THE HOWL

POV: ARAYA

Sometimes, when Araya looked at her reflection, she wondered if the mirror was lying.

The girl who stared back didn’t look human — not quite.

Too pale from the lack of sun.

Cracked lips.

Eyes that held no light.

Just a blank emptiness — as if something inside her had curled up long ago and died.

Maybe that’s why they hated her.

Maybe they sensed what she was before even she did.

Or maybe… cruelty was just easier than compassion.

She rarely spoke. Only when she had to.

The last time she screamed was when she was twelve — trying to shield a small pup the others were tormenting for being born weak.

She’d thrown herself between them, shaking, hands bloodied.

They’d broken three of her ribs.

The pup joined another pack the next day.

They left her behind.

The Alpha’s words had been sharp and final:

> “Not useful. Just a toy that breaks too easily.”

She hadn’t been punished for fighting.

She was punished for forgetting her place.

Since then, she remembered it well:

> Stay small.

Stay out of sight.

Stay invisible.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t hope.

Not because she was numb —

But because numb would have been easier.

They used her as a training dummy.

For new blades.

New arrows.

New pain.

They called it “practice.”

One warrior once threw boiling water on her to see if wolfless flesh burned the same as theirs.

It did.

They laughed.

She didn’t scream.

---

When she was fourteen, the worst winter arrived.

Nine days of snow.

No food.

No mercy.

She was accused of hoarding scraps — despite her ribs jutting from her skin like knives.

The Luna slapped her for “stealing blessings.”

The Gamma shoved her face into the snow until she nearly suffocated.

Even the pups joined in, throwing rocks when they thought no one was watching.

She endured it all.

As always.

But that night, she cried.

Not from the bruises.

But because she started to believe them.

> Maybe they were right.

Maybe the Moon had made a mistake by letting her live.

And in that moment of crumpled, frost-bitten doubt—

Something inside her cracked.

Not broke.

Cracked.

And something old… breathed.

---

It didn’t come from the woods.

Or the skies.

It came from within.

A pulse in her bones.

A breath that wasn’t hers.

A presence so ancient it made her soul feel young.

She thought she imagined it.

But it didn’t comfort her.

It terrified her.

Because if she still felt fear—

Then maybe, just maybe, she still had something left to lose.

> Hope.

And hope was the most dangerous thing of all.

---

That night, she dreamed of fire.

Not an ordinary fire.

Fire with breath.

Fire with eyes.

A flame that watched her.

A voice as old as ash whispered:

> “You are not theirs.”

But when she woke — she was still Araya.

Still nothing.

Still dirty.

Still silent.

---

The Moon Festival drew near. The pack buzzed with preparation — new furs, fresh dyes, wildflowers for the temple steps.

Araya was told to scrub blood off the hunting stones.

Alone.

For hours.

Her fingers split open. Her knees were bruised. The cold carved through her.

She scrubbed anyway.

That’s what dirt does.

It gets stepped on.

Wiped away.

Forgotten.

---

That afternoon, banners were hung in the trees, bright and fluttering.

The Season of Blessings had begun — when the Moonstone chose mates and destinies beneath Selene’s gaze.

Araya knelt on the temple steps, a rag soaked in vinegar clenched in her aching hands.

> “Be careful,” someone sneered behind her.

“Don’t get your filth on sacred stone.”

She didn’t turn.

Lior.

The Gamma’s son.

Vile and cruel, with power he hadn’t earned.

“Hey,” his younger brother chimed in, “You think the Moonstone shines if a wolfless bleeds on it?”

> “Wanna test it?”

They laughed.

Later that night, Araya stood waist-deep in the cold stream beyond the ridge, scrubbing blood and filth from her clothes.

The stream was quiet.

But behind her—

> “Why do you even try?”

Lior.

And his drunk, shadow-lurking friends.

“Trying to look clean for the kennels?”

She didn’t reply.

Silence always made them meaner.

> “What’s wrong, ghost girl?” Lior leaned close. “Did your imaginary wolf bite off your tongue?”

Another snickered.

> “I bet she bleeds black.”

“Bet she’s not even real.”

Lior slapped the side of her face playfully.

> “Do you think the Alpha keeps you because he pities you?”

“Or does he just like to watch you crawl?”

Araya rose slowly.

Her knees shook.

Her hands bled.

But she looked Lior in the eye.

He laughed.

> “Gonna bite me, wolfless?”

“Where’s your dog, huh? Oh wait… maybe it chewed its own throat to get away from you.”

The laughter dug deeper than the slap.

But it wasn’t her pain that answered.

It wasn’t her silence that stood still.

It waited.

A voice inside her whispered:

> “Not yet.”

She flinched.

But the voice went quiet again.

Like it had never spoken.

---

That night, she dreamed again.

Of a wolf —

But not a wolf.

Its fur smouldered, burning slowly like embers breathing.

Flames curled from its ribs with every inhale.

Ash fell from its back like dying wings.

It stood at the edge of a dead forest, colossal and still.

Its paws scorched the earth.

Its breath melted stone.

It didn’t move.

Didn’t growl.

Didn’t blink.

It watched her.

Eyes like ancient coals.

Flames behind a gaze that had seen too much.

She wanted to approach.

But couldn’t.

She was frozen — not by fear, but by recognition.

> It knew her.

Knew her name.

Knew her flame.

Knew the death she was born from.

Then—

The forest caught fire.

The trees screamed.

The sky broke.

The ground cracked beneath her.

And she fell—

into heat,

into the dark,

into silence.

---

She awoke, choking, lungs searching for air that felt wrong.

Her hands throbbed.

Her heart slammed in her chest.

But there were no flames.

No burns.

Just smoke that clung to her soul like a memory.

And outside…

Far beyond the borders of Blackthorn —

A howl rose.

Low. Long. Unholy.

Not a cry.

Not a greeting.

A summoning.

The kind of howl that didn’t belong to any creature blessed by the Moon.

The kind that stirred when curses woke.

When the gods turned their heads.

When something old remembered her name.

And far beyond mortal reach—

A divine wolf opened its eyes.