The Last Red Wolf

“You fucking lowborn trash.”

The guy on top of him threw another punch at his face, smashing his head into the dirt. He could taste soil mixed with blood. If he could speak, he’d say it was a disgusting mix.

But there was nothing he could do except take the beating.

He was just a lowborn trash anyway.

Unlike him, the guy sitting on top of him, making his legs go numb with his weight, was from an important clan—rich, proud, and full of himself. The perfect arrogant jerk to steal from.

When the “highborn” finally had enough, he got off him and climbed onto his horse. He rode off with his group of cologne-soaked pricks. Either they’d been at a whorehouse last night or they were the type of men who wore makeup and did things with other men.

Mordeu slowly got up, spitting out the sand and blood he’d kept in his mouth. He could feel his wounds starting to heal, but the bruises from that jerk were still bad. If he went home like this, his mom would know he’d been in a fight.

So he had to stall. Maybe head to the market and buy some vegetables or beef with the coins he stole from that jerk.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pouch of coins—but something else came out too.

It was wrapped in soft, fancy magenta silk. It felt nice against his rough skin. In a rush, he took off the cloth and stuffed it in his other pocket. What was left was a thick white card.

Mordeu read the card, and a smile appeared on his face.

It was an invitation for two brothers—no names mentioned—to join a training held by the top three clans. It was for the Luna Calvary: a group of fighters who protected the kingdom from political, social, or outside threats.

Mordeu had grown up hearing stories about them. Some people said they were wolves who could turn invisible at night. Others said they were dead soldiers brought back to life by the Goddess. There were lots of wild stories. But the truth, sitting in his hands now, seemed to be that they were just normal wolves who got picked to train.

This news was better than vegetables or beef. But he wasn’t about to skip those either.

Still smiling, Mordeu walked into the village square—or as most called it, the market—and bought some vegetables and beef for his small family.

They lived in one of the worst houses in the village. But then again, the whole village was full of bad houses. Still, Mordeu loved coming home to the smell of mud, garbage, and cinnamon. It always made him feel warm inside.

This time, he had good news to share.

“I found something that will change our lives forever!” he said loudly as he slapped the card down on the table.

His brother, Fjall, walked over and snatched the card from under his hand. Mordeu didn’t mind. He just watched Fjall’s face as he read it.

“What do you think?” Mordeu asked, nervous and fidgeting.

“What’s going on?” Their mother came in, holding their little sister. There were only four of them in the family.

“I found a way for us to make a living,” Mordeu said, excited.

“If they even let us in,” Fjall said, doubtful. Mordeu had expected that reaction.

“We don’t need to apply,” Mordeu said, laughing. “It’s an invitation—we’re already accepted.”

“You stole it, didn’t you?” Fjall asked, waving the card like Mordeu didn’t know what he meant.

Mordeu rolled his eyes. “I did, and I got a good beating for it.”

“You got beaten up?” their mother asked, grabbing his chin to look at him. Luckily, his injuries had already healed, so she couldn’t see anything.

“I’m fine, Mother. Just help me convince Fjall,” he said, frustrated.

“Mother,” Fjall said, “do you really think it’s okay for us to leave you here alone with no one to protect you?”

Mordeu rolled his eyes again.

“Fjall,” their mother said, “do you want to stay in this dump forever because you’re scared and pretending it’s to protect me?” She was blunt. “Do I look like I need protection?”

Mordeu almost laughed.

“If this is a chance to do something great, shouldn’t you take it?” she asked. “And if you fail and come back, at least I won’t have to feed you for a while.”

“Do you even know what this is about?” Fjall asked, getting frustrated.

Their mother was already walking out of the room. “I don’t care. If Mordeu says it’s good, I trust him. He’s brave and curious. You, on the other hand, are boring and lazy. It’s time you felt the wind in your hair.” She shrugged and left.

Fjall groaned loudly and walked back to Mordeu, who was smiling like a kid with candy.

“Why does this matter so much to you?”

Mordeu grabbed his shoulders. “Picture it, brother. The two of us—night warriors, protecting the kingdom, earning big coin for Mother.”

“So it’s about the money?” Fjall saw right through him.

Mordeu pretended to frown and pulled Fjall close, arm over his shoulder. “It’s about Mother and little Fen.”

“So it’s about the money,” Fjall said again.

“Maybe.”

They both laughed.

And before the sun came up the next morning, they were gone, heading to Belvot Mountain where the training would happen.

The trip wasn’t too long or hard. With help from strangers who answered their questions, they got to the base of the mountain.

There were lots of other students—some witches, some wolves. In their world, there were four main supernatural types: Wolves, vampires, witches, and elves. But because of a past fight, they had split into two sides. Witches and wolves were one group (though they lived apart), and elves and vampires were another.

So it was a big surprise when some elves and vampires showed up at the top of the mountain.

“If witches can be in the Luna Calvary, why not elves and vampires? Don’t we all want peace?” a female elf said.

It was Mordeu’s first time seeing an elf. He couldn’t stop looking at her. Her long ears, straight black hair, and sharp eyes amazed him. Her clothes were different too. But he had to admit—she was beautiful and powerful.

“There’s never been a request from His Majesty or Our Lord to let your kind join the Calvary…” a man in plain white robes tried to explain to the elf and her group.

But she cut him off. “So what does that mean, Lord Alvitir? We can’t enter?”

From how she spoke and how nervous Lord Alvitir looked, it was clear she was someone important. He’d probably rather eat grass than upset her.

“She’s a princess,” Fjall whispered.

Mordeu nodded. That explained a lot.

The elves and vampires were ruled by royalty. The witches had a Coven—a group of seven powerful witches who all shared power. The wolves had no ruler. But three clans had risen during hard times, and people respected them. They weren’t served, but they were honored. These were called the Three Major Clans: House of Stregobor, House of Balor, and House of Alvitir.

And the man standing there, talking to the elf princess, was none other than Lord Alvitir himself.

“No, that’s not what I meant, Princess. Please, come in,” he said, pointing toward the gate. It was made of two tall stones with just enough space for two people to walk between—so it was called the gateway.

The princess nodded and walked forward, but Alvitir wasn’t done.

He said, “Now that you’ve made this choice, remember: beyond these gates, you are not an elf, a vampire, or even a royal. You’re the same as everyone else. The training will be just as hard. Don’t try to use your status. You’re not highborn or lowborn—you’re just alive and training.”