Crimson Outcast

Chapter 1

“The Dream”

               I'm running, running through the woods, I’m barefoot. Feeling the green, luscious grass between my toes and the moss deep on my soles. I dodge through the higher branches and slither my way through the lower branches.  I'm light in weight and lacking brute strength; I make up for it in intelligence and agility. I keep running until I reach a clearing by a lake. Taking a few steps forward and finally taking a seat, I cross my legs Indian style. Inhaling deep breathes I can feel the wind hugging me; the sun beaming on my face.

               I'm on alert, the hairs on the back of my neck and on my arms are standing straight up. My connection to the earth is broken, standing straight up I move into a defensive position. Something or someone is watching me. Letting out a low, guttural growl I inform whatever or whoever is watching me that I mean business. Moments later a mind link hits me "All warriors meet me at the waterfall now".

               All a sudden, I start to see black dots, and my vision is blurred!!  Taking me to a time I don’t remember. Observing my surroundings. The skies are dark with ominous clouds, rumbles of thunder moving through the sky with rhythm, it’s pouring. Mud and blood are everywhere. Witches, wolves, Lycans and Vampires are fighting. Spells being cast, blood being sucked, Lycans sending heads flying with one swipe of their claws, wolve tearing their enemy apart. Thunder rumbles through the sky as lighting strikes the ground, sending waves of electricity through the earth's flooring. Looking to my left I see a woman, glaring right at me. She turns away getting the attention of her comrade. Both start rushing me, I Turn to run. Pumping my arms and legs as hard as possible to extend my stride and force my speed to its maximum. In the blink of the eye, the timeline changes; I peer into deep red eyes my body freezes, feeling like I can't breathe.

Jolting awake, My clothes are drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Looking up and out the window from my bed, noticing it’s still dark outside. I think to myself, Sheesh... Just another nightmare. Taking one more glance out the window, gazing at the bright lit moon, while letting out a deep sigh of relief. Looking at the semi broken clock next to my cot, thinking to myself, about two and a half more hours, maybe three until I must be fully awake and moving if I skip my self-made work out.  I laid back down attempting to get comfy, saying goodnight to the moon I drifted back to sleep.

In what felt like just a few minutes later I opened my eyes to part of the sun kissing me good morning and my alarm blaring. Releasing a moanful sigh, I get up clicking the alarm off. It’s five in the morning and I have many chores to complete before the house wakes up. obviously, a voice which is not mine says in the back of my mind. Wondering what or who that voice was at first, I ended up dismissing it thinking it was my inner thoughts. The nightmares get worse with every passing night, the closer it gets to my birthday the harder the dreams come. Some nights I dream of being back in the early days and some nights I dream about stuff going on. On a very frequent occasion I have dreams of blood and war. I don’t have much time to think about it though, I must get these chores done and complete what little bit of my daily work out regime I still have left. Two days until my 21st birthday. Two more days until I can leave this place.

My name is Amara Reynolds, I don't own much but a cot as a bed, some shaggy old hand-me-down clothes, ragged sheets, one old pillow and this crimson-colored baby blanket that I was found wrapped up in. Yes, I am an orphan, luckily for me the Alpha of Munnin Moon Pack found me. He brought me back to his wife and Luna. They took good care of me for 12 years; I didn’t want anything. When I didn't get my wolf or lycan, everything changed. You would think that me being a child of an alpha, adopted or not, that everything would be ok. However, it wasn’t, my rank in the pack abruptly dropped, forcing me to the harsh treatment of life and my reality. Almost 9 years later and I’m still an omega with not one single inkling of a wolf or lycan! On top of it all deep down I know an orphan, now I’m truly treated as such or worse.

However, despite those few " complications", I tell myself every day that I'm grateful for the Munnin pack. They could have left me to die when I was just a wee pup. My pack use to be the third largest pack, now they are the second largest pack, ever since the royal wolves were defeated in a huge civil war by the royal Lycans; basically, by killing off royal pack of wolves over disputed land. Now the Lycans are the one and only royalty. In our world you keep what you kill, everyone bows to them. All of which, the humans, remained oblivious too. The largest pack is the Huginn Pack, whose alpha happens to be the first-born twin brother to my alpha.

