Lost chapter
https://firdausnovels.blogspot.com/2025/04/blog-post_08.html
Children of the Moon
Children of the Moon by Asmaa Nada
Chapter 2
The taunts followed me like shadows, clinging to the edges of my existence. Each moonrise held a terror unique to me, for when the beast within clawed its way to the surface, when bone and sinew twisted into the powerful form of my wolf, the transition was agony. A sharp crack, a searing pain – one, sometimes two of my ribs would splinter under the strain. My frame, delicate from birth, a cruel joke of fate with no remedy in sight, was the architect of this torment.
A bleak certainty settled in my soul: a mate was a dream forever beyond my grasp. What strong-blooded werewolf would choose a partner so fragile, so prone to shattering? Loneliness was a constant companion, a cold dread that echoed in the empty chambers of my heart.
Yet, amidst this despair, a singular spark flickered. A secret, a connection others could only dream of. I could speak to her, the wild spirit that dwelled within. Not just the instinctive howls and urges, but true conversation, a meeting of minds across the species divide. I had even gifted her a name, a soft, comforting sound against the harsh realities of our existence: Cookie. It was whispered lore, almost unheard of, a human heart conversing with its lupine core. This strange intimacy set me apart, a fragile bloom in a field of thorns
The tapestry of our world was woven with the threads of many packs, each answering to the iron will of the Alpha, the werewolf king. All, that is, save one. The Kami Pack. A stain upon our kind, a band of outlaws who defied the ancient laws, their ranks swelled by stolen youth, snatched from the cradles of neighboring territories. A chilling rhythm governed their savagery, a designated season each year when the borderlands trembled under their raids, a brutal harvest of young lives to replenish their own.
And now, a familiar dread coiled in the air. The whispers of the Kami Pack's approach had returned to the village where I made my meager life. Panic, a bitter taste I knew too well, was spreading like wildfire. For our land, once again, lay in the path of their hunger, the appointed time for their grim expansion upon us.
The suburb group, a knot of worried faces, had congregated in the clearing, a large, anxious heart beating in the woods' dim light. A desperate ballet of concealment unfolded as they pressed the children towards the center, a fragile shield against the unseen. The forces, their grim authority palpable, formed the inner rings, followed by the fathers, their shoulders slumped with fear, and then the young mothers, their eyes darting nervously into the encroaching shadows. As ever, I was a ghost in their midst, my presence an afterthought. Since Adam’s passing, a pall had settled over them, a strange inertia where even cruelty became a form of grim entertainment. I was alone, adrift in their fear.
Urgency propelled me towards the square. My boots crunched on fallen leaves, and then I saw him – a figure slumped against a tree, a dark stain blooming on his tunic. Yet, inexplicably, others hurried past, their voices a low murmur, their conversation unbroken. They spoke to a cluster of people a meter distant, their words carrying on the still air. From my vantage point, the thread of their discourse snagged on something… a force, a presence that had driven the very heart of the community to this desperate gathering. It was…
“What do we do now?” a voice laced with rising hysteria cut through the hushed tones. “Their numbers swell beyond anything we’ve seen, and the attacks… they are relentless.”
“You’re right,” another voice, sharper with a desperate resolve, countered. “We must act. A swift strike, a taste of their own terror, that is the only language they understand. We take a significant number.”
“Are you mad?” a third voice, thick with disbelief, interjected. “What madness possesses you? This defies all reason! It is known – those who forge harmful alliances find no return.”
Then, the subordinate of the strong leader spoke, his words carrying a weight of ancient lore. “Warnings are not the domain of the living creatures of the owner, nor of the werewolf laws. It is a sacred space between us, between the creatures and their king. Treaties bind the werewolf king to their king. You would not dare.”
Indeed, the great leader, his face etched with grim understanding, issued a command. The leader was to seek audience at the werewolf king’s palace, to plead for aid from a power beyond our own. Just as I was about to witness the pack’s return, their jaws likely stained with the forest’s bounty, a flicker of hope ignited. This time, the community had achieved a victory against the Kami, their attack somehow thwarted. And there, amidst the weary defenders, stood the wounded guardian I had seen earlier, his stance defiant despite his injury.
Then, a young girl, her eyes wide and knowing, turned her gaze towards me. “Look who’s here?” Little Caroline’s voice, though small, sliced through the tension.
