Chapter 14: The Witness
Zach's Point of View
The forest pulsed with silver light.
It was the full moon of autumn, 2009. I was eighteen now—a wolf in blood, a warrior in training, a weapon waiting for the war that hadn't yet arrived. The air was crisp, scented with pine and damp earth, carrying the distant call of a night bird and the faint rustle of unseen creatures.
But tonight wasn't about war. Tonight was about control.
I stood alone in the clearing, muscles tense, the soft soil beneath my feet familiar from a thousand trainings. Ancient stones marked the sacred place, the same spot where I had first shifted under Luna's guidance. Only this time, there was no fear in my chest. Only anticipation. Only the quiet heartbeat of the forest that seemed to mirror my own.
I had trained for this moment for over a year. I had learned to shift without pain, to hear thoughts without being consumed by them. Luna had called it the awakening of the alpha soul—the moment a born heir learns not just to survive the wolf within, but to command it.
I closed my eyes and let the wolf rise.
Pain flared for an instant—a sharp cracking of bones, a stretching of muscles—but it was no longer my enemy. It was my rite. I felt my body elongate, my bones rearranging with practiced precision. Fur sprouted along my skin, shimmering dark and silver, reflecting the moonlight like steel. My ears sharpened. My senses stretched outward, reaching into the farthest corners of the forest. I was larger now, stronger, more than human. I was predator and protector in one.
And then—I felt it.
A heartbeat.
It was not the scurry of a squirrel or the rustle of a fox. It was deliberate, anxious, human. I stilled, every muscle coiled. My instincts flared, and I sniffed the air.
There, just beyond the thicket. Breathing fast. Someone watching.
I padded silently toward the source, ears twitching, eyes narrowing. My mind expected a hunter—or maybe a lost traveler. What I found instead made me pause.
A boy. Young. Slight, almost fragile in comparison to the towering trees around him. But he didn't tremble. His dark hair clung to his face in wild, unkempt waves. His brown eyes were wide—not with fear, but with something harder to define. Curiosity. Awe. Reverence.
He didn't scream. He didn't run. He only stared.
"Y-you're… beautiful," he said, voice trembling but steady, carrying across the clearing like a fragile thread.
I blinked.
No one had ever said that to the beast before.
His gaze flicked over me, lingering on the silver-flecked fur, the sharp claws, the golden glare of my eyes in the moonlight. "I… I saw you. The change. You… you were a man. And now…" His voice cracked. "…Am I dead?"
I lowered myself to my haunches, trying to appear less threatening, though I doubted it would make much difference. My shadow alone dwarfed him.
He exhaled shakily, gripping the scarf in his hands as if it were a lifeline. "You're not going to kill me… are you?"
I tilted my head.
There was no malice in his fear. It was honest, raw, human. But beneath it was wonder, a pull toward the unknown that I recognized all too well in myself.
He's not afraid like the others. He's seen pain. He knows silence.
The thought wasn't mine—it came unbidden from him, whispering through the threads of his mind. My gift, long dormant in the presence of strangers, flared to life. I saw flashes of his past—cold nights curled beneath hollow trees, empty fires that had never warmed him, long stretches of loneliness and hunger. An orphan. A runaway. A survivor.
I shifted back before the pull became too strong. Bones twisted, fur receded, claws withdrew. I was human once more, chest heaving, naked and breathless. I grabbed a cloak I had stashed near the stones and wrapped it around my shoulders, feeling the warmth against my skin.
He gasped, but still did not run. Instead, he stepped closer, hesitant but drawn. His eyes reflected the moonlight as if he were studying a creature from a storybook.
"You're real…" he breathed.
"I am," I said simply.
He clutched the scarf tighter, a small tremor running through his fingers. "Are you going to erase my memory? Kill me? Or pretend this didn't happen?"
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips. "You ask a lot of questions for someone who just saw a monster."
He tilted his head. "Maybe you're not a monster."
Silence stretched between us like snow falling slowly over the forest. I stood there, cloak wrapped tight, trying to measure him. There was something about his gaze that cut through the usual human panic—the way he looked at me with curiosity without arrogance, awe without fear.
"You live out here?" I asked finally.
He nodded, voice quiet. "I have, since I was thirteen. No one looks for you in the woods."
"And no one protects you either," I said, frowning. My eyes narrowed, scanning the surrounding trees. "What's your name?"
He hesitated.
"You already know mine," I added softly. "It's only fair."
"…Bri."
It suited him—short, simple, unassuming, but somehow carrying an edge of awareness.
"I don't usually let anyone see me," he said after a moment, gaze drifting over the treeline, "but tonight, I followed the light. The forest… it lit up. Like it was calling something. Or someone."
I didn't answer. Words felt inadequate. There was something about his tone—low and guarded, but not broken—that made me pause. He reminded me of the mountains themselves: quiet, brutal, and beautiful all at once.
"How much did you see?" I asked carefully.
"Everything," he said. "But… I don't think I was supposed to."
"No," I admitted. "You weren't."
He stepped a little closer, the weight of his gaze pressing against me like gravity. "But now that I have… what happens next?"
I could feel his thoughts again, small threads brushing against mine. Don't send me away. I've finally seen something that feels… real.
My jaw tightened. His curiosity and bravery—it was dangerous, naive even. To witness a transformation like mine was perilous. To remain here, unprepared, was even worse.
"You're not safe here anymore," I said firmly. "They'll come if they know a human saw a transformation."
"Who's… they?" he asked, frowning.
"The ones who hunt people like me," I replied, voice low.
He tilted his head, curiosity mingling with a flicker of defiance. "Then teach me how to survive it."
I blinked.
It wasn't a plea. It wasn't fear. It was a challenge.
⸻
That night, I didn't lead him back to the road. I didn't erase his memory. Instead, I brought him to the outer edge of the small bungalow where I had trained for months, a place hidden from prying eyes and wandering predators. Mother Zita met him with her usual quiet suspicion but did not speak, her sharp gaze assessing him with the kind of attention that came only from a lifetime of reading people.
Bri merely looked at me and nodded once—slow, deliberate, thoughtful. He didn't ask for warmth, food, or comfort. He asked only for a place near the fire and a blanket.
As he curled up, finally allowing himself rest, I remained outside, half-shifted, senses alert. The wind carried scents of pine, moss, and faint traces of other lives moving through the forest. Every rustle, every whisper of leaves felt amplified. Yet beneath the alertness, there was an unfamiliar calm.
Something had shifted.
Bri wasn't part of the plan. He wasn't meant to see this, to be here. Yet now, he was intertwined with my story—an uninvited witness who might become something more. Something essential.
The moon traced the edge of the clearing, silver and infinite. Shadows danced across the forest floor, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel alone.
I had a human, yes—a boy who had stared into the heart of the wolf and lived. But more than that, I had a companion. Someone whose presence, quiet as it was, promised a future that no one—not even Luna—could have predicted.
And somewhere in the threads of fate, tangled and fragile, I knew that Bri's life and mine were no longer separate.
The forest held its breath.
And so did I.
To be Continued..
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