In the middle of the night, June felt something tickling her legs.
Her eyes snapped open.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Please… please don't be a snake, she prayed silently.
I'd die from the shock before the poison.
Very slowly, barely daring to breathe, June lifted the edge of her blanket.
She froze.
It wasn't a snake.
It was a group of puppies—small, warm, and huddled together, curled tightly around her legs for heat.
June blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…What?" she whispered.
The puppies stirred at the sound of her voice. One lifted its head, ears drooping, eyes wide and curious. Another yawned, tiny pink tongue stretching before it wobbled closer to her.
Her fear melted instantly.
"Oh my goodness," she breathed. "You're… adorable."
But confusion quickly followed.
"Where did you come from?"
Carefully, June slid out of bed and wrapped herself in a shawl. The puppies followed her immediately, tiny paws padding softly across the floor.
She took a candle and went downstairs.
The house was silent.
The backyard door was locked.
Windows—closed.
The barricade—intact.
June frowned.
"Then how did you little rascals get in?"
She looked at the puppies again. They stared back innocently, tails wagging slightly as if the question had nothing to do with them.
"Did you sneak in during the day?" she murmured. "Were you hiding somewhere in the house?"
No answer—only soft whimpers and warm bodies pressing against her legs.
The darkness outside felt heavier than before.
June shivered.
"Alright," she said quietly. "We'll figure it out in the morning."
Back in her room, June climbed into bed again. The puppies followed eagerly, scrambling over the blanket and settling beside her.
They snuggled close, fighting gently for space, tiny noses nudging her hands, paws resting on her arms.
She laughed softly.
"Greedy little thieves," she whispered fondly.
One by one, she soothed them, stroking their fur until their breathing slowed. Soon, they were asleep again—warm, safe, and content.
June lay there, listening to the crackle of the fire.
Outside, the night remained silent.
The morning sun seeped softly into the room.
June stirred when something warm and wet touched her cheek.
She opened one eye.
Then laughed.
The puppies were awake—tiny tails wagging, little tongues licking her face eagerly, their round eyes full of one clear demand.
"Hunger already?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
She sat up, stretching, and the pups tumbled over one another in excitement.
Downstairs, they followed her closely into the kitchen, tiny paws tapping against the stone floor.
June grabbed a large bowl and poured in the milk she had bought yesterday.
"Slowly," she warned gently, watching them lap it up noisily. "That's all for now. I'll buy more next time."
She smiled as she watched them eat their fill, their bellies rounding, their movements slowing with contentment.
After brushing her teeth and washing her face, June tied her hair back and picked up her basket.
Time to start the day.
The forest behind the house was quiet, sunlight filtering through the leaves. She gathered firewood, choosing dry branches, stacking them neatly.
Beyond the wooden barricade, she carefully collected a few duck eggs, leaving the nests mostly untouched.
"Only what I need," she whispered.
As she returned toward the house, something caught her eye.
Near the backyard—growing wild yet orderly—were berries and mushrooms, the kind that looked familiar, safe.
Then more.
Bok choy
Broccoli.
Parsley.
Eggplants.
Chillies.
Ginger.
Spring onions.
June froze.
"…What?"
She knelt down, touching the leaves gently.
"These didn't grow by themselves…"
A memory surfaced.
Her grandmother, laughing softly, hands always dirty with soil.
> "If I ever come here again," she had once said,
"I'll plant something that survives without care."
June's eyes stung.
"So it was you," she whispered.
She stood there for a long moment, sunlight warming her face, gratitude filling her chest.
"Thank you, Grandma."
The island no longer felt barren.
It felt… prepared.
Behind her, the puppies barked softly—as if agreeing.
After her bountiful harvest, June returned to the kitchen in high spirits.
She cracked eggs into a bowl, chopped vegetables finely, and cooked herself a vegetable omelet, the aroma filling the house. While it sizzled, she kneaded flour and water into dough, working it patiently until smooth.
"This needs time," she murmured, setting it aside to rise.
With her hands free, June went to check on the little ones.
That's when she noticed them.
All of them.
Sitting quietly near the staircase.
Staring.
At the annex door.
Her heart skipped.
"…I forgot to close it last night."
She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Then a thought struck her.
Why not take a bottle of wine tonight?
A small smile curved her lips.