A tight rein on my temper was a constant necessity, a silent battle waged to keep the beast within leashed. To let the anger bloom was to risk the agonizing shift, the tell-tale crack of bone.
"What do you want, Rebecca?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.
Her reply dripped with the casual cruelty that had become her signature. "Just wondering what a weakling like you is doing here.”
Ignoring the sting of her words, I turned and walked away, the need for distance a physical ache. Another moment, another barb, and the transformation would be inevitable, the price two more fractured ribs. This relentless torment was a bitter draught. It wasn't Cookie's fault, the magnificent wolf coiled within, nor was it mine, this inherent fragility.
Once beyond the reach of their scornful gazes, I turned inward, the familiar mental bridge forming between my human consciousness and the wild spirit I carried.
"It's not your fault, is it, what happens during the change? It's this cursed body of mine," I murmured into the quiet of my own mind.
Yes, Cookie's voice resonated within, a low, mournful hum. We pay no mind to the taunts of Rebecca and her ilk, but… I wither here, from a deep and aching sadness.
"Sad? Why are you sad?"
You know why, she replied, the mental image of a restless pacing forming in my thoughts. When was the last time you let me run free? I feel like a caged shadow within your bones.
"You're right," I conceded, the weight of my confinement pressing down on me too. "It has been too long. But you know what happens, the pain that rips through me when you break free."
Silence stretched between us, a heavy, unspoken understanding. Turning from the echoes of our shared frustration, I sought the solace of my private cave, a sanctuary where the rustle of pages could drown out the world's harshness. Unlike the other girls in the pack, I found refuge in stories, in the silent unfolding of other lives. Yet, even as I sought escape in ink and parchment, a new resolve began to bloom within me. I would find a way, a solution to this agonizing transformation, a path to unleash the wolf without breaking the fragile cage of my human form.
Within the formidable walls of the king's palace, in the echoing expanse of the training grounds, a figure of raw power moved with fluid grace. A young man, built like an oak, stood at the center of a whirlwind of steel and fury. Numerous guards, their movements honed by years of discipline, lunged and parried, a relentless assault against their sovereign. Yet, with each twist and strike, he met their attacks, a bulwark of skill deflecting their every advance. Raised from his first breath for the mantle of alpha, of king, he had not merely inherited the title; he had forged it in the crucible of relentless training and unwavering resolve.
He had taken the fractured remnants of the kingdom's scattered herds and woven them into a unified whole. He had breathed life back into a realm teetering on the brink of oblivion after the bitter, bloody wars between werewolf and vampire. A fragile peace now held, a testament to his shrewd diplomacy, a treaty signed in the uneasy truce between predator and ancient foe. Many other lesser kingdoms had been drawn into his orbit, either through the strength of his arm or the compelling logic of lasting peace. To command such a realm, he knew he must project an image of unwavering ruthlessness, a master of control in all matters of state.
But beneath the hardened exterior, a different yearning persisted. Through all the years of battle and governance, he had yet to find her, the woman who could stand as his equal, his companion in the long, lonely nights of leadership. He had scoured the length and breadth of his kingdom, from the smallest, most isolated packs to the grandest gatherings, but she remained elusive. He dreamt of a partner who possessed not only the strength to stand by his side, a protector in her own right, but also a keen mind, a cultured spirit. Yet, a shadow of doubt lingered in his heart. What woman of such caliber would willingly bind herself to an alpha known for his unyielding nature, his perceived coldness? This was Victor, the king, a paradox of power and unspoken longing.
His rigorous training finally concluded, the last guard dismissed with a curt nod. Victor made his way to the meeting chamber, the weight of his crown already settling upon his brow. The Minister of Internal Affairs, his face grave, informed him that the leader of the northern border pack, those who kept watch on the ominous edge of the Dark Forests, had arrived, his plea for aid etched in the lines of his weary face. Victor fixed the pack leader with a steady gaze.
"Commander," he began, his voice a low rumble that commanded attention, "how fares the Northern Regions Pack?”
The commander’s reply was stark. "Ill, Your Majesty. The Kami werewolf attacks have intensified. We lost one of our strongest guardians last night, defending our people."
A muscle tightened in Victor’s jaw. "I know the situation has grown dire. This is the third assault this year. We must venture into the Dark Forests, hunt them down before they strike again. But," he added, a note of caution entering his tone, "we must first secure permission to enter those shadowed lands. The treaty, however fragile, must not be broken lightly."
Next chapter
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