The silver moon loomed low above the forest, casting its light like liquid frost across the timeworn trees. The air hung heavy, enveloped in a silence that seemed to echo with the presence of hidden mysteries. Under the sprawling canopy, shadows flickered and swirled, imbued with the vibrant essence of an age-old force awakening.
Aurora crouched in the dim recess of a decaying den, her breath forming misty clouds in the biting cold. Her fingers glided over the pale crescent scar on her wrist, a symbol of rejection etched deep into her being. The wind whispered secrets, soft and taunting, tugging at the corners of her thoughts.
You are not sufficient. Feeble. Unworthy.
Every word felt like a sharp dagger, cutting deep into her already delicate heart. Yet, the most tormenting were the memories, piercing and clear, that fought their way back to the forefront of her mind. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to banish the memories, but they persisted—vivid glimpses of silver eyes, secrets murmured under the night sky, and the instant he had broken her reality with one cruel decision.
She had attempted to be resilient, to don her rejection as if it were a shield. Yet, the truth proved to be a harsh ruler, unyielding in what it chose to unveil. Her soul felt shattered, her spirit wandering aimlessly through a chasm of anguish. Despair had turned into her sole companion, murmuring about all she had lost, all she could never become.
Yet, even in the depths of her despair, a glimmer of hope remained—a quiet rebellion so subtle it might have been a figment of her mind. Aurora shut her eyes, letting out a breath that quivered deep within her chest. That night had come close to breaking her, yet she had emerged intact.
She placed her hand on her belly, a mix of hesitation and excitement coursing through her, until she sensed the delicate flutter of life within. The twins she had brought into the world. Her miracle. The weight she carried. They stood as a testament that the moon still watched over her, even when the rest of the world had turned away. It was the moon that offered her a second chance, not Kieran. These children could never understand her suffering. They refused to exist in the darkness of rejection and betrayal.
The wolves of Silverridge were rumored to have emerged from the very essence of moonlight. Their coats gleamed like flowing silver, and their eyes radiated a light that felt as though it could penetrate the very essence of one's being. They were more than mere inhabitants of the forest; they were its protectors, custodians of a harmony that had existed long before the first sapling took root. Yet, with immense power also came a far more daunting curse.
The moon bestowed upon them a precious gift, yet it was also a tether, linking them to its rhythms and drawing them into change as it shone at its brightest. On those nights, the forest resonated with their howls—a melody that was as enchanting as it was eerie. For every wolf that welcomed the gift, there was another who yearned to break free from it. Here, freedom felt like a cruel joke, an elusive dream buried beneath the heavy burden of obligation.
Yet, hidden beneath the narratives of courage and devotion were shadowy legends, shared only in hushed tones around flickering flames. Stories of loss and unfulfilled love. Of ties broken with such brutality that affection was reduced to mere remnants of what once was. Rejected wolves—those abandoned by their destined partners—were outcasts in every way imaginable. Caught in a liminal space, they straddled the line between belonging and solitude, their suffering laying bare their fragility. At times, that very pain turned them into a threat.
A subtle noise interrupted her musings—a branch snapping, too intentional to be caused by simple wildlife. Aurora tensed, her heart racing. She instinctively reached for the small dagger at her side, its blade catching the faint glow of the moonlight. Though she lacked the heart of a warrior, surrender was not in her nature.
"Aurora," a voice murmured, soft and uncertain. That voice was familiar to her. It had become gentler, devoid of its typical pride. Kieran.
Her heart raced, a whirlwind of fear and anger surging within her. She remained quiet, her fingers clenching the dagger more firmly. She was determined to stay hidden from him and one thing about Aurora was that if she doesn't want to be found, she wont be found. She definitely doesn't want to be found. Not at this moment. Not by him. Never.
In the heart of the forest, the timeless circle of stones stood in quiet anticipation. Their surfaces, adorned with intricate carvings of wolves and moons, emitted a soft glow in the darkness of the night. For ages, they remained quiet, observing the ebb and flow of countless conflicts, partnerships, and treacheries. Yet this evening, the atmosphere enveloping them vibrated with an unfamiliar excitement. Something was awakening, something ancient and formidable. The forest was still, a palpable tension hanging in the air, as if it were preparing for the chaos of an impending storm.
A distant howl pierced the stillness of the night—deep and sorrowful, its echoes danced among the trees. One voice joined in, then another, until the forest resonated with their melody. The sound echoed with a deep sense of yearning, intertwined with flickers of hope and shadows of fear. Under the shimmering silver moon, the wolves stood in anticipation, for the age-old tales whispered of nights such as this, where connections would be challenged and fates shaped.
It was on this night that the tale of Silverridge took its first breath—not in triumph, but in the hushed torment of treachery. From the depths of rejection, strength would be shaped, and amidst the darkest shadows of despair, a fierce and unyielding light would emerge. Under the gaze of the luminous silver moon, fate softly issued its initial, unwavering decree: endure.