Chapter 3: The fragile howl

Elara lay in the damp earth, her body curled into itself, shivering beneath the cold glow of the moon.

The rejection had shattered something inside her, leaving behind an emptiness that gnawed at her very soul. She thought she had known pain before—the silent disdain of her parents, the whispers of the pack—but this?

This was a wound that would never heal.

The bond was supposed to be sacred, unbreakable. It was the will of the Moon itself. And yet, Thorne had cast her aside as if she were nothing more than a mistake—a smudge on the pristine legacy of the Moonfangs.

The trees rustled around her, the night air thick with the scent of wet leaves and distant prey.

But beneath the usual forest musk, something else lingered—something wrong.

A scent.

Feral.

Elara tensed, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Then she heard it.

The snap of a branch. The soft crunch of leaves beneath careful, deliberate steps.

She wasn't alone.

A low growl slithered through the trees, deep and guttural, unlike any wolf she had ever heard before.

A dark silhouette moved between the trees, too large, too distorted. Her breath hitched.

Rogues.

Her first instinct was to run, but her body refused to move. Exhaustion weighed her down, and worse—she had nowhere to go. She had no pack to call for, no one who would come for her.

A second growl joined the first, then a third.

The shadows moved, eyes gleamed in the darkness.

Elara forced herself to stand, her legs trembling beneath her.

"This is how I die?"

Not at the hands of her father, not beneath the cruel sneers of her pack but out here, in the dark, torn apart by feral beasts that had once been like her.

Her vision blurred with tears.

Then—

A sudden rush of movement.

A rogue lunged.

Elara barely had time to react before a streak of silver light flashed through the trees. A blur of motion. A sharp, wet snarl—and then silence.

Elara blinked, her breath ragged.

The rogues lay still. A single figure stood above them, silver-haired, cloaked in shadows, her presence otherworldly. The scent of power clung to her, raw and untamed.

The woman turned, her piercing gaze locking onto Elara's.

"You're a long way from home, little wolf," she murmured.

Elara swallowed hard.

Something told her that whoever this woman was—her night had only just begun.

The silence stretched between them, thick and unyielding.

The silver-haired woman stood tall among the fallen rogues, her pale eyes unreadable.

Elara couldn't move, her body ached, her mind swirled with exhaustion and confusion. The night air carried the stench of blood, mingling with the damp earth beneath her.

The woman tilted her head. "You're lucky I was nearby."

Elara's throat felt tight; she wanted to ask why—why a stranger had saved her, why she even bothered but the words wouldn't come.

Instead, the woman sighed and knelt beside one of the rogue corpses, running her fingers along its matted fur. "They were sick," she murmured. "Not just rogues—something worse."

Elara frowned. "Worse?"

The woman met her gaze. "Twisted. Cursed. This one—" she nudged a body with her foot "—was barely more than a husk. Their minds break, their bodies decay, but they don't die easily."

A cold shiver ran down Elara's spine. "How do you know this?"

The woman stood. "Because I've seen it before."

Elara's mind spun with questions, but her body had other plans, her knees buckled, and the world tilted.

Strong arms caught her before she hit the ground.

"You need rest," the woman murmured. "Come with me."

Elara wanted to resist—to refuse, to push away but the weight of the night pressed against her, and for the first time in years, she felt something strange.

Peace and safety, she hasn't felt this peaceful in years. Her eyes closed and she fell into a deep sleep.

When Elara woke, the air smelled different, clean and fresh Like pine and morning dew.

She was lying on a soft mat, tucked inside a small wooden cabin. A dim light flickered from a lantern in the corner, casting warm shadows along the rough-hewn walls.

For a moment, she thought she had dreamed it all—the rejection, the rogues, the silver-haired woman.

Then the door creaked open.

"You're awake."

Elara turned her head.

The woman stood in the doorway, a bowl in her hands. "You need to eat."

Elara's stomach twisted, but she forced herself to sit up. "Where… am I?"

"A safe place," the woman said simply, setting the bowl beside her. "Eat first, talk later."

Elara stared at the stew—thick, hearty, smelling of herbs she couldn't name. Her body screamed for nourishment, but she hesitated.

The woman noticed. "If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn't have dragged you all the way here just to poison you."

Fair point.

Elara took a hesitant sip. Warmth spread through her chest.

