A faint, fragile cry broke through the oppressive quiet, slicing into the stillness like a blade. My body seized at once, every muscle locked in terror as a painful breath caught in my lungs.
My child.
“No! Please, no—my baby!” I sobbed uncontrollably, wrenching myself against the bindings that held me tight. Agony flared through my body, my arms on fire from the rope, my legs bent at cruel angles. But I felt none of it. Only the terror.
Down on the forest floor, the beta warrior finally moved. His gaze landed on the tiny, blood-slick figure crumpled on the ground. His face betrayed nothing as he stepped toward the newborn, slow and hesitant.
“Please, pick him up!” I begged, my voice scraped raw by panic. My entire being trembled with desperation. “Don’t just stand there—he’s a baby! Please!”
He hesitated. His fingers twitched, uncertain, then he knelt and cautiously gathered the infant into his arms. For a moment, silence blanketed us again as he examined the motionless form. Then, his brows lifted ever so slightly.
“He’s alive,” the man said flatly, almost like he couldn’t believe it. He turned the infant gently, his hands awkward and unsure. Then he added, his tone softer, “It’s… it’s a boy. A strong one, too.”
My breath faltered. A boy?
Rydan’s son. His heir.
Tears flooded my eyes, distorting the image before me. Whether he was a girl or a boy didn’t matter to me. I just wanted to cradle him, press him against my heart, whisper soft reassurances even though I couldn’t promise safety. But instead, I hung uselessly in the dark, unable to do a thing.
The warrior looked uncomfortable, unsure of how to proceed. He clutched the baby awkwardly, as if the small life in his arms was too much responsibility. My lips trembled. “Please… Please let me down. I just want to hold him.”
His jaw clenched, his eyes darting around as though he expected punishment for even considering it. “I’m sorry. I… I can’t. Alpha Rydan gave strict orders. You’re to remain where you are.”
“I’m begging you…” My sob was barely a breath.
He looked from me to the child, now whimpering softly, and finally gave a reluctant nod. “Alright. But I have to inform the Alpha first.”
Still unsure, he removed his coat and gently laid it over a patch of grass. He bent down and placed the infant carefully atop the fabric, arranging it to cushion him from the cold ground.
“I’ll come back,” he promised, already backing away. “I’ll explain everything.”
And with that, he vanished into the trees, disappearing into the night. My breaths came fast and shallow, panic clawing at my throat as I stared at my baby lying alone beneath the moonlight. His tiny cries pierced the air—each one carving into my soul.
Then I heard it. A faint rustle.
My stomach sank.
Every instinct screamed in alarm. The air grew heavier, colder. A presence stirred in the shadows.
Then she appeared.
Amara.
My heart crashed against my ribs as she stepped out of the dark, her lips curling into a smile both slow and malicious.
“Isn’t this tragic?” she mused, cocking her head as she looked up at me. “Dangling like a shattered puppet… forced to witness it all without being able to stop any of it.”
My voice shook. “Don’t touch him,” I warned, barely managing to speak.
She laughed softly, a mocking sound. “Oh, Marian…” she said, stepping closer. “You know I wouldn’t hurt a child. I’m not heartless.”
For a second, I let myself hope.
But the illusion shattered with a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the trees. My eyes snapped to the forest line as the underbrush shifted. Glowing eyes pierced the shadows—predators emerging one by one into the firelight.
Wild wolves. Starving. Bloodthirsty.
Terror gripped me. “No…”
Amara’s smile grew cruel as she stepped aside, watching them advance. “I won’t lay a finger on the boy. But them?” She gestured toward the beasts. “They’re not under my control.”
“NO!” I screamed, thrashing wildly. “You can’t do this! Call them off, Amara! Please!”
She waved a hand dismissively and turned her back to me, walking away like she was done with the show. “Goodnight, Marian. Try not to scream too much—it won’t help.”
“Amara! Please! Stop! Don’t leave!” My voice shattered as it rose—but she didn’t look back.
The wolves circled my baby now. Saliva dripped from their bared teeth, eyes gleaming like coals, steps slow and deliberate as they closed in. My heart tried to break free from my chest.
“Leave him alone!” I screamed, my voice hoarse and wild. “Get AWAY from him!”
But they didn’t care. A chilling snarl rang out.
The baby’s cry tore through the air—sharp, terrified.
And then… silence.
A crack—wet and final.
My mind split.
I could no longer scream. I could no longer breathe.
My baby. My son.
Gone.
My senses blurred. The world around me dimmed, spinning without sound. Where his cries once filled the air, there was now only a terrible silence that clawed into my skull. And then, cruelly, the ropes that had held me so tightly gave way.
I plummeted to the earth.
I landed hard, the wind knocked from my lungs. Shaking, I raised my head, eyes locking on what remained of the tiny form once filled with life.
The wolves turned.
They saw me now.
Their hunger remained.
Tears streaked down my face as I whispered to the sky, voice ragged and broken, “Moon Goddess… why have you turned away from me?”
Then they attacked.
And everything dissolved—
Into cold, eternal dark.
