Emry’s promise

Emry hadn’t meant to linger outside her brother’s office. She’d only gone downstairs for tea, restless from the sleepless ache that had become familiar since the last patrol. But the sound of her name, low and grave in Eastin’s voice, had stopped her in her tracks.

She stood in the shadows by the stairwell, heartbeat steady but her breath shallow, listening.

“…they went for her,” Eastin said, his tone sharp with frustration. “They could’ve gone for anyone else. What if they know something we don’t?”

Emry froze, fingers tightening on the banister.

Braxton’s reply was quieter, but she caught the words that mattered. “Maybe something’s drawing them to her.”

Her. Always her.

She waited for more, but the conversation sank into heavy silence. Then came the sound of a chair scraping back, the deep rumble of her brother’s voice again—angry, protective, afraid.

“If they want her because of what’s in her blood, then they’ll find out what happens when they come for my family.”

That was enough. She turned before they could sense her there, her bare feet whispering against the floor as she slipped back up the stairs.

Her room greeted her with the familiar hush of home. Greens and muted browns filled the space—woven blankets, patterned curtains, bits of moss and pressed ferns framed on the walls. The air carried her scent—subtle but unmistakable—wildflowers after rain, clean and earthy, like the edge of the forest she’d always loved. It mingled with the faint trace of pine that drifted through the window, grounding her in the balance between nature and memory.

She crossed to her dresser, fingers brushing against the small wolf plush resting on its surface. The fabric had faded with years, but it was still soft—still whole. Her father had given it to her when she was little, before he’d leave the territory on pack business. So you never miss me too much, he’d said with a grin, pressing it into her hands.

Back then, she’d counted the days until his return by sleeping with the plush tucked beneath her chin. Now, it sat untouched most nights—but she still couldn’t bring herself to put it away.

She traced the curve of its ear, and that familiar hum began to rise in her chest again—a low, steady pulse that didn’t come from her heartbeat.

It wasn’t constant. It came and went, soft and subtle, like a whisper through her blood. But when it came, it felt like her mother. The warmth of her presence. The light that used to fill the pack house when she laughed.

And though no one else seemed to feel it, Emry knew. She couldn’t explain how or why, but she knew.

They were alive.

Somewhere beneath the noise of war and moonlight, beneath the howls of the pack and the rage of the rogues, her parents’ bond still sang. She could feel it, faint but unbroken, and it tethered her to hope.

That hum was what kept her standing when the weight of duty threatened to crush her. It was what let her wear the Luna’s mantle with her chin high, even when she still felt like the child clutching that wolf plush in the dark.

She curled onto her bed, the forest-colored blankets wrapping around her like earth and roots. Moonlight pooled across her wall, glinting off the polished eyes of the stuffed wolf.

The scent of wildflowers deepened as the night breeze stirred the curtains, carrying her essence back into the world beyond her window—a soft reminder of who she was and what still called to her.

“I’ll find you,” she whispered into the quiet, her voice barely audible.

The hum answered, faint but sure.

Continued…

It began with the hum.

Soft at first—so faint she thought it might be her heartbeat—but soon it filled her entire being, thrumming through her bones like the pulse of the earth itself.

When Emry opened her eyes, the world around her glowed with impossible light. Silver leaves shimmered in a forest she half-recognized, every blade of grass gilded by moonfire. Mist curled around her ankles, cool and soft, and somewhere far ahead, something called to her.

A sound—low, melodic, haunting. A howl carried not on air but through spirit.

She turned toward it instinctively, though she didn’t know why.

The moon above hung impossibly large, round and alive, flooding the forest in light so pure it made her skin glow. Beneath it, the trees arched like cathedral spires, and her bare feet pressed into moss that pulsed faintly with every step, as if it knew her name.

The howl came again—closer now.

“Who’s there?” she whispered, though some part of her already knew the answer.

The mist parted.

From it emerged a wolf unlike any she’d ever seen—brilliant white, radiant as starlight, its fur rippling with threads of silver. But it was the eyes that stole her breath.

Violet.

Deep, shimmering violet—like wildflowers caught in moonlight, ancient and new all at once.

The sight rooted her in place. The air around her thickened, her chest tightening as warmth spread through her ribs. The hum within her matched the wolf’s slow, steady breathing.

It stepped forward, paws silent on the glowing moss, its gaze locked on hers.

“Who are you?” Emry whispered, her voice breaking on the question.

The wolf didn’t speak in words, but its energy surged into her mind—fierce, loyal, endless. She felt the brush of wildflowers in bloom, the rush of wind through pine, the sharp taste of strength that had always lived inside her but never awakened.

And then, without a sound, the wolf turned and padded deeper into the woods.

Emry followed. She didn’t think. She didn’t breathe. The forest bent toward her, branches swaying as if guiding her way.

The trees broke open into a clearing of pale stone and liquid light. At its center shimmered a pool so still it looked like glass, reflecting the moon in perfect clarity.

Standing at its edge was a woman cloaked in silver and light, her presence commanding and infinite. Her hair shimmered like spun starlight, her eyes vast as the night sky.

The white wolf stood at her feet, bowing low.

Emry’s knees nearly gave way under the weight of recognition. She didn’t need to be told who this was. Every story her mother had whispered, every prayer spoken beneath moonlight, rose like a memory.

“Moon Goddess,” she breathed.

The goddess smiled, a warmth that was both tender and terrifying. “Daughter of the silver line,” she said, her voice a melody that echoed through every leaf and shadow. “You have come.”

Emry swallowed hard. “Why am I here?”

The goddess’s gaze softened as she looked to the glowing wolf beside her. “Because you are not meant to walk alone. Your other half has waited long enough.”

The wolf rose and came to her again, the violet in its eyes burning brighter, reflecting the same wild hue as the wildflowers that always bloomed near Emry’s window. When it pressed its nose to her palm, warmth spread through her like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“This is your wolf, Calliope” the goddess said gently. “Your soul made flesh. Your power waiting to be born.”

“My wolf…” Emry murmured, tears welling. “She’s beautiful.”

The Moon Goddess’s expression shifted, sorrow flickering beneath her grace. “She is you, Emry. And when she awakens, so too will the gift your mother carried—the gift they seek to claim.”

Emry’s brow furrowed. “The rogues?”

The goddess’s eyes grew heavy with warning. “The darkness moves swiftly now. What was taken will soon be demanded again. You must be ready, for the night of your awakening will bring more than light.”

The forest trembled. The pool began to ripple, the reflection of the moon distorting.

“Wait!” Emry called, reaching toward the goddess as her form began to fade. “What gift? What are you telling me?”

The goddess’s voice echoed, soft but unshakable, as the world dissolved into silver mist.

“Strength is not born of peace, child. It is forged in what you are willing to protect.”

The violet eyes were the last thing she saw before she woke.

Emry gasped, sitting upright in her bed. Her sheets were tangled, her pulse frantic, her room filled with the scent of wildflowers—stronger, sweeter, alive.

The hum within her chest throbbed like a second heartbeat.

And though the moon outside had begun to fade, the light in her blood refused to dim.