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THE HOWL
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2025-07-24 19:51:41Girl
POV: Araya Sometimes, when I caught my reflection, I wondered if the mirror was lying. The girl staring back didn’t look entirely human. Skin too pale from lack of sun. Cracked lips. Eyes holding no light. Not empty — hollow. As if something inside me had curled up long ago and never woken. Maybe that was why they hated me. Maybe they saw what I was before I did. Or maybe cruelty was simply easier than compassion. --- I rarely spoke. Only when I had to. The last time I screamed was at twelve — shielding a pup from the others’ cruelty. I had thrown myself between them, trembling, hands already bloodied. They broke three ribs for it. The pup left for another pack the next day. I was left behind. The Alpha hadn’t cared about the fight — only that I had forgotten my place. Stay small. Stay unseen. Stay silent. Not because I was numb. Numb would’ve been easier. --- They used me for training — to test blades, arrows, and pain. Once, a warrior poured boiling water across my arms to see if wolfless flesh burned the same as theirs. It did. They laughed. I didn’t scream. --- At fourteen, the worst winter came. Nine days of snow. No food. No mercy. They accused me of hoarding scraps, though my ribs jutted sharp as knives. The Luna slapped me for “stealing blessings.” The Gamma shoved my face into the snow until my lungs burned. Even the pups threw stones when no one was watching. I endured. As always. But that night, I cried. Not from the bruises — but because I started to believe them. Maybe they were right. Maybe the Moon had erred in letting me live. And in that frostbitten moment of doubt—something inside me cracked. Not broke. Cracked. And something old… breathed. --- It didn’t come from the woods or the sky. It came from within. A slow pulse through bone. A breath that wasn’t mine. Ancient enough to make my soul feel young. I thought I had imagined it. But it didn’t soothe me. It terrified me. Because if I could still feel fear— I still had something left to lose. Hope. And hope was the most dangerous thing of all. --- That night, I dreamed of fire. Not an ordinary fire. Fire with breath. Fire with eyes. A flame that watched me. A voice, dry as old ash, whispered— “You are not theirs.” When I woke, I was still Araya. Still nothing. Still dirt underfoot. --- The Moon Festival neared, and the pack buzzed with preparation — new furs, wildflowers for the temple steps, bright dyes. I was sent to scrub blood from the hunting stones. Alone. For hours. My fingers split. Knees bruised. Cold seeping into my bones. I scrubbed anyway. That’s what dirt does — it gets stepped on, wiped away, forgotten. --- That afternoon, banners hung in the trees, fluttering bright. The Season of Blessings had begun — when the Moonstone chose mates and marked destinies. I knelt on the temple steps, a vinegar rag clutched in aching hands. “Be careful,” a voice sneered. “Don’t get your filth on sacred stone.” Lior. The Gamma’s son. Cruel, spoiled, with power he hadn’t earned. “Hey,” his younger brother added, “you think the Moonstone glows if a wolf bleeds on it?” “Wanna test it?” They laughed. --- Later, I stood waist-deep in the stream beyond the ridge, scrubbing filth from my clothes. The water was silent. Behind me— “Why do you even try?” Lior again. Drunk. Friends in tow. “Trying to look clean for the kennels?” I didn’t answer. Silence always made them meaner. “What’s wrong, ghost girl? Did your imaginary wolf bite your tongue?” “I bet she bleeds black.” “Bet she’s not even real.” A slap to the side of my face. Playful, deliberate. “Think the Alpha keeps you because he pities you? Or does he just like watching you crawl?” I rose slowly. Knees shaking. Hands bleeding. I looked him in the eye. He grinned. “Gonna bite me, wolfless? Where’s your dog? Oh, right… Maybe it chewed its own throat to escape you.” The words cut deeper than the slap. But it wasn’t pain that answered. A voice inside me whispered— “Not yet.” I flinched. Then it was gone. Like it had never spoken. --- That night, I dreamed again. Of a wolf — but not a wolf. Fur smouldering like slow-breathing embers. Flames curling from its ribs with every inhale. Ash drifting from its back like dying wings. It stood at the edge of a dead forest, colossal and still. Paws scorching the earth. Breath melting stone. It did not move. Did not growl. Did not blink. It only watched me. Eyes like deep coals, lit from within. A gaze that had witnessed the ruin of ages. I wanted to move closer — but recognition froze me. It knew me. My name. My flame. The death I was born from. Then— The forest ignited. Trees screamed. The sky cracked. The ground split. I fell — into heat, into shadow, into silence. --- I awoke choking, lungs dragging in air that felt wrong. Hands throbbing. Heart hammering. No flames. No burns. Only the ghost of smoke clung to my bones. And outside… Far beyond Blackthorn’s borders— A howl rose. Low. Long. Unholy. Not a call. Not a greeting. A summoning. The kind of sound that stirred when curses woke. When the gods looked away. When something ancient remembered its claim. And somewhere beyond mortal reach— A divine wolf opened its eyes. And the world shivered.
