Time frame: flashback
The distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees was a haunting lullaby, a cruel contrast to the chaos that had erupted just moments ago.
Her mind raced, reliving the scenes of chaos and violence, the memories seared into her consciousness forever.
As the moon continued its silent vigil, she felt the weight of the night's tragedy settling upon her shoulders.
In the midst of the desolation, Freya found herself seeking solace in the cold embrace of the ground.
She longed for release from the anguish that threatened to consume her, her tears mingling with the blood that stained the snow beneath her.
The Shadow Night Pack only left the girls of the Moonlit Clan. Every male from the Moonlit Clan was examined one by one, their throats slashed on the spot, and spears thrust directly into their hearts. They didn't leave the slightest chance.
"The Moonchild prophecy must belong to the Shadownight Pack, one, the only one. Then our pack will be at the pinnacle of power. The alpha of all werewolf packs in the world!" Fenrir declared his vision, followed by the roaring support of his followers.
Freya listened as tears welled up in her eyes. At that moment, she was too sad and shattered to realize that Gabriel, who was just a few years older than her, was kneeling beside her.
Gabriel didn't know why he did it. Freya's white hair was now blood-red from the pool of her own blood and that of her family.
"Ah, here's my girl."
A low, eerie voice approached within Freya's hearing. The girl turned, her emerald eyes clashing with the sinister gleam of golden eyes. A thin smile adorned the man's lips.
Fenrir Moonfire. The leader of the ShadowNight pack.
Freya's heart raced in her chest as panic surged through her veins. She struggled to lift herself from the ground, her muscles refusing to obey her commands. The pain at the back of her head intensified, a searing sensation that seemed to spread like wildfire. She desperately wished she could escape, to flee from whatever nightmarish situation she had found herself in.
Her emerald eyes, once filled with determination and spirit, now reflected fear and confusion as they locked onto Fenrir's malevolent presence. She could feel his gaze, like a predator sizing up its prey, and it sent shivers down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to fight against the invisible shackles that bound her in place.
Trembling, Freya managed to raise her hand slightly, only to have it drop back down weakly. It was as if her body had been drained of its strength, leaving her helpless and vulnerable. She tried to call out, to muster her voice and demand an explanation for the terror that surrounded her, but her words came out as feeble whispers, lost in the oppressive atmosphere.
The pain in her head throbbed rhythmically, matching the quickening pace of her heartbeat. Her vision continued to blur, as if reality itself were warping around her. She could see Fenrir's form looming closer, his grin widening with every step. The glint of his golden eyes held a sinister promise, and Freya felt a growing dread settle within her chest.
As if from a distance, she heard a soft, mocking chuckle escape Fenrir's lips. "You thought you could challenge me, my dear? Such bravery, yet so misguided." His voice was a chilling melody, dripping with a mixture of amusement and malevolence.
Freya's mind raced, trying to piece together what had led her to this moment. Her memories felt like fragments of a shattered mirror, scattered and distorted.
She strained to remember how she had ended up here, in this nightmarish encounter with the leader of the ShadowNight pack.
A surge of frustration and anger coursed through her, momentarily pushing aside the fear. She refused to succumb to his intimidation, to be reduced to a mere pawn in his twisted game.
With a surge of willpower, she forced herself to lock eyes with Fenrir, her emerald gaze flashing with defiance.
"Let me go," she managed to hiss through gritted teeth, her voice laced with determination. "You won't break me."
Fenrir's grin only widened in response, his amusement seemingly deepening. "Oh, my dear, I have no intention of breaking you. No, you have a far more significant role to play in the grand scheme of things."
Freya's brow furrowed in confusion, her fear momentarily overridden by curiosity.
What did he mean by "grand scheme of things"?
What did he want from her?
The questions swirled in her mind, but before she could demand answers, the pain in her head surged once more, sending a wave of nausea rippling through her.
Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision, and her strength waned further. She felt as if her consciousness was slipping through her fingers, carried away by an inexorable tide.
Desperation clawed at her as she fought to stay awake, to resist the pull of unconsciousness.
Fenrir's figure seemed to blur, his voice echoing distantly as if through a fog. "Rest now, my dear Moonchild. Your destiny awaits."
And then, as Freya's world faded to black, she couldn't help but wonder what twisted fate had woven her into the enigmatic tapestry of the Moonchild prophecy, and how her struggles would intertwine with the secrets, power, and darkness that Fenrir embodied.
When her eyes opened once more, Freya found herself in an unfamiliar room. The surroundings were dimly lit, casting an eerie glow that sent a chill down her spine.
As her senses adjusted, she realized that her wounds had been bandaged, and her body felt sore but intact. Confusion mingled with the residual fear that still clung to her like a shadow.
As she slowly sat up, her gaze swept across the room, taking in her surroundings. The air was heavy with tension, and the flickering candles that dotted the room cast dancing shadows on the walls.
The room was adorned with arcane symbols and strange artifacts, giving it an otherworldly aura that set her on edge.