Chapter 4: The Village of Embers

The man’s words echoed in my mind as he dragged me forward, his grip cruel and unyielding. The pain in my scalp was a relentless, burning ache, but it was nothing compared to the searing agony radiating from the bite on my neck. Blood trickled down in a warm, sticky line, and my breaths came in ragged gasps, shallow and uneven.

“She is here! Harold’s granddaughter!” he bellowed, his voice deep and rough, carrying across the village like a storm warning.

The villagers gathered quickly, their fiery red hair glowing like embers under the dying light of the setting sun. Their faces blurred as tears pricked my eyes, but the intensity of their gazes was impossible to miss. The fox-like tilt of their eyes gleamed with an eerie crimson light, and their expressions ranged from contemptuous sneers to cold, calculating stares.

“She reeks of them! Kill her!” a voice shouted from somewhere in the crowd, sharp and venomous.

I wanted to speak, to beg for mercy, but the words caught in my throat, blocked by the sheer terror that gripped me. My head swam as the village spun around me, a distorted kaleidoscope of vibrant tribal garb and snarling faces. The air itself seemed to pulse with their anger.

“She doesn’t even look like Harold’s kin,” a woman’s voice sneered, her red hair catching the light like fire. “Puny. Weak. Nothing more than a human.”

“Maybe she’s not!” another villager muttered, their tone dripping with doubt. “Seth’s got a thing for vengeance. Maybe he’s seeing ghosts where there aren’t any.”

Their words struck me like blows, their hatred and suspicion coiling around me like a living thing. I trembled, the ache in my body matched only by the crushing weight of their loathing. The man who held me, Seth, jerked my head back, forcing me to meet the seething, curious stares of the villagers.

“Shut up!” he barked at the crowd, his voice raw with fury. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Look at her!” He shook me roughly, making my head spin. “She reeks of them—wolves.”

“Seth, let her go!” A young man stepped forward, his presence cutting through the mob’s chaos like a blade. His figure was lean but commanding, his sharp crimson eyes narrowing at my captor. “We don’t know anything yet. This isn’t how we do things.”

“She’s wolf-blooded, Red!” Seth snapped, his grip tightening painfully on my hair. “Burn her! Like they burned our kin.”

The name caught my attention: *Red*. The man stood out, his fiery hair tied back in a neat braid, his movements deliberate and calm amidst the chaos. His voice was steady, measured, yet it carried an edge of steel.

“We’re not them,” Red countered, his gaze locked on Seth. “We’re not savages. If she really is Harold’s granddaughter, we need to know why she’s here. Killing her without answers doesn’t make sense.”

An elder stepped forward then, his weathered face lined with the wisdom and pain of years. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and resonant, cutting through the clamor. “Red is right. The moon will decide her fate. Until then, she lives.”

The elder’s words stilled the mob, though murmurs of dissent still lingered. Seth’s lip curled, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he yanked me by the hair again, dragging me away from the crowd. My feet stumbled over the uneven ground as he hauled me to a ramshackle hut at the edge of the village. Its walls leaned precariously, the wood dark and splintered with age. Without a word, he shoved me down a narrow set of steps into a damp, musty cellar.

The door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing like a death knell. The darkness was absolute, swallowing me whole. My body crumpled onto the cold, unforgiving floor, the chill seeping into my bones. I couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over, mingling with the blood and grime on my face. My breaths came in shallow, panicked bursts as I struggled to stay conscious.

Memories flashed through my mind, unbidden and vivid. My parents’ secret—one I never should have known. The full moon, their transformation. The way their bodies contorted, their eyes glowing fiercely as they shifted into wolves. It had been a moment of awe and terror, a revelation that had shattered the foundation of my world. But how was I connected to this war between wolves and foxes? Why was Harold’s name—a name I didn’t even recognize—enough to send these people into a frenzy?

The sound of footsteps broke through my spiraling thoughts. A flickering light pierced the darkness, and Red appeared, holding a candle. His expression was soft but guarded, his sharp features illuminated by the wavering glow.

“I apologize for Seth’s behavior,” he said quietly. He set the candle down and knelt beside me, opening a small leather pouch.

“What do you want?” My voice was barely audible, hoarse from the strain of my screams earlier.

“To help,” he replied simply. He pulled out a small jar of salve, his movements careful as he examined the bite on my neck. “You’re not from here. Your clothes—they’re not from the Arcane Institute.”

The name meant nothing to me, but his eyes gleamed with recognition, a flicker of something that might have been hope. I was too weak to argue, too tired to ask questions. Instead, I let him work in silence as he cleaned the wound.

As he applied the salve, he began to speak. “This war between wolves and foxes—it wasn’t always this way. For centuries, there was peace. But that peace was fragile. A drought came, and with it, desperation. A rogue faction of wolves, led by Fenrir, broke the truce, attacking a fox settlement to steal their water. It was the first betrayal.”

His voice was steady, but there was a deep sadness in his tone. I winced as he pressed a clean bandage to my neck, his words sinking in.

“Fenrir’s greed sparked a conflict that has lasted generations,” Red continued. “And now, it’s all we know. Fighting. Hate. Loss.”

“Why does it matter who I am?” I croaked, the question clawing its way out despite my exhaustion.

Red’s gaze met mine, and for the first time, I saw vulnerability in his eyes. “Because if you are Harold’s granddaughter, you might be the key to ending it.”

His words left me reeling, a storm of confusion and fear crashing through me. Me? A key to ending a centuries-old war? I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t. Instead, I watched as he set down a plate of food and a blanket before leaving the room.

As the door shut behind him, his final words lingered in the air, heavy with hope and desperation. Could I really be the answer to this ancient, senseless conflict? The thought was as terrifying as it was impossible, and I was left alone in the dark, trembling with uncertainty