"Silence is never peace. It is the forest holding its breath, waiting to see who will howl first."
— Field notes of Captain Elira, Silver Order Archives
The battle had ended, but the forest still bled.
Trees leaned like wounded men. Smoke clung to the air in ghostly ribbons, carrying the scent of ash, blood, and silver dust. The river, swollen and murky, ran red where moonlight touched it, as if unwilling to wash the dead away.
Lin Wuji sat by its edge, bare to the waist, scrubbing dried blood from his arms. His skin bore shallow cuts that refused to close. For the first time since the curse, his wounds did not heal instantly. The beast in him was quiet—too quiet.
He glanced at the others. Fangxin's pack moved with grim efficiency, tending to the wounded, carrying away their dead in solemn silence. They did not mourn with howls tonight. They buried each fallen wolf beneath moss and stone, covering the bodies without words. The law of the pack was simple: remember through the next kill.
Wuji had killed enough. He wasn't sure what remembering meant anymore.
Scar-Left limped toward him, his fur matted with soot. You fought well, his voice grumbled in the link that connected their minds. But you think too much when you bleed.
Wuji didn't answer.
The Alpha watches you, Scar-Left added. He wonders where your loyalty lies.
Wuji looked down at the river. "So do I."
Scar-Left snorted and walked away. The sound faded with the wind.
Wuji's reflection stared back at him from the water—eyes still faintly gold, but dimmer than before. He felt hollow, like something inside had cracked and refused to mend. The wolf in him, once a roaring pulse, now crouched deep in his chest, whispering instead of growling.
He looked up at the trees. Smoke curled through the branches like dark prayers.
The battle had changed everything, though he couldn't yet name what.
———————-
"To the Honored Council,
The engagement at the Northern Valley concluded with high casualties on both sides.
Estimated losses: 14 men dead, 19 wounded. We recovered fragments of silver-burned claws and a single corpse of the beasts.
The creatures demonstrate signs of organization beyond instinct. Coordinated flanking, tactical retreats, even apparent use of decoys. This suggests leadership—possibly the rumored Alpha, designation Fangxin.
However… a new anomaly was observed."
Elira's quill paused above the parchment. Her tent was silent but for the rain tapping on canvas. She stared at the ink bleeding across the page, thinking of golden eyes gleaming through the chaos.
She dipped the quill again and wrote slower.
"During the skirmish, a single entity resembling both man and wolf appeared mid-battle.
His form differed from the known cursed—stable, controlled, intelligent.
This being did not strike our men immediately; rather, he appeared to defend one of them from another wolf.
The creature later displayed coordinated combat skill beyond animal reflex."
Her jaw tightened. She wrote the last line carefully.
"I believe this being is Lin Wuji, survivor of the Eastern village massacre three years ago.
Recommendation: capture if possible. Terminate if not."
The last words bled darker than the rest.
She set the quill down and leaned back. Outside, the Order's camp buzzed faintly—men rebuilding walls, sharpening spears, whispering about the beast with golden eyes. She closed her eyes briefly, but rest did not come.
When she finally looked up, the moon was rising again. Its light turned her silver hair to frost. "You're alive," she whispered into the quiet. "But for how long?"
______________
Fangxin stood at the crest of the ridge, where dawn met the smoke. His fur glowed faintly under the pale sun. Every breath he took seemed to stir the mist itself.
Below him, the pack recovered. They obeyed his commands without hesitation, yet there was tension now—a quiet unease that rippled beneath their loyalty. He felt it in the way they avoided Wuji's gaze. The young one had drawn too much attention during the battle.
Power without submission was dangerous.
Scar-Left approached, lowering his head. The young one questions, Alpha. The others see it.
Fangxin's eyes narrowed. Does he question me? Or himself?
Both.
The Alpha turned his gaze toward the forest beyond. "Then he still has something to learn."
He descended slowly, paws silent against the scorched soil. Wuji rose as he approached, his expression unreadable.
"You disobeyed me," Fangxin said, voice calm as thunder before the storm.
"I saved one of them," Wuji answered quietly.
"Saved?" The Alpha circled him, each step deliberate. "You showed mercy to prey. You risked exposing what you are—for a human who would skin you alive if he knew."
Wuji's jaw clenched. "I'm not sure I know what I am."
"That is why you are dangerous," Fangxin said, stopping in front of him. "The blood calls one way. Your heart, another. You cannot serve two masters."
"I didn't choose either."
Fangxin studied him a moment longer, then said softly, "The moon will force you to."
He turned away, but his next words were quieter—almost gentle.
"When that time comes, choose well. The forest forgives nothing."
Wuji stood motionless as the Alpha walked off. He felt the eyes of the pack on his back—some curious, others suspicious. None trusted him fully anymore.
Neither did he.
_________________
Night fell again. The storm had moved on, leaving the valley heavy with silence. Wuji sat by a dying fire, listening to the faint echoes of wolves howling beyond the ridge. Their voices no longer sounded wild to him—they sounded mournful, almost human.
He thought of Elira. Her voice shouting orders, her blade glinting through the smoke. The woman who had once saved his life now led the people who wanted his death. He wondered if she'd recognized him through the chaos.
He wondered if she'd cared.
His shoulder throbbed from Fangxin's earlier strike—a warning disguised as discipline. The pain grounded him, tethered him to the body he wasn't sure belonged to him anymore.
He flexed his hand. The claws threatened to return but didn't. The beast waited, coiled somewhere deep, listening.
When he looked up again, the moon had cleared the clouds. Its reflection shimmered across the blood-soaked river like a blade drawn from its sheath.
He whispered into the dark, not sure who he was speaking to:
"Was I saved that night… or spared?"
The forest didn't answer.
But somewhere far away, in a tent lined with silver cloth, Captain Elira opened her eyes at that same moment—and thought she heard a wolf crying her name.