The air burned in Aurora's lungs like acid. Every step was an agony; her feet, clad in silk shoes never meant for running, bled as she stumbled over the twisted roots of the forest. She could hear her father's shouts in the distance, cursing her name, and the metallic clink of the dagger striking against the branches.
"You can't run forever, Aurora!" her father roared, his voice thick with a hatred she still couldn't comprehend. "Accept your fate and stop shaming us!"
She didn't answer. Fear clawed at her throat. Her body—heavy and exhausted from years of neglect and constant criticism about her lack of agility—was reaching its breaking point. Suddenly, a treacherous root snagged her ankle. Aurora fell face-first, feeling the crunch of her shoulder as it impacted the cold ground. A scream of pain escaped her lips as she tumbled down a small slope, shredding her expensive engagement dress.
When she finally came to a halt, the silence of the forest felt different. She no longer heard her father's footsteps. The air here was denser, charged with the scent of ozone and wildflowers that had no business blooming in winter.
Aurora looked up and found herself in a clearing bathed in supernatural silver light. In the center, reclining on a bed of ancient moss, lay the most majestic creature she had ever imagined.
It was a wolf. But no ordinary wolf. Her fur was a white so pure it seemed to emit its own light, though it was stained with crimson. Several silver arrows protruded from her side, and the snow around her was dyed with a shimmering, golden blood. The hunters had reached her, but she had managed to crawl to this sacred place to die.
The wolf opened her eyes. They were orbs of intense purple, deep and brilliant like twin moons.
Despite her own terror, Aurora felt a pang of sorrow in her chest. She looked at the creature and recognized something instantly: a reflection of her own existence. Both were wounded, both had been hunted by those who should have protected them, and both had been rejected by a world that failed to see their worth.
"You're alone too..." Aurora whispered, crawling toward her, momentarily forgetting that her father was still hunting her with a blade.
The wolf let out a piteous whimper. With a superhuman effort, the animal raised her head. There was no aggression in her gaze, only an ancient urgency. Aurora extended a trembling hand toward the white fur. The moment her fingers brushed the wolf's brow, an electric shock surged through her spine.
The white wolf lunged. It wasn't an attack of hunger, but an act of desperate transference. Her fangs sank into Aurora's shoulder.
"Ahhh!" Aurora's scream tore through the silence of the clearing.
It wasn't just the pain of the bite. It was a flood of liquid fire rushing into her veins. The wolf collapsed after the contact, her light fading as her purple eyes locked onto Aurora's one last time. The white essence seeped from the wolf's wound into the girl's, as if a silver thread bound them together.
Then, the true agony began.
Aurora fell onto her back, convulsing. She felt her bones shattering and reforming with violent speed. The suffocating corset she wore exploded, the stays snapping into pieces as her ribcage expanded and her spine aligned with newfound strength. The heaviness she had always felt—the physical limitation that had made her the butt of every joke—began to dissolve under a searing fever.
She could feel her metabolism accelerating to impossible levels. Her skin, once marred by the scars of bullying and lack of care, began to glow with a luminous paleness, soft as silk and resilient as steel. Her dull brown hair began to lengthen, transforming into a cascade of pale gold—almost white—that fell over her shoulders like threads of moonlight.
"You are no longer the weak girl," a voice whispered in her mind, a voice that sounded like both a howl and ancient wisdom. "You are the heir of the Moon."
The pain transformed into a wave of intoxicating power. Aurora felt her senses expand. She could hear the heartbeat of a mouse miles away; she could smell the pine resin and the trail of fear she herself had left on the path.
When the fever finally subsided, Aurora stood up. She felt light, as if gravity no longer held the same sway over her. Her legs were long and strong, and the weakness that had defined her entire life had been replaced by an electric vitality.
She walked with a grace she had never possessed toward a small stream running near the clearing. She knelt and looked into the water.
A gasp caught in her throat.
The girl in the reflection was a stranger. Her skin was so pale it seemed to glow in the forest's gloom. Her eyes, once a dull brown, now vibrated with the same intense, mystical purple as the white wolf's. Her face was a masterpiece of perfect angles and supernatural beauty. She was no longer the "fat one of the family"; she was something that inspired both desire and dread.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered.
Auuuuuuuuuu!
A distant howl echoed through the mountains, followed by another much closer, and then a dozen more. These were not the howls of common wolves. These were howls of recognition, of hunger, and of the hunt.
Aurora dropped into a defensive stance, her new senses detecting the movement of large bodies tearing through the brush at incredible speeds. The wolves of the region—the Alphas who ruled these lands—had sensed the awakening of the White Wolf's power.
She didn't understand what was happening, or why her blood seemed to sing in response to those howls. She only knew that the hunt wasn't over; it had just leveled up.
She had to get out of there.