June grabbed her torch and a basket and headed down. The puppies followed closely, their tiny paws echoing softly on the steps.
She unlocked the door.
Inside, rows of wine racks stretched into the darkness—bottles neatly placed, some dusty with centuries of age, others newer but still old.
Her eyes widened.
"Wow…"
She laughed quietly.
"If Dad knew how much I'm enjoying this so-called punishment," she whispered, "he'd die of anger."
As she stepped forward to inspect the labels, the puppies suddenly darted ahead.
"Hey—wait!" she reached out to stop them—
And missed her footing.
Her foot slipped.
Her body lurched forward.
Bang.
Pain exploded through her head as she hit the ground, her body rolling hard against stone.
Then—
Nothing.
When June regained consciousness, her head throbbed fiercely.
"Damn it…" she cursed inwardly.
She slowly sat up.
And froze.
This wasn't the annex.
She was standing in the middle of a forest.
Towering dark trees surrounded her, their twisted branches blocking most of the sunlight. Pale beams slipped through the canopy, barely touching the forest floor.
Her breath turned shallow.
"How… did I end up here?"
Panic crept in.
Did I walk into the forest while sleepwalking?
No.
This forest was nothing like the one behind her house.
The air felt heavier. Wilder.
The sun was already sinking.
"I need to find the main road," she whispered.
She hurried forward, heart racing.
Then—
A loud roar shattered the silence.
Something huge was coming.
Branches cracked.
Leaves trembled.
June's blood ran cold.
She turned and ran.
She burst into a clearing—and stopped dead.
Before her was a massive, filthy beast.
A python.
Enormous. Thick as a tree trunk. Its body coiled, scales dull and scarred, eyes glowing with hunger.
June swore her soul left her body.
"I'm dead," she whispered.
The python lunged.
Before she could even scream—
A blur of silver descended from above.
Slash.
Blood sprayed.
The python's head separated cleanly from its body, collapsing lifelessly onto the forest floor.
June stood frozen.
The creature that landed before her was not human.
Not ordinary.
A giant silver wolf, its fur gleaming faintly even in the dim forest light.
Its body was powerful, muscles taut, claws stained red.
Then it lifted its head.
And looked at her.
Its eyes—
Ocean blue.
Deep. Intelligent. Ancient.
June's knees nearly gave out.
The wolf held her gaze.
And the forest went silent.
The wolf approached her slowly.
June's breath came in shallow gasps as she stood frozen, her legs refusing to move. The massive creature lowered its head and sniffed her, circling her the way a predator would examine its prey.
This is it, she thought numbly. I'm done.
Her heart thundered so loudly she was sure the forest could hear it.
Then—suddenly—the wolf stepped back.
Before June could even process what was happening, a brilliant light exploded around them. She cried out, shielding her eyes as the forest vanished into white.
When the light faded, the wolf was gone.
In its place stood a man.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. His silver hair fell loosely over his shoulders, catching what little light remained. His features were sharp and striking—high cheekbones, a straight nose, eyes the same deep ocean blue she had seen moments earlier.
He looked… unreal.
Ancient.
Powerful.
June staggered back, her mind screaming.
"W–who are you?" she whispered.
The man looked at her, his gaze steady and unblinking—not predatory, but intense, as if he were seeing something long-awaited.
"You crossed the boundary," he said, his voice low and resonant. "The forest accepted you."
June's head spun.
"I… I don't understand."
He took a step closer, then stopped, as if deliberately giving her space.
"You are not prey," he said. "You are chosen."
Her breath caught.
Chosen?
He straightened, expression solemn, as if declaring an unchangeable truth.
"You will be my mate."
The words hit her like thunder.
June stared at him, shock flooding every vein. "That's— That's not something you can just say!"
For the first time, something like curiosity flickered in his eyes.
"In my world," he replied calmly, "it is."
He turned slightly, gesturing toward the deeper forest, where a faint glow shimmered between the trees.
"Come," he said. "My home lies beyond this path. You will be safe there. The rites can wait—but you cannot remain here."
June swallowed hard, fear and disbelief tangling with something she refused to name.
This was no dream.
No hallucination.
And whatever world she had fallen into—it was no longer her own.
The forest stirred.
The sun disappeared completely.
And June stood at the edge of a fate she never asked for… yet could not escape.