Approx. 600–900 words (I can make it longer if you prefer more detail.)
The moon should not have been red.
Lyra Hale stood at the edge of the forest, her breath frozen in her throat as the sky pulsed with a strange crimson glow. The air smelled of metal and smoke, as if the night itself had bled.
Her village had gone silent—too silent.
Then the first howl shattered everything.
It wasn't the normal cry of the forest wolves she grew up hearing.
This one was deeper. Older. Hungry.
Lyra's heart slammed against her ribs. She clutched her small satchel of herbs and took a step back, but a blur of silver-grey fur burst from the trees, knocking her off her feet. Claws dug into the ground beside her face.
A rogue wolf. Taller than a man. Its eyes glowing like dying embers.
It snarled, inches from her throat.
Lyra shut her eyes—
But the attack never came.
A violent gust of wind tore across the clearing. Something massive slammed into the rogue, throwing it away from her. Branches snapped. The ground shook.
Lyra scrambled backward, her hands trembling, as a shadow larger than the wolf stepped into the red moonlight.
Not a wolf.
Not a man.
Something in between.
His fur was black with streaks of glowing silver running across his limbs like molten metal. His eyes—silver, cold, and burning—locked on hers for a split second before he lunged at the rogue with a deafening snarl.
The fight was brutal and fast.
When it ended, the rogue lay dead at his feet.
The creature turned to her. Bones cracked, reshaping. Fur sank into skin. In seconds, a tall, broad-shouldered man stood before her, naked except for the steam rising from his skin.
His presence swallowed the forest.
His gaze pinned her.
"Are you hurt?" his voice rumbled, deep and smooth, like thunder under water.
Lyra shook her head, unable to speak.
He stepped closer. Too close. She could see the faint silver veins glowing under his skin—the mark of the Silverbloods.
"You shouldn't be here alone," he murmured. "Not tonight."
"I—I didn't know the moon would turn red," she whispered.
His jaw tightened. "It means danger. Bloodshed. And prophecy."
Prophecy? What prophecy?
Before she could ask, another howl echoed—louder, closer.
The man's eyes flashed wolfish silver.
"My name is Kael Draven," he said.
"Alpha of the Silverblood Pack."
He extended his hand.
"Come with me if you want to live."
Lyra hesitated… then placed her trembling hand in his.
The moment their skin touched, the red moon flared—blinding bright.
Kael's eyes widened.
The Silverblood Oath had awakened.
Because of her.