"The moon hides its wounds behind clouds,
but the forest never forgets what bled beneath it."
— Inscription found on the ruins of the Old Crescent Shrine
The forest was not asleep.
Every tree, every drop of dew, seemed to lean toward Lin Wuji as he followed the whisper of water through the fog. Dawn had not yet broken, but the darkness shimmered faintly—alive with memory. The creature's warning still echoed in his skull.
"It knows what you are."
He didn't know how long he'd walked, or why he still trusted his legs to lead him anywhere. His body moved out of habit; his thoughts dragged behind. Beneath his ribs, something hot pulsed—his heart, or what the shrine had made of it.
When he reached the riverbank, the mist thinned just enough to reveal the water. It ran dark and slow, silvered faintly by the moon. Wuji crouched beside it, studying his reflection. The ripples showed him fragments: half his face, half a beast's.
He whispered, "What do you want from me?"
The reflection smiled back.
Wuji jerked, stumbling away. The image faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only his own weary eyes staring up from the black current. He tried to steady his breath—but something inside him had already begun to stir. His veins itched. His skin prickled as though the air itself had claws.
He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. "Not again…"
The forest's pulse matched his own.
Then, from somewhere deep in the mist, a voice spoke. Not aloud, but in the marrow of his thoughts.
You walk between blood and shadow. Neither will let you rest.
He turned, scanning the trees. "Who's there?"
Silence.
Only the river answered, whispering softly as it carried ashes downstream.
The Silver Order
Captain Elira rode at the head of her column, her cloak trailing through the damp air. The morning mist swallowed sound, forcing the company into uneasy quiet. Even the horses moved slower, their breath steaming in the cold.
The forest here was unlike the lowlands—older, denser. The trunks were streaked with silver scars that gleamed faintly under torchlight. The scholar Mairen rode beside her, eyes fixed on the canopy above.
"Do you hear that?" he asked.
Elira slowed her horse. "Hear what?"
"The forest. It's… breathing."
She frowned, but before she could reply, the mist ahead of them shivered. A shape moved between the trees—tall, pale, and gone before a word could form.
The soldiers froze. Crossbows rose. Elira lifted her hand. "Hold."
From the fog, a scent drifted toward her—wet fur, iron, and something faintly human. It was a scent she'd never forgotten.
"Wuji," she whispered.
Garran's voice broke the stillness. "Captain?"
She lowered her hand slowly. "He's near."
"Do we pursue?"
"Not yet. He's not alone."
Mairen swallowed hard. "The readings near the shrine—those runes—something was binding him. If he's moving freely now, the seal might have—"
"Broken," Elira finished. Her tone was calm, but her pulse had quickened.
They rode on in silence until the trees parted and the river appeared, black and glimmering in the dawn light. Elira dismounted, crouching by the edge. She touched the wet soil. Still warm.
"Hours," she said. "No more."
Garran looked up the ridge. "Then we'll catch him before the moon rises."
Elira didn't answer. Her eyes were on the water, where a faint golden shimmer lingered like oil on the surface.
Fangxin's Dream
Far from the river, Fangxin stood upon a hill of stone, the wind tearing at his fur. The pack had spread out below him in disciplined silence. He had not spoken in hours.
The night before, a scent had reached him—a trace of the shrine, faint but clear. It carried Wuji's blood.
Scar-Left approached quietly. "He wanders near the human paths."
"I know," Fangxin said.
"Then shall we take him back?"
The Alpha's eyes narrowed. "Back? To what?"
Scar-Left hesitated. "He's one of us."
Fangxin turned slowly. "Is he?"
The scarred wolf flinched under the weight of that stare. Fangxin continued, voice low but edged with old fury. "The moon does not make us equal, Brother of Ash. It tests us. The boy carries the shrine's blood. He walks a path even I cannot smell."
"Then why let him live?"
"Because," Fangxin said, looking toward the distant river, "if he survives what hunts him, he will not be a boy anymore."
He lowered his head slightly. "And if he doesn't…"
Scar-Left growled softly. "Then the hunters win."
Fangxin's teeth flashed. "No. Then the moon reclaims what it should never have shared."
