The forest roared with wind and memory.
A beast tore through it—faster than shadow, darker than night. Raven-black fur, spattered with fresh blood, glistened under the moon’s accusing light. The werewolf's breath was ragged, wild. Its claws, curved and dripping, left crimson slashes across bark and earth. Every leap over twisted roots and jagged stone echoed the aftermath of slaughter. The air behind her still reeked of smoke and copper.
But as it reached the edge of an ancient grove—where trees arched like cathedral vaults and silence became sacred—the change began.
The beast halted at a circle of silver moss. The ground hummed with power, old as the first howl that pierced Hwon’s sky. A soft snarl escaped its throat, not of rage, but release. Then the shimmer started—fur glowing as if moonlight poured from within. The deep black melted into shining silver. Golden irises dimmed, morphing into a calm, steely grey. The monstrosity shrank, bones reshaping with eerie grace, muscle shifting beneath skin like fluid metal.
A woman knelt in the clearing, her skin pale and luminous in the dark. Her hair, long and silver like liquid frost, clung to her bloodstained back. Her chest rose and fell in deep, unsteady gulps, blood smeared across her arms and collarbone like warpaint.
Lyn opened her eyes. They were no longer the predator’s gold, but the cool, distant grey of a winter dawn.
She exhaled.
Here, in the den beneath the roots of Hwon’s oldest forest, surrounded by ancient stones and secrets long buried, she could finally peel away the girl she had worn like silk.
Here, she could be herself.
Inside her chamber—carved into the heart of the werewolves’ hidden stronghold—the walls pulsed with warmth from glowing root-lanterns strung like amber veins through stone. The light danced across carvings older than kings. Furs layered the floor, thick and rich, while the scent of old incense clung to the air, mingled with iron and pine.
She stood before a tall mirror framed in bone and obsidian, wiping blood from her throat with a damp cloth. Her reflection blinked back at her—beautiful, calm, terrifying. The silver threads of her hair caught the flickering firelight, casting icy halos across her shoulders. Her lips curved into a soft, almost innocent smile.
A door creaked behind her.
“I see you didn’t invite me to your little massacre,” Lycaon drawled, leaning against the stone frame, arms crossed. His smile was all teeth. “Entire district, was it? Slaughtered before sunrise. Honestly, sister, you outdo yourself.”
Lyn didn’t turn to look at him. She simply smiled wider and continued dabbing the blood from her neck.
“I needed it,” she said lightly. “Pretending to be that little dove inside their gilded cage… It wears me thinner than a blade. But today—” She turned, eyes glittering with a twisted joy. “Today I remembered what I am.”
He stepped in, bare foot silent against the furred floor, the shadows clinging to him like a second skin. “And what are you, sister dear?”
She approached him slowly, stopping just a breath away. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “A child of the first bloodline,” she said. “Daughter of the silver moon. Heir not to claws—but to change.”
He watched her with a quiet, amused glint. “The ancient power of disguise,” he murmured. “Our ancestors would weep to see what you do with it—smiling at queens and sipping tea with nobles.”
She laughed—cold and brittle. “And yet it worked.”
They sat by the low fire pit at the center of the room, the flames hissing and spitting like a secret spoken too loud. Their silhouettes danced on the walls—twins of nightmare and elegance.
Lyn stirred the embers idly with a metal rod, her movements slow, deliberate. “They believed it all,” she said. “That poor little werewolf girl who stumbled into Gwi’s path, weak and trembling from his blade.”
Lycaon chuckled. “It was quite the performance.”
“I made sure of it. Just enough blood to look wounded. Just enough fear in my voice. And he, like a true fool, took me in.”
“He felt sorry for you.”
Lyn’s face twisted, contempt rising like bile. “Because he wanted to believe he wasn’t like us. That’s the joke, isn’t it? The werewolf king of humans, longing for a leash.”
Her gaze burned. “And that woman—Siera. That righteous, painted mask of virtue. Clinging to her delusion that she’s open-minded, accepting, kind. She doesn’t love him—she loves the idea of herself loving him. She wants to prove something, even if it kills him.”
“You think she’s a hypocrite,” Lycaon said softly.
“I know she is,” Lyn hissed. “She watches me like a hawk. Doesn’t trust me for a second. Even when I played the delicate, quiet little aide—her instincts screamed the truth.”
Lycaon’s eyes lit with faint admiration. “She has sharp senses. Smarter than most. I told you not to underestimate her.”
Lyn glared at him. “Don’t tell me you admire her.”
“I respect strength,” he replied, the flicker of a grin curling his lips. “She keeps her blade behind her smile. I like that.”
“You’re a fool,” she spat. “She’ll slit your throat the moment she gets the chance.”
He only smiled faintly. “We’ll see.”
Then—BANG.
The chamber door slammed open so hard the stone cracked. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Both siblings turned.
Gwi stood at the threshold. His cloak hung in tatters. Dust clung to his boots like ash. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked carved in stone. His eyes—once full of quiet grief—now burned like wildfire through stormclouds.
Lyn stiffened. Lycaon straightened, though a smirk still played at the edge of his lips.
“You,” Gwi said, voice low and dangerous, “played me.”
His words rang through the room like a blade drawn slowly across stone.
“You planned it all. From the beginning.”
Silence, suffocating and sharp, hung between them.
Lyn rose slowly, every motion deliberate, her silver hair falling over her shoulders like a curtain of frost.
“And you,” she said softly, stepping closer until the firelight split her face into light and shadow, “let me.”