The woman sat across from her, watching. "You're from Moonfang." It wasn't a question.

Elara tensed.

"Yes," she admitted.

"And they cast you out."

She looked down. The weight of those words settled over her like a second skin.

"Why?" the woman asked.

Elara hesitated. "I was… born weak."

The woman's lips twitched. "Weak?"

Elara clenched her fists. "I can't shift properly. I'm slow. My senses aren't as sharp. I embarrass them."

The woman was silent for a moment. Then she said, "That's not the whole truth."

Elara's head snapped up. "What?"

The woman leaned forward, her silver eyes glinting in the dim light. "They didn't just cast you out because you were weak. They feared you."

Elara's breath hitched.

"What do you mean?"

The woman stood, moving toward a small shelf. She pulled down a worn book, flipping through pages. "I've met others like you before, wolves who don't quite fit. But strength isn't always in claws or teeth. Sometimes, it's something else entirely."

Elara swallowed hard. "Who are you?"

The woman finally smiled.

"My name is Selene."

Elara stared at Selene, the woman's name rolling through her mind like a whisper carried by the wind.

Something about her felt ancient, as though she were a part of the very forest that surrounded them.

Selene set the book down and tilted her head slightly. "You don't believe me."

Elara clutched the bowl in her hands, the warmth grounding her. "I don't know what to believe."

Selene nodded, as if expecting that answer. She moved toward the window, gazing out into the night. "Do you remember anything before you blacked out?"

The question stirred something within Elara. A vague, disjointed memory. Running, the rogues, that strange pull in her chest and the way the world had gone silent just before the attack.

Elara frowned. "Something… happened. Right before they attacked."

Selene turned back to her. "Describe it."

Elara closed her eyes, sifting through the fragmented moments. "It felt like everything slowed down. I could hear… more than I should have; my heart, their breathing, the wind shifting through the trees. And then—"

She stopped, opening her eyes. A cold sensation ran down her spine.

"The rogues hesitated."

Selene's expression remained unreadable. "And then?"

Elara gripped the blanket beneath her. "I don't know, the next thing I remember is waking up here."

Selene hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting."

Elara's frustration boiled over. "What's interesting? What's happening to me?"

Selene sat down across from her again, folding her legs beneath her. "You're not weak, Elara."

Elara scoffed. "Tell that to my pack."

Selene's expression darkened. "Your pack is blind they think strength is muscle and speed, but true power is rarely so obvious." She tapped the book she had set aside earlier. "Tell me, have you ever heard of a Silent Howl?"

Elara frowned. "No."

Selene flipped the book open, revealing an aged sketch of a wolf with luminous eyes, surrounded by an aura of swirling mist.

"It's rare—so rare that most wolves have forgotten they even exist but the elders knew. They whispered about wolves born with a gift not of fangs or claws, but of the mind."

Elara's fingers curled around the edge of the blanket. "What kind of gift?"

Selene's silver eyes glowed faintly in the lantern light. "The ability to command without speaking. To still the air, to silence the world."

A chill crept up Elara's arms. "That's… impossible."

Selene's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Is it?"

Elara opened her mouth to argue, but the memory of the rogues flickered in her mind. The hesitation in their attack. The way the world had gone unnaturally still.

Had she done that?

Selene leaned back. "Your pack feared you, Elara. Not because you were weak—but because they couldn't control you."

Elara shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. If I had this… this Silent Howl, wouldn't I have known?"

Selene shrugged. "Not necessarily. Gifts like these don't always manifest in obvious ways and fear has a way of clouding the truth."

Elara's heartbeat pounded in her ears. "But if this is true, why didn't my pack train me? Why exile me?"

Selene's expression hardened. "Because the Moonfang Pack values order, predictability and anything they can't understand or dominate, they destroy."

Elara's stomach churned. Had her parents known? Had Thorne?

Had they all feared her?

The thought was like a knife to the chest.

Selene's voice softened. "You have a choice, Elara, you can believe what they told you—that you're weak, useless. Or…" She reached out, placing a hand over Elara's. "You can learn the truth of who you are."

Elara stared down at their hands, at the contrast between Selene's pale fingers and her own. The world she had known had already been stripped away. What did she have left to lose?

She took a shaky breath. "What do I have to do?"

Selene smiled, but there was something dangerous in it.

"First, we test your limits."