Together the twin brothers control almost half of the shifter region. Our packs run from North Dakota to Washington, from Washington to Texas and from Texas back to North Dakota. That’s 19 states, with the brothers having the two largest packs in the entire country. Being mostly based in California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, and Oregon. The two packs together have at least 3000 pack members and mates.  With the other packs controlling the Eastern coast and states to the middle of the country.  The larges eastern pack control about 13 states. The remaining 18 packs are spread out through the middle of the country. Marrying off their daughters to other packs to gain status and wealth.  Mind you in between us all somewhere there are witches and vampires too!

Witches generally keep to themselves, rarely interacting with others outside of their covens. Their territories are well-protected, and it’s uncommon for them to wander far except when gathering herbs or special ingredients for rituals and ceremonies. Their devotion centers around their goddess, known as “The Maiden, The Mother, The Crone”—a three-headed deity embodying the cycles of life, wisdom, and magic.

Within witch society, there’s a wide range of magical practices. Some witches explore different branches of magic, but I was taught that there really isn’t a true division between dark and light magic—it all comes down to the choices and intentions of the witch herself. Those who cross certain moral boundaries or use their abilities to harm others often face severe consequences. Typically, their own coven will mete out justice, sometimes even execution. Otherwise, rogue witches must flee, living in exile to escape punishment for their actions. Either way darker witches reap what they sow 3 times worse.

This complex code keeps most witches loyal to their covens and traditions, shaping a world where magic is both revered and feared, and every practitioner is responsible for the path she chooses.

Then you have the vampires. Only surfacing at night among human towns, they slip through shadows, searching for their next prey—whether it’s given willingly or taken by force. Not all vampires are bloodsuckers, though. Some prefer to drain energy, feeding on your vitality and willpower until you’re left a hollow shell, withering away to nothing. But no matter their method, vampires only emerge when darkness falls.

The lycans and the vampires have an uneasy treaty. Vampires are forbidden from harming wolves or lycans, and in return, we’re expected to turn a blind eye to whatever they do among humans. To me, that arrangement has never seemed wise. In this world, survival demands vigilance—you watch everything and everyone, trusting no soul completely, especially not those who have lost theirs.

Amara’s Pov

The morning routines became a sort of ritual—each movement performed on autopilot, my mind drifting between reality and the lingering shadows of dreams. As I swept the cold kitchen tiles and wiped down the counters, I glanced at the faded calendar tacked to the wall. Two days. The number stared back at me, a silent countdown to everything I both dreaded and desperately hoped for. In these moments, I wondered if ordinary birthdays ever felt so heavy to anyone else.

The house began to stir with the early risers, the soft padding of feet above, muffled voices in the hallway—daily life unfolding as if nothing extraordinary was looming on the horizon. I slipped outside for a brief moment, letting the crisp dawn air cool my flushed cheeks. The sky was painted in muted shades of lavender and peach, the moon retreating behind a curtain of clouds as the sun climbed higher. Despite everything, I felt the world shift, as if the earth itself was bracing for change.

Inside, the hours slipped by in a blur of routine, the mundane tasks oddly comforting as my thoughts raced with the weight of what was coming. Each sweep of the broom and clatter of dishes became a steady drumbeat, grounding me in the present, even as anxiety threatened to pull me under. As the kitchen filled with the smell of baking bread and simmering oatmeal  , I caught murmurs from the older pack members—a sense of anticipation, electric and uneasy, weaving through their words

My hands moved automatically, scrubbing and polishing, but my mind wandered to distant memories: laughter echoing in the corridors, games played by moonlight, the warmth of belonging before it all slipped away. Now, the pack treated me with indifference or thinly veiled disdain, save for the rare kind glance from a few elders. I felt like a ghost in my own life, passing through rooms I’d lived in for years but never truly called home.

There was a moment, as I passed a window, when I paused to watch the wind dance across the fields outside. A flock of sparrows lifted into the sky, scattering before vanishing into the trees. Their freedom stung—a reminder of how caged I felt within these walls.

Still, I pressed on, refusing to let despair take hold. I told myself, again and again, that survival was its own kind of rebellion. And beneath my weariness, a small spark of hope remained: the possibility that, soon, everything might change.

The hours trickled by, each moment stretching into the next with the weight of anticipation pressing on my shoulders. By late morning, the house was alive—laughter and squabbles, clattering dishes, the low hum of television in the next room. I moved like a shadow between responsibilities, careful not to draw attention, blending into the background as I always had. Sometimes I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the kitchen window—tired eyes, hair pulled back, a figure half-formed by hope and resignation.