Luna woke up three days later, her body frail and emaciated, every bone in her frame jutting out like a cruel reminder of what she had endured. A hollow ache gnawed at her insides, but it wasn't hunger; it was emptiness. She had never felt so weak, so vulnerable. Her throat burned, dry and cracked, and when she finally managed to drag herself to the well, she drank with shaking hands, the cool water soothing her parched throat but doing nothing for the numbness that had taken hold of her; the thought of food made her want to vomit.
The stench of death and ashes was heavy in the environment, curling through the air like an invisible serpent, suffocating and inescapable. Smoke still lingered, rising in lazy trails from blackened ruins where homes once stood homes that had been full of laughter, love, and life. Now, they were nothing but hollow skeletons charred by cruel fire.
The sharp, metallic tang of blood mixed with the sickeningly sweet smell of burnt and rotting flesh. It clung to her nose, coated her tongue, and made her stomach twist with nausea. Each breath Luna took felt like swallowing sorrow, like inhaling despair. The silence was deafening. No birds, no laughter, no familiar clatter of feet on cobblestone paths. Just the wind and the distant crackle of dying flames.
Her boots crunched over soot and bones, the only sounds in a graveyard of memories. Every step was a betrayal, every footprint marking the loss of what once was. This place, once filled with color and sound, was now cloaked in a dull gray hue. The trees were scorched, their leaves curled and blackened. The earth itself seemed to grieve, split and wounded by the violence it had witnessed.
A doll lay half-buried in the dirt, its fabric singed, one eye missing. Luna stared at it for a long moment, paralyzed. It looked like the one her little cousin used to carry around everywhere. That thought alone caused her throat to tighten and her eyes to sting.
She took another step—and saw the twisted remains of what had once been the town square fountain, its stone cracked, water turned to steam and dust. This was where they used to gather. Where music played, lovers danced, and children ran barefoot, chasing each other under the sun. That sun was gone now, hidden behind a veil of smoke and sorrow.
Luna fell to her knees, unable to hold herself up. The air felt too heavy, thick with mourning. Her fingers curled into the ash-covered earth, gripping it like it could anchor her to something real. But there was nothing left to hold on to.
The stark desolation, so brutally different from the usual playful atmosphere, made Luna want to weep. Her body trembled with the weight of memory, the sound of her mother's laughter, her father's teasing, the warmth of her friend's hugs, and the kindness of the people she had grown to love and admire.
In a heartbeat, everything she had ever loved was gone.
She had cried all the tears she had left. Now, there was nothing. No pain, no grief, just a hollow void where her heart used to be. She wished she hadn't woken up. Death would have been kinder. But fate was cruel.
Staggering to her feet, she wandered through the ruins of the place she had once called home. Ash coated the ground, carried by the faint wind that did little to stir the lifeless air. She moved like a ghost, staring blankly at the charred remains of the people she had loved. The village was silent, save for the buzzing of flies and the distant cawing of vultures circling overhead.
The thought of food made her stomach churn. Even if she wanted to eat, she doubted she could keep anything down. Her body trembled with weakness, but the weight pressing on her chest was far heavier. She should bury them, give them the respect they deserved, but there were too many. She was just one person, broken and alone.
The stench of death thickened in the heat, the bloated bodies already turning shades of blue and black, their flesh splitting. The sight made her gag, but there was nothing left in her stomach to expel. The dizziness returned, spots dancing before her eyes, but she forced herself to remain upright. She didn't know why she had no reason to keep going.
Yet, she couldn't leave. Not yet.
Clutching her arms around herself, she stood in the middle of the devastation, the sun beating down on her fragile body, and wondered if she would ever feel whole again.
Luna knew she had to leave. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to disappear before the monsters who had done this returned to finish what they had started. And yet, a small, bitter part of her almost wished they would. At least then, she wouldn't have to endure this torment any longer. But she couldn't afford to be weak. As the last surviving member of her pack, it was her duty to honor them to make sure their deaths were not in vain.
The lands that had once thrived with golden fields and lush greenery were nothing but scorched earth now. The apple trees that had stood tall at the heart of the pack's territory, the same trees she had climbed as a pup, were reduced to blackened husks. The scent of burnt wood and flesh still clung to the air, mixing with the foul stench of decay.
Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself forward. Survival first.
She made her way to the stream, its clear waters an oasis in the midst of ruin. Kneeling by the edge, she cupped a handful and drank, rinsing the dryness from her mouth before turning her attention to the water's surface. Small fish darted beneath the current. With practiced precision, she reached in and snatched one, its body flailing in her grasp. She gutted it with her nails and bit into the raw flesh.
Once, this had been a delicacy, a treat she and her wolf had savored. Now, it was nothing but sustenance. The slimy texture made her stomach revolt, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to keep it there. She had no choice.
Stripping off her tattered clothes, she waded into the water, shivering as the cold bit into her skin. She scrubbed the dirt, sweat, and dried blood from her body, not bothering to linger. This wasn't a luxury; it was a necessity. She couldn't afford to waste time.
Stepping onto the bank, she shook herself off and dressed in the least-damaged pieces of her clothing. Then, without another moment to dwell on the past, she went to work.
The dead deserved a burial. Even if she had to dig their graves with her bare hands.
Luna dug until her fingers bled.
The soil was dry and stubborn, forcing her to claw through it with sheer determination. She started with her parents, placing them in the center, as was tradition, and then arranged the graves of the elite warriors around them. They had been the strongest, the most skilled, the heart of the pack. It felt right to honor them this way, even if it wasn't the funeral they deserved.
Her pack had numbered around a hundred, including the children. Burying them all alone was impossible, but she had to try. She managed twenty individual graves twenty warriors laid to rest with as much dignity as she could offer. The rest... she had no choice but to place them in a mass grave. The thought made her stomach twist with guilt, but she couldn't leave them to rot under the open sky, exposed to scavengers and time's cruelty.
She had considered a funeral pyre, but burning them felt wrong. They had already been slaughtered like prey, denied the chance to fight for their lives. She would not let their bodies be reduced to ash as if they had never existed. They deserved to return to the earth, to rest beneath the soil of the home they had died protecting; they needed a chance to reconnect with the ancestors.
No pack would take her in like this.
And even if one did, the thought of living in another pack that wasn't hers killed her slowly. She knew she had to do what needed to be done, even if it killed her. She would never become a rogue. Rogues were monsters.