Weeks After the Swamp Birth
The arena's reconstruction had only just been completed.
Soren being left crippled—and three warriors slaughtered in the arena by witches—had shaken the pack to its core. As a warning, Mortia ordered that the new fighters be chosen directly from within the pack itself.
One of those chosen was me.
⸻
Fauna's POV
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The sound of iron striking iron only fueled the fire burning inside my chest.
"Harder, Fauna. Don't bend your wrist."
Clink. Clink. Clink.
My father was so strong that merely withstanding his blows was something I took pride in. Every strike carried the discipline of an alpha—powerful, precise, yet restrained enough not to break me.
But my mind…
It drifted again to the man who had given me his cloak.
Lunaire hated that scent, but I—
Every time it surfaced in my thoughts, a strange shiver ran through me. Old leather. Rain-soaked earth. Pine.
I still couldn't remember his face clearly. It remained blurred, a silhouette lost in mist.
A blunt strike to my arm snapped me back to reality.
"Ah! Father, what are you doing? You almost broke my arm!"
"Focus, Fauna," he said sharply.
"Where did you wander off to this time?"
"I'm sorry," I said, catching my breath.
—I had never told them about the man who found me naked in the swamp.
—Nor about the illusions I saw that night.
"Are you sure?" my father asked, his voice softening.
"I know you're strong, but after the last incident, Mortia will tighten her grip even more. I don't want you hurt."
"You saw what I did that day," I said.
"I can do better. Maybe I can defeat Mortia… maybe I can free our wolves."
"You must not rush," he warned.
"Mortia is far too powerful for a novice like you."
"I know," I replied firmly.
"But the arena gives me strength. The spirits there need me. I felt it that day. Didn't you feel it too?"
My father fell silent.
Then he said only this:
"All I know about that day is that my miracle saved my life once again."
Lunaire whispered deep within me:
Miracle… curse… hybrid… What are we, Fauna?
"You're a wolf spirit," I answered silently.
"I'm certain of that."
I rubbed my arm.
"It hurts, Father. I don't want to enter the arena tomorrow with this arm. Shall we stop?"
"All right," he said.
"But you're not very convincing."
"Did Silas speak to you after that day… without howling?
He hesitated for a moment.
"No," he replied.
"He didn't."
His face remained hard, but his eyes were misted over.
⸻
"I'm going to the forest. I need to practice magic," I said, leaving before he could object.
Selene had told me everything.
The night I was found in the forest.
The whispers of witches calling me a curse.
Instead of letting it rot inside me, I chose to turn those words into fuel—fuel to burn down those who dared name me a curse.
Should I tell Father that I know, Lunaire?
Not yet, she answered.
He hasn't even accepted his leg.
The witch's whip had ruined my father's leg. He walked with a limp now. I could heal him with my power—but after the arena incident, that would draw attention. So we chose to let him remain broken for now, silently adding that pain to Mortia's growing debt.
My steps did not take me to the riverbank I usually visited.
Instead, they carried me back to the place where I had emerged from the swamp that night.
Beneath the massive willow tree.
I was still wearing the man's cloak. I had told my father it was an old hunter's cloak I found in the forest.
That was a lie.
This cloak was more than just fabric.
I lifted it to my face.
Even after weeks, his scent still clung to it.
Lunaire growled deep within me.
That scent should have belonged to a threat.
Yet every cell in my body recognized it as a refuge.
"Who are you?" I whispered to the shadows.
There was no answer.
But the forest—
Since that day, it had spoken to me differently.
The visions I saw in the swamp—
My form split into four—
No longer haunted my dreams alone. They appeared whenever I closed my eyes.
I had seen the grave Mortia sealed.
My mother's terror.
My father's tears.
I no longer wanted merely to survive.
I wanted everything this life could offer.
The space beneath the willow had become my sanctuary.
Roots shifted beneath the soil.
The swamp's ancient, black energy flowed from my fingertips like golden threads into the earth. Within seconds, the willow's branches seemed to come alive, weaving a living shield around me.
This was not merely witchcraft.
This was nature obeying me.
"This isn't enough!" I shouted into the forest.
"I can't face Mortia with this alone. I need to know the limits of my power!"
Then, carried by the wind, came that familiar voice from the swamp:
The future will bring you more power than you can imagine, Fauna…
But it will come with unimaginable pain. Wait and see.
The cost didn't matter to me right now.
Power did.
The thought of wielding strength enough to overthrow those who crippled my father and slaughtered our pack in death games soothed my soul.
Father, I said silently,
You won't need to speak to Silas.
Because when I step into the arena tomorrow…
It won't be just Silas who speaks.
The entire pack will.