In the Heart of the Wild
The forest lay shrouded in midnight's silence, moonlight cascading like liquid silver through the canopy above. The trees, ancient and wise, stood as sentinels, their branches etched against the starry sky like nature's own work of art. Shadows danced among the trunks, their dew-kissed bark glistening with a soft, ethereal light, as the wind whispered secrets to the night. The leaves rustled softly, a gentle accompaniment to the labored breathing of a lone figure.
In a secluded hollow, hidden from prying eyes, the hybrid – half werewolf, half witch – struggled to bring new life into the world. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, misting the chill air with each exhalation. Sweat and blood matted her fair skin, and her golden eyes burned with a mix of pain and primal instinct. Alone, with no pack or mate to aid her, she relied solely on her own strength and determination. With a final, animalistic cry, she gave birth to a small, trembling pup, its fragile form nestled against her warmth.
As she cradled the pup, her heartbeat slowed, and her movements grew sluggish. Her wounds wouldn't close; the forest had taken its toll, draining her life force with each passing moment. Yet, with a surge of strength born from love and devotion, she picked up a knife that lay beside her. With gentle, precise strokes, she carved a message on the pup's lower waist: "Leah, your name, chosen by your father with love." The words seemed to hold a deep significance, a connection to the father she had never mentioned before.
With her final breath, she cast a spell, a soft whisper of magic that enveloped the pup in a warm, golden light. The trees stood still, bearing witness to the fleeting moment of life and death. As the mother's life force ebbed away, the spell dissipated, leaving behind only silence. The pup cried out, tiny and alone beneath the moon, its wails echoing through the forest.
The trees remained steadfast, their branches motionless, as if paying respects to the mother who had given her life for her child. The moon continued its gentle descent, casting an silver glow over the forest floor. Leah, the pup, lay vulnerable, yet resilient, a new life forged in the heart of the wild.
As the night wore on, the forest came alive with sounds of nocturnal creatures. The pup's cries gradually subsided, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hooting of owls.The forest still held its breath.The mother lay still, her skin stained dark beneath the silver wash of moonlight. Her body, once a vessel of fierce life, now rested among the roots, cradled by moss and leaf. Above, the trees groaned with ancient memories, their limbs creaking in quiet grief. The child whimpered softly, blind and new to the world, his small body curled beside his mother's cooling form.And then—the air changed.
It shimmered like heat rising from stone. A circle of red light bloomed within the clearing, searing through the darkness with otherworldly fire. A scent of roses and ash swept over the glade, and from the crimson blaze stepped a woman in red.
She was tall, cloaked in flowing velvet that bled into the shadows. Her eyes burned like coals—witch's eyes, vicious and knowing—and her black hair spilled down her back like a raven's wing. Power coiled around her like smoke, drawn from a spell whispered across blood and death.She had been summoned.By the last breath of her sister.
She looked down at the dead werewolf with a sneer curling at her lips. "So this is how you end," she murmured. "In filth and fur… for a man who cursed you."
Her boot crunched softly on the leaf-strewn earth as she stepped closer to the child. Her hand lifted, fingers glowing faintly with raw, dark magic. A killing curse, ancient and silent, shimmered in her palm. One whisper, and the child would vanish like mist.But then the infant stirred.
He turned toward her touch, not away. His tiny fingers curled, reaching instinctively. There was no fear in her pale eyes—only trust, soft and pure. His scent—familiar. Her aura—tinged with something that struck deep in her, something once precious. His heartbeat echoed faintly with a rhythm she remembered: her sister's lullabies, the laughter of two girls in candlelight, long before betrayal, long before the coven was broken.The woman in red staggered back a step.
"No," she whispered, but her hand faltered. The magic flickered, then dimmed. "No… it cannot be."
But it was. The child was hers—by blood, by fate. Her niece. The daughter of the one who abandoned them all, who left their coven, their destiny, to chase a love forbidden by both worlds. Her beloved sister, who chose a beast over her own kind… and paid the price in childbirth and exile.
The woman in red sank to her knees.
Memories clawed through her: her sister's laughter, her wild dreams of love, her stubborn refusal to follow the coven's rules. And now, here, the echo of that defiance—crying in the dark, helpless and innocent.
Tears welled in her eyes, hot and bitter. "You were a fool," she said to the corpse. "But gods help me, you were also my sister. my foolish sister ."
She reached for the child, lifting him gently from the dirt. She nestled against her immediately, her cries fading to soft coos. Her arms, strong and sure, wrapped around her as if they had always known how to hold a child.
"I should kill you," she whispered. "I came here to end what she started."
But she couldn't.
The moonlight glinted off her tears as she rose. Around them, the forest seemed to shift, bending to her will. The spell circle collapsed into ash, and the silence of the woods returned. Only now, it felt heavier—with grief, yes, but also with something else.
A promise.
She turned away from the mother's body. There would be no grave. The forest would claim its own.
"I'll raise you," she said to the sleeping child. "But not as a beast."
Her eyes flared with new fire.
"You will be witch and wolf. You will be the balance. The blade."
The child sighed in his sleep, and the woman in red vanished into the night, carrying the child toward a fate shaped by blood, magic, and the echo of a sister's love.