, it wasn't gentle—it was wild and desperate and real, like two storms colliding.
Like something ancient remembering what it had lost.
---
That night, the stars blazed brighter than ever. Elara stood alone outside her tent, staring up at them.
A shadow emerged from the trees—Mirelle.
"Elara," she said, tone serious. "There's something you need to see."
She led her deep into the woods, past the training grounds and the stone altar, to a place where the trees were twisted with age and the air thrummed with tension.
Buried beneath roots, Mirelle pulled free a wrapped scroll sealed with black wax.
"Your mother left this for you," she said. "She knew you'd come back someday."
Elara's hands trembled as she broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.
Her breath caught.
A map. A message. And a warning.
At the bottom, in her mother's unmistakable hand:
"They will come for you. When the red moon rises, trust no one. Not even him."
Elara's heart clenched. Her wolf stirred restlessly inside her.
The war hadn't started yet.
But it was closer than ever.