The stone courtyard was silent, save for the low hum of the wind threading through the high columns. Torches flickered in iron sconces, casting long shadows across the gathered crowd. Every eighteen-year-old stood barefoot in the center of the ring, hearts pounding as the full moon rose higher.
Tonight was the Awakening.
Celine Ravennor stood at the edge of the circle, silver hair braided down her back, crimson eyes lowered beneath dark lashes. Her dress, simple and ceremonial, was the color of ash—a fitting shade, some whispered, for a girl with a forgotten bloodline.
She heard them.
"She shouldn't be here."
"They say no one's awakened the Wolf Soul in over a century."
"If not for her ancestor's name, she wouldn't even be allowed to stand in the circle."
Celine's jaw tightened. Her fists clenched at her sides.
I didn't ask for the Wolf Soul. I didn't ask to be the last of anything.
But she was.
The descendant of Velkhar—the First Werewolf, the one who rose beneath the Blood Moon centuries ago. A creature of legend. A beast of war. A myth so powerful that entire rites had been born from his transformation.
And then… silence. No one since had awakened his blood. The Wolf Soul bloodline had vanished, leaving only stories—and Celine's cursed inheritance.
"Celine Ravennor," the elder called.
She stepped forward.
The ceremonial stone beneath her feet pulsed faintly as she entered the circle's heart. A silver mark etched itself across the floor. Around her, nobles, soldiers, and common folk watched with bated breath.
At the far end of the court, Prince Kael Duskfang stood in ceremonial armor—a custom-forged battle robe patterned with blood-silver runes, the crest of the royal wolf etched across his chest. His black-silver hair fell just past his collar, catching glints of torchlight like blades of shadowed moonlight. A thick fur mantle of royal frost-wolf pelt rested on his shoulders, untouched by the wind.
His eyes—icy blue, like moonlit glaciers—fell on her. Not with hatred, not with pity. But with nothing.
Emptiness. Indifference. A gaze that could cut deeper than a blade.
Celine's heart clenched.
Their union had been arranged by the council. A political binding, meant to unite the fractured bloodlines. But everyone knew the truth:
He would never accept a girl with a dead bloodline.
The elder raised his staff. Moonlight bathed Celine in silver. The Awakening began.
A tremor rippled through her chest. Her breath caught. For one terrifying second—nothing.
Then—
A flicker.
A crimson spark beneath her skin.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. A red glow shimmered around her heart, pulsing like a heartbeat. A light that hadn't been seen in over a hundred years.
"The Wolf Soul…" someone breathed.
At the far end, Prince Kael Duskfang's gaze narrowed, a glint of something sharp and calculating flashing through his icy eyes.
For a single heartbeat, his expression shifted—uncertainty? Recognition?
But the moment passed.
His jaw tightened. The chill returned.
And then—
It vanished.
Gone. No light. No pulse. Just cold silence.
The elder stepped forward, placing a palm above her chest. His brow furrowed. He repeated the gesture, again. Again.
"…There is no awakening," he said flatly.
The murmurs turned cruel.
"Another failure."
"Tragic."
"Just a flicker. A glitch in the blood."
Kael's voice cut through the whispers like a blade.
"This farce is over."
Celine looked up at him.
He didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. His gaze was stone.
"I will not marry a fraud."
The words hit harder than she expected. Not just because they were cruel—but because they were calculated.
Kael Duskfang, heir to the Moonborne Fang bloodline, had no room for weakness. No patience for broken promises.
The prince turned and left, the council silent behind him.
Celine stood alone in the ring. The torches seemed dimmer now.
She bowed stiffly, turned, and walked out. She didn't look at the watching faces, didn't listen to the whispers.
She didn't cry.
Not until she was alone.
---
That night, the wind howled differently.
She stood on the balcony of her family estate, silver hair loose in the cold breeze. The sky had turned red—the Blood Moon had risen, unpredicted, unnaturally soon.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her skin burned.
Pain blossomed from her spine, crawling through her veins. She fell to her knees.
Then she saw it.
Not with her eyes—but with something older, deeper.
A wolf.
Massive. Ancient. Its fur the color of storm clouds, its eyes twin suns of red fire. It stood in the forest below, but its gaze pierced dimensions.
"You are not weak," the beast said, though its lips did not move.
"You are mine."
The Wolf Soul.
The First.
Velkhar.
Celine screamed—not from fear, but from the weight of recognition.
The light that had flickered earlier now exploded. Her heart glowed beneath her skin, her bones hummed, her senses burst open. She could hear the heartbeat of mice in the walls, smell the ink in old books, feel the pulse of the moon itself.
She rose slowly, eyes blazing red.
She had awakened.
But no one could know.
Not yet.