Wuji and the Stranger
When Wuji woke, the fog had lifted. A pale sun filtered weakly through the branches. He didn't remember falling asleep.
Something was different. The forest felt hollow—soundless, stretched too thin. He stood, brushing the dirt from his clothes, and found tracks nearby. Large, clawed. Not wolves. Not human either.
He followed them cautiously until he reached a clearing littered with stones shaped like crude totems. Bones hung from branches, tied with sinew. In the center of the clearing stood a figure cloaked in black fur, bent over a circle of ash.
"You shouldn't be here," the stranger said without turning.
Wuji stopped. "Who are you?"
The figure's voice was rasped and brittle. "Once, I had a name. The forest took it."
"What is this place?"
"The last breath of those who broke the oath."
Wuji stepped closer. The ash circle smelled faintly of silver. Inside it, bones were arranged in perfect symmetry—human and wolf intertwined.
He knelt, tracing one of the patterns. "These runes… they're the same as the shrine."
The stranger nodded. "Everything is connected. The moon remembers every betrayal."
Wuji's chest tightened. "Then tell me. What was the first?"
The figure turned then, and for a moment Wuji saw a glimpse of its face beneath the hood—pale skin scarred by old burns, eyes glazed white but bright with strange intelligence.
"It began," the stranger whispered, "when man tried to name the moon."
Wuji frowned. "Name it?"
"To own it."
The stranger smiled faintly. "You carry both halves of that sin. Fangxin's blood, and their ambition."
Wuji's breath caught. "You know Fangxin?"
A hollow laugh. "I knew what he was before the world did. You think he was born Alpha? No. He was made one—by their hands, not ours."
Wuji's pulse quickened. "By the Order?"
The stranger's smile vanished. "They called it salvation. I called it birth by cruelty."
Before Wuji could ask more, a sound ripped through the forest—a distant horn, low and cold.
The stranger's head snapped toward the river. "The hunters," he hissed. "Go!"
Wuji didn't move. "Come with me."
The figure shook his head. "I can't leave this circle. My blood binds it shut. Go, before they bind yours too."
Wuji hesitated for one breath longer—then ran.
Behind him, the forest trembled.
Elira's Advance
The horn's echo carried through the trees as Elira raised her hand. "Positions," she ordered.
The Silver Order moved like clockwork, silent and precise. Crossbows raised. Silver dust smeared across blades.
Mairen adjusted the glass device strapped to his wrist, reading the faint glow of the runes etched into it. "Captain… it's reacting again. Something ahead. Stronger this time."
"How strong?"
He looked up. "Like a heartbeat."
Elira drew her sword. "Then it's him."
They advanced carefully through the mist until the ground shifted beneath their boots. The earth was damp—too soft. Elira crouched and brushed away leaves. Beneath them, faint symbols glimmered in the soil.
"Runes," she murmured. "Fresh."
Garran knelt beside her. "Trap?"
"No," Elira said, standing. "Warning."
Before he could reply, a howl tore through the trees—long, mournful, and close. The horses panicked. Torches sputtered. The mist thickened around them like breath.
Elira's voice cut through the chaos. "Circle formation! Hold!"
Another howl answered the first, this one deeper, older.
The forest was no longer watching. It was moving.
The First Clash
Wuji reached the ridge just as the howls began. From where he stood, he could see torchlight flaring in the valley below—silver against the mist. The Order.
Behind him, the forest shuddered. Dozens of eyes gleamed in the dark.
Fangxin's wolves.
Scar-Left stepped forward, lips curling. "You draw them here, half-born."
Wuji turned slowly. "They would've come regardless."
The scarred wolf growled. "Then let them die for it."
Before Wuji could answer, Fangxin emerged from the shadows. His golden eyes caught the moonlight like fire. "No," he said. "Not yet."
His gaze met Wuji's across the clearing—ancient power facing something newly born.
Below them, the Silver Order formed ranks. Above them, the moon broke through the clouds, whole and blinding.
Fangxin's fur rose, the light glinting off his scars. "The hollow moon wakes," he whispered. "And with it, the hunt begins anew."