ARIA POV
The knife slipped, and blood dripped onto the carrots.
"Grandmother!" I yelled, dropping the blade and pressing my thumb against my dress. "I cut myself again!"
Grandmother's laugh came from inside our house. "That's the third time this week, child. Are you trying to season our food with your own blood?"
I made a face at the opening even though she couldn't see me. At twenty-two years old, I should be better at easy things like cutting vegetables. But my mind always wandered when I worked in the garden. Today, I'd been thinking about the strange dream I had last night—golden eyes looking at me through darkness, a voice calling me by a name I'd never heard before.
"Come inside and let me wrap that," Grandmother called.
I grabbed the box of carrots with my good hand and headed in. Our cottage was small but cozy, with dried herbs hanging from the roof and a fire crackling in the hearth. Grandmother sat in her rolling chair, her silver hair braided down her back. She was old—really old—but her violet eyes were still sharp as glass.
Those same violet eyes I saw in the mirror every day.
"Sit," she demanded, pulling out a clean cloth. As she wrapped my thumb, she hummed an old song I'd heard my whole life. The music always made my skin tingle in a weird way.
"Grandmother," I said slowly, "why do we look so different from everyone else in the village?"
Her hands stopped for just a second. "What do you mean?"
"Our eyes. Our hair." I touched my brown hair, but we both knew the truth. Underneath the walnut dye we applied every month, my hair was silver. Just like hers. "Even our names sound strange. Aria. Winters. Nobody else has names like ours."
Grandmother tied off the tape and patted my hand. "Every family has their peculiarities, dear."
"That's not an answer."
She looked at me for a long moment, like she was deciding something important. Finally, she sighed. "Your grandfather used to say we came from special blood. Old blood. The kind that remembers things the world has forgotten."
My heart beat faster. "What kind of things?"
"Stories, mostly. About a time before the Great Subjugation, when humans and beastmen lived differently. When some people had gifts that made them equals instead of servants." She shook her head. "But they're just stories, Aria. Fairy tales to make old women feel important."
I leaned forward. "But what if they're not just stories? What if—"
A scream tore through the evening air.
We both froze. The scream came again, closer this time. Then another. And another.
"Get down!" Grandmother grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the window.
Through the gaps in the wooden shutters, I saw orange light flashing. Fire. The baker's house across the road was burning. People ran past our cottage, their faces twisted in fear.
"What's happening?" My voice came out as a whisper.
Grandmother's face had gone pale. "They're here. After all these years, they've finally come."
"Who's here? Grandmother, what—"
A crash burst from the street. Something huge and dark jumped over the burning house. It landed on four legs, but then it stood up on two, taller than any man I'd ever seen. Fur covered its body. A long nose full of teeth caught the firelight.
A beastman.
I'd never seen one before. Our village was too small, too far from the places where beastmen lived. We paid our taxes to the faraway king and were left alone. That was meant to be the deal.
But now one was in our village. Then two. Then five.
They were wolves—massive, walking dogs with human hands and hungry eyes. They grabbed people from their homes, laughing as locals screamed and ran. One wolf carried a net filled with crying children. Another dragged a man by his hair.
"The cellar," Grandmother hissed. "We have to hide you in the cellar."
"What about you?"
"I'm too old to run, and too old for them to want." She pushed me toward the trapdoor hiding under our kitchen rug. "You're young and strong. That's what they came for."
Horror washed over me. "They're taking slaves."
Grandmother's eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, little one. I should have prepared you better. Should have taught you everything instead of thinking we could stay hidden forever."
"Taught me what? Grandmother, please—"
The door burst inward.
A wolf beastman ducked through the doorway, so big his shoulders brushed both sides of the frame. His hair was gray and matted with dirt. When he smiled, his teeth were yellow and sharp.
"Well, well," he growled. His voice was rough but horribly human. "What do we have here? An old woman and a young prize."
Grandmother stepped in front of me. Her small body couldn't possibly protect me, but she tried anyway. "Take me if you want. Leave the girl alone."
The wolf laughed. "We don't want old meat, grandma. Step aside."
"No."
He moved so fast I barely saw it. One moment Grandmother was standing. The next, she was on the floor, blood dripping from her head.
"Grandmother!" I dropped beside her. Her eyes were closed. "No, no, no—"
"She's just knocked out," the wolf said, bored. "Now come here, girl. Don't make this tough."
Something inside me snapped. Rage burned through my chest, hot and fierce. I stood up and faced him, even though I was shaking. "Get out of my house."
He laughed again. "Feisty. The buyers like feisty." He reached for me.
I grabbed the iron stick from beside the fireplace and swung it at his head.
He caught it mid-swing without even trying. The metal bent in his hands like soft clay. "Bad choice, little human."
He twisted the poker, and pain shot through my arm. I heard a crack and knew something broke. I screamed.
The wolf threw me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. I beat his back with my good hand, kicked, bit, screamed until my throat was raw. Nothing worked.
As he carried me outside, I saw our village burning. Bodies lay in the streets—some moving, some not. The wolves were everywhere, catching people like we were rabbits. They threw us into big wooden boxes on wheels.
I saw my neighbor Mrs. Chen holding her baby. I saw the blacksmith's son, bleeding from his head. I saw Garrett—my brother Garrett—fighting three wolves at once with a stake.
"Garrett!" I screamed. "Run!"
He looked up and saw me. His eyes went wide. He started running toward us.
One of the wolves grabbed him from behind.
"No!" I screamed harder. "Let him go!"
But Garrett did something impossible. He turned in the wolf's grip, stabbed backward with the pitchfork, and caught the beast in the shoulder. The wolf howled and dropped him.
Garrett ran. He ran into the forest, three dogs chasing after him.
"Your brother's dead," the wolf carrying me said carelessly. "They'll catch him in the trees and tear him apart."
"No," I whispered. "No, he got away. He's fast. He's smart. He got away."
The wolf threw me into a box. I landed on top of other people—all of us crying, all of us bleeding, all of us stuck.
As the cage door slammed shut, I looked back at my burning town one last time.
Grandmother's cottage was on fire now. Orange flames ate through the roof.
A person appeared in the doorway. Silver hair caught the firelight.
Grandmother was awake. She was standing. And she was looking right at me.
Her mouth moved. Even from this distance, I could read her lips: "Remember who you are."
Then the roof fell, and she vanished in smoke and flame.
I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
The cage lurched forward. The wolves were taking us away.
And as we rolled into the darkness, I felt something wake up deep inside me—something that had been sleeping my whole life.
Something that whispered in a voice like thunder: Soon.