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Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE HOLLOWLIGHT CHILD
POV: Araya The pulse had changed. Since the Mortal Oath, the world had kept a steady heartbeat but tonight it stuttered, too fast, too loud, as if remembering something it once swore to forget. Each tremor rippled through the stones of the Throne Hall until even the banners breathed. Dorian stood by the dais, gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling where the Loom’s faint threads glimmered like veins of light. His sword born of Exiled Light remained sheathed but awake, silver lines coiling along its hilt. “It’s back,” I said. He nodded. “It never left. It just waited for us to stand in the same place again.” My Hollowflame stirred, restless. It wanted to move, to reach him, to finish what Chaos had shown us weeks ago. I took a single step forward, and the pulse jumped. Boom... boom. The sound pressed against bone. He looked at me. “If it’s the same vision trying to break through” “It won’t be a vision this time.” We both knew. Chaos had once shown us a child woven from
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE MORTAL OATH
POV: Kaelith The night smelled like rain that forgot to fall. From the ridge above Blackthorn, a thousand fires stitched the world lines of light over hills, rivers, ruins. They burned in a hesitant rhythm that steadied until even the wind seemed to listen. Every flame marked a promise: mortals choosing to stand beneath the same sky that once crushed them. Wolves answered. Their howls braided through the valleys, calling one another home. For the first time since the gods broke, the world sounded alive. Under the awe, something pulsed the slow beat that haunts every silence since the Throne of Ash breathed. Boom… boom. The world’s new heartbeat: patient, watchful, unfinished. I touched the brazier beside me. The flame leaned toward my hand like a familiar. Warm, not wild the Hollowflame reborn as mercy. Araya’s fire. The queen who refused a crown. “Begin,” I whispered. The flame shivered, listening. Below, the square is filled. Wolves threaded the crowd without fear.
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE SILENT COUNCIL
POV: Selene The halls remember voices long after they’re gone. I feel that absence under my feet dull and deep, like a bruise. Ash veils the mosaics, soft as first snow and sharp as salt if I breathe too deeply. The long table waits where it always has: oval, arrogant, built for knuckles and proclamations. No one strikes anything now. The marble holds a tired warmth, pretending thunder still lives here. “Gone,” I tell the room. “Good.” Not triumph. Not grief. Just measure the tide pulling back to reveal forgotten shoreline. I walk the circle. Chairs patient as bones. Names still carved into their backs Dawn, Oath, Order, Death each letter too clean beneath the ash. My old seat gleams faintly, silver filigree meant to freeze wrists. “I kept you steady,” I tell it. “Not honest.” Above, the dome’s mosaic shifts. Through its cracks, stars peer in, impolite as children at a window. A draft stirs ash into slow tides around my ankles. The silence feels rehearsed. Then I hear it. No
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE BEGINNING
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Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE THRONE OF ASH
POV: Araya The Hall remembered how to listen. Ash drifted in slow spirals. Runes smouldered beneath soot. Beyond the broken arches, Solara’s vault dimmed from sanctified white to the amber of banked coals. The gods’ city wasn’t dead just learning to speak softly. At the centre, the new seat breathed. Not stone. Not grace. A living ember shaped like a throne bone pale, veined with gold and shade its heart pulsing light and dark to the world’s new cadence. Each beat licked the floor with heat that stopped before pain. Words at the base blinked like a newborn’s eyes: NO CHAINS. NO CROWNS. ONLY CHOICE. Dorian stood at my shoulder, light steady, tired, unafraid. Nyxara woke in my bones the way wolves wake into dusk stretch, yawn, teeth because it feels good. It’s calling you, she murmured, amused. Try not to make it a habit. “I’m going to sit,” I said. “Not take root.” Same warning. The throne brightened, shadows thrown long into the Hall’s ribs. Far below, the mortal sky answere
Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King THE FORBIDDEN HALL
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