Captured

Autumn

My stomach ached with hunger, but it was Hanna I was most worried about. She was just 15 years old—too young to endure this kind of suffering. We hadn’t eaten in two days, and she was growing weaker. I couldn't let her suffer any longer.

Our pack’s army was still searching for survivors—those who had managed to escape the massacre. We had been lucky so far, but luck wouldn’t keep us alive forever.

A small group of us—three girls—decided to risk it. We needed food, and staying hidden wouldn’t change that.

As I prepared to leave, Hanna's small voice broke the silence.

"Where is Father and Mother, sister?" she asked, her innocent eyes filled with confusion.

My heart clenched painfully. She didn’t know. She had no idea what had happened to our parents four days ago.

I forced a smile, swallowing the lump in my throat. "They… they're not here right now," I said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I promise, I'll take care of you."

She nodded, accepting my words without question, trusting me completely.

I knelt beside her, cupping her face gently. “Hanna, listen to me. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded again, but this time, hesitation flickered in her eyes.

“If you hear any sound outside,” I continued, my voice firm, “do not come out. No matter what.”

Her lower lip trembled, but she remained quiet.

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, my heart aching at the sight of her so fragile. “I promise I’ll bring food,” I murmured before pulling away.

Then, with a deep breath, I stepped out of our hiding place—into the dangerous unknown.

We moved quickly, gathering whatever edible things we could find—wild fruits, roots, anything to keep us alive for another day. My hands trembled as I stuffed a few berries into my pouch.

Then, the sound of hooves echoed through the forest.

I froze.

The others stiffened beside me, fear flashing in their eyes. We knew what this meant. The pack’s warriors were near.

“Run,” one of the girls whispered, but before we could move, they were upon us.

Strong hands grabbed me, yanking me backward. I gasped, struggling against the grip, but it was useless.

"Hey, look at this," one of the warriors sneered, kicking over the small pile of food we had gathered. "They were trying to survive."

Another warrior beside him let out a cruel laugh. "Pathetic," he spat. "They actually thought they could escape."

As I looked at them, my stomach twisted with unease. Their uniforms… they weren’t from our pack. The colors, the design—everything was different. And then I saw it.

A royal emblem gleamed on their chests.

These weren’t just any warriors.

They were from the Lycan Kingdom.

A third man, who seemed to be their leader, stepped forward, his piercing gaze scanning us like we were nothing more than livestock. “Search for others,” he ordered, his voice cold and sharp.

Then, his eyes darkened as he smirked.

“We’ll take them as slaves.”

I prayed—begged—that Hanna had stayed hidden. That somehow, she had escaped this fate.

But my hope shattered the moment I saw her.

The soldiers had gathered all the girls who had fled—including Hannah.

Tears welled in her big, terrified eyes as she clutched a small piece of bread to her chest. She had probably sneaked out, just like me, trying to find something to eat.

A sob built in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t break. Not now.

Because if I did, Hannah would lose the only person left fighting for her.

The journey was long and cruel. Bound and forced to march toward the Lycan Kingdom, my legs ached with exhaustion, but the pain in my heart was far worse.

Hanna walked beside me, her tiny hands trembling as she clung to my torn sleeve. I squeezed her fingers in reassurance, though I wasn’t sure if it was for her sake or mine.

With each step, my mind replayed the past few days—the horror, the loss, the betrayal.

Just four days ago, we were in our village, safe and unaware of the nightmare about to unfold. My father had built our lives around farming, around growth and prosperity. We were never warriors, never a threat. Yet, the attack came like a storm in the night, ruthless and unforgiving from our pacl alpha.

The smell of burning wood and blood still clung to my memories. The screams of my people haunted my thoughts. My parents—strong, loving—were gone.

And now, we were nothing more than prisoners.

I clenched my jaw, trying to hold back the tears that burned my eyes. Crying wouldn’t change our fate. But as the towering walls of the Lycan Kingdom appeared in the distance, a chilling realization settled over me.

Our past was gone.

And our future no longer belonged to us.