The clang of steel rang through the air, mingling with the scent of molten metal and sweat. Seren Blake wiped her brow with the back of her hand, smearing soot across her pale skin. The forge was alive tonight, its embers pulsing like the heart of a restless beast.
"Seren! The order for the Council's guards won't make itself," barked Old Ferris, her master and the forge's owner. His gruff voice carried the weight of years spent under the thumb of Eclipsia's ruling wolves.
"Yes, yes," Seren muttered, gripping her hammer tighter. She brought it down on the glowing blade in front of her, sparks flying with each strike. The metal sang under her touch, bending to her will. It was satisfying, this work—shaping something raw and unyielding into a weapon that could withstand anything. If only life could be forged so easily.
Eclipsia was a place of strict order and unspoken rules. Humans like Seren were the laborers, the background noise to the werewolves' dominance. The Moon Council ruled with a mix of fear and ritual, their authority etched into every corner of the town. Seren had learned early on to keep her head down, her opinions quieter than her hammer's strikes.
But tonight felt different. The air was heavier, charged with a tension she couldn't name.
The forge's bell clanged sharply, jolting Seren from her thoughts. The sound was a warning—someone approaching.
"I'll get it," she said, setting her hammer aside. She wiped her hands on her apron as she walked toward the door, her steps brisk but cautious.
When she opened it, she found a boy no older than ten, his face pale and streaked with tears.
"Please," he gasped, clutching his side. "It's my sister—she's in the forest. A wolf—it came out of nowhere—"
The words tumbled out, frantic and broken. Seren felt her stomach drop.
"Where exactly?" she asked, already untying her apron.
"By the old well," he stammered. "Please, you have to help her!"
Old Ferris appeared behind her, his face grim. "Leave it alone, Seren. You'll only get yourself killed."
But Seren was already moving. She grabbed a short blade from the rack and threw on her coat.
"Don't wait up," she said, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest.
The forest loomed ahead, its trees swaying like shadowy sentinels. The boy's directions were clear, and soon she spotted the old well, its crumbling stones wrapped in creeping vines.
And then she saw her. The girl, pinned against the well's edge, trembling as a hulking shape prowled closer. The wolf's eyes gleamed in the moonlight, its growl low and menacing.
"Hey!" Seren shouted, brandishing her blade. The wolf turned its gaze on her, and for a moment, she felt the weight of its predatory focus.
Her hands tightened around the blade.
"Come on, then," she muttered, stepping closer.
The wolf lunged.
Seren moved on instinct, swinging the blade in a wide arc. It caught the creature across the shoulder, drawing a furious snarl. The fight was brutal, each moment a blur of movement and survival. Seren was no warrior, but desperation gave her strength.
Finally, with a pained yelp, the wolf retreated into the shadows, its form melting into the forest. Seren dropped to her knees, breathless and shaking. The girl whimpered nearby, unharmed but terrified.
"It's okay," Seren whispered, her voice hoarse. "You're safe now."
As she helped the girl to her feet, a sharp sting bloomed across her arm. Seren looked down, her sleeve torn and blood seeping from a deep scratch.
It burned—not just physically, but deeper, as if the wound carried something more.
Seren's heart pounded as she led the children back toward town. She didn't notice how the moon seemed to shine brighter above her, nor how the shadows seemed to follow her every step.
Something had changed, though she didn't know it yet. And w
hen she finally did, her life would never be the same.