The first snowfall of winter blanketed the highlands in silence, muffling the howl of the wind through the pine forests. In that quiet, a lone figure walked with steady steps, her golden eyes piercing through the swirling white. Her wolf ears twitched at every shift in the air, her instincts sharp as blades.
Her name was Sofia, though among the whispers of the land she was known by many titles: the Huntress of Dawn, the Blade of Fate, the Chosen One.
The prophecy of the wolf clan spoke of two guardians—Lyra and Kaelen, the wolf twins born of the same blood—but in the hidden verses, another name had always lingered, a shadow line only few had ever heard:
"And when the twins howl in unison,
The third will rise, stronger still.
Her fangs shall pierce the veil of fate,
Her hand shall weigh the scales of all."
For years, Sofia had carried the weight of those words without choice. From her earliest memory, she was stronger, faster, sharper than any of her kin. While others struggled to endure the trials of the wild, she had conquered them without effort. While warriors trained for years to master their weapons, her blades and claws moved with terrifying grace the first time she touched them.
But power was never a gift—it was a burden.
The villagers of Brimhold and beyond watched her with both awe and unease. Some knelt in reverence, others whispered curses when they thought she could not hear. She is not one of us… she is something more, something dangerous.
And in truth, they were not wrong.
---
On that frozen morning, Sofia returned from a hunt. A massive elk carcass hung over her shoulders as if it weighed nothing. Her breath rose in clouds as she stepped into the village. Eyes followed her, some grateful for the food she brought, others uneasy at the ease of her strength.
An elder approached her—the same elder who once told the wolf twins of the prophecy. His voice trembled with reverence as he said, "Sofia… the winds change. The twins have risen, yes, but the path ahead does not belong only to them. It belongs to you."
Sofia's brow furrowed. "The twins? I have heard whispers of them. They fight, they defend, they grow. Why should I walk the same path? The prophecy was theirs."
The elder shook his head. "No… theirs is only the beginning. But you… you are the blade that cuts the end."
His words struck deep, but Sofia said nothing. She merely tightened her grip on the elk and walked past him, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon.
For months, she had felt the stirring in her blood. Nightmares of war and fire clawed at her sleep. The distant sound of drums echoed in her dreams—drums that belonged to armies yet unseen. And always, she saw herself standing at the heart of the storm, her claws dripping with the blood of monsters and men alike.
---
That night, the wind carried more than snow. It carried the sound of horns—the goblin raiders had begun their march again, torchlight blooming like fireflies in the distance. Panic swept through the village. Men scrambled for weapons, mothers pulled children into the safety of huts.
Sofia did not flinch.
Instead, she walked toward the gates, wrapping her arms in cloth, the scars of countless battles glinting faintly in the firelight. She reached for her weapon—a great curved blade strapped to her back, forged from black steel that seemed to hum when she held it.
The villagers stared at her, torn between awe and fear.
"You can't face them alone," one man cried.
Sofia's lips curled into the faintest of smiles. "I am never alone."
And then, she lifted her head. From deep within the forest, wolves answered her call—dozens of them, their eyes glowing in the dark, their howls shaking the frozen night.
The goblins faltered at the sound.
The villagers, watching from the walls, could only whisper the words they had long feared to speak aloud:
"She is the Chosen One."
Sofia's golden eyes burned with fire as she stepped forward, wolves at her side, and whispered a promise only she could hear.
"Prophecy or not… the blood of Orvalis will not be spilled tonight."
And with that, she charged into the night, her blade and her wolves cutting into the enemy line like a storm given flesh.
The prophecy had begun to awaken—not with the twins, but with her.