Daphne embraced the shadows, her heart pounding like a madman on her ribs. The silver locket felt chilly on her hand and pulsed slightly, serving as a subliminal reminder of the unknown journey ahead and treachery.
Escape wasn't an easy task. She was surrounded like a prison by the high walls of the Pack, which were manned by imposing guards who had complete faith in the Alpha. But she walked with desperation in every stride. Not only was she in need of independence, but she also needed to break free from the complex web of lies that her aunt had woven.
Her thoughts were filled with the words said by the cloaked figure: "The path to your freedom lies outside the Pack's borders." Where, however, was this path? Daphne had just left the market square as her only place to live throughout her upbringing in the Pack. The surrounding woodland was off limits, a refuge for lone wolves and nighttime predators, a rich tapestry of whispering pines and venerable oaks.
But dread was an unnecessary luxury. Daphne had to rely on bits and pieces of overheard conversations and a scattering of lost folklore to get her through this dangerous place. The moist ground squelched under her old boots, thorny shrubs grabbed at her garments, and the rustle of invisible animals sent chills down her spine.
Hours dragged into what seemed like a lifetime. She was exhausted, yet she was driven on by her insatiable need for answers. The thick undergrowth suddenly parted, exposing a narrow path between two enormous stones. In sharp contrast to the oppressive air of the jungle, a light, refreshing wind caressed her skin.
Daphne gasped as she pushed through the passage. There was a wide area in front of her, illuminated by the Hunter's Moon, a full moon with a strange crimson tint. The moonlight danced over long, rolling plains covered with tall grass, interspersed with the shadows of far-off trees. A dim glimmer flared in the distance, suggesting settlement.
Daphne felt hope rush through her like a tidal wave. Ah, civilization! They may be able to assist her. But the strange calm of the night was broken by a deep growl just as she turned to face the light. Out of the shadows, two yellow eyes gleamed with a predatory desire.
There was a fearsome wolf with midnight-colored fur that stood with its teeth bared in a hushed growl. Daphne froze, losing her grip on the locket. She had heard stories of these lone hunts, of beings motivated by some deep-rooted urge. A fear that was raw and frigid curled into her gut.
With a fierce roar, a swirl of black and silver emerged from the shadows and attacked the wolf. A bigger, sleeker monster than a wolf engaged in wrestling with the growling beast. Its motions were lethal and agile, and its fur glistened with an unearthly brilliance.
There was a flurry of fangs and claws throughout the vicious combat. Bewitching by the sheer strength and violence on show, Daphne started. Outmatched, the wolf whimpered and withdrew into the shadows.
With bright blue eyes, the second creature turned to face Daphne and studied her closely. A weird sensation of amazement replaced the fear. This was not your typical beast. It was a werewolf, this.
The werewolf approached with its head raised. Uncertain of what to anticipate, Daphne braced herself. However, the werewolf used its nose to gently shove the silver locket back towards her rather than attacking.
Daphne realized what had happened. The locket's subtle warmth was palpable now, throbbing in time with the werewolf's presence. She recalled a long-forgotten tale from her early years—a myth about a secret pack that coexisted peacefully with the environment, with a leader distinguished by twilight-colored fur.
Is this the way to liberation the cloaked person spoke of? Was this werewolf one of their envoys?
Before Daphne could ask her inquiries, there was another roar in the darkness, this one closer. With its blue eyes shining with a ferocious protectiveness, the werewolf snapped its head towards the direction of the sound.
Another werewolf with fur the color of deep scarlet emerged from the shadows. Its eyes, meanwhile, lacked the first's glowing brilliant hue and were an unsettling shade of yellow instead. It growled at Daphne, showing off a jangled row of fangs.
There was a tense stand-off. Daphne and the red werewolf had the quiet guardian werewolf of twilight between them. Their rivalry was obvious, and there was a lot of hatred between them.
The red werewolf barked out in a raspy, guttural voice. "The Dark Crystal Pack is the rightful owner of this intruder. Give her to me."
With an unfathomable glare, the twilight werewolf turned its head to face Daphne. Daphne felt hope spark in her chest. Perhaps this was her opportunity.
Daphne took a deep breath and moved forth, her voice resounding with bravery. She said, "I'm not a trespasser." "I was set up, purportedly to poison the Alpha. Behind it all is my aunt Priscilla."
The realization lingered in the atmosphere. With their eyes darting between Daphne and the silver locket, both werewolves froze. The red werewolf then snorted. "A simple chef making up stories. You are not deceived, Twilight. This is not a runaway; this is prey."
However, the werewolf in Twilight remained silent. Rather, it used its nose to gently shove the silver locket back in Daphne's direction. As it met the red one's gaze, a low growl growled in its throat, a wordless challenge.
A wave of optimism filled Daphne. Perhaps they might assist her in exposing Priscilla's betrayal. However, the tense mood was broken just as she extended her hand to grasp the locket by an angry voice.
"Stay back!"
Turning around, Daphne saw a man in a cloak standing at the edge of the clearing. The silver sword they were holding glinted in the moonlight. Even with the hood covering it up, there was a startling familiarity to the voice.
"Who are you?" With anxiety prickling at her skin, Daphne mumbled.
With their features illuminated by the moonlight, the person took a measured step forward. As realization dawned, her heart pounded on her chest.
"Aunt Priscilla?"
Daphne said in a stifled whisper. The figure, her aunt, was shrouded in shadows, a sinister twinkle in her eyes.
Daphne's hand burned as the silver locket suddenly pulsed with a strong heat. She was struck unconscious by a sharp agony that tore through her chest. Her surroundings glowed, the clearing in the trees disappearing into complete darkness.
Daphne came to a terrifying realization as awareness faded. Perhaps the root of her incarceration was the silver locket, which was intended to be her path to liberation. And the ultimate architect behind her demise could be none other than her aunt.