I sat there, beside them. My mind numb, my heart shattered into a million pieces than I've ever known in my life. Memories flooded me- playing on a loop in my head - Mother's warm smile, Father's guiding hands.
Now they were silent.
A lifeless, cold thing—the silver arrow—stuck out of their chests, mocking me with its stillness. How could something so small bring down people so strong?
A sound tore from my throat before I even knew it was there, a raw, guttural howl that ripped through the forest. It echoed back at me, distant and distorted, as if the mountain itself were mourning alongside me. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to.
Grief and rage swirled together, choking me as tears burned down my face. I screamed until my voice cracked, until my chest heaved with the effort, until the only sound left was the broken sobbing that spilled out between gasps of air.
I couldn't move, couldn't think. I just sat there, crumpled and small in the vastness of the forest, staring at them. The moon hung overhead, glowing soft and silver, but its light felt cruel now. It didn't bring comfort or beauty. It only illuminated everything I'd lost.
To me, the moon was already red, already darkened!
Nothing in this world seemed beautiful anymore.
My gaze drifted to Mother's still form, her fur glinting faintly in the moonlight. The faint scent still lingered, curling around me like a taunt. It was so faint I almost thought I imagined it, but it was there. Wrong. Bitter. Not wolf.
Something else.
"Kyle."
The voice cut through the haze, familiar and steady. My head jerked up, my eyes locking onto the shadow that moved toward me.
Grandfather.
He stepped into the clearing, his face grave, his movements impossibly quiet. I hadn't even heard him approach, and for a moment, that realization scared me. Either grief had drowned every instinct I had, or he was terrifyingly silent.
He knelt beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. His touch was heavy, grounding. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his jaw was tight, his focus unshakable.
"We'll find who did this," he said, his voice low but edged with steel. "We'll make them pay."
The words should have felt like a promise, but they only added to the storm inside me. Pay? How could anyone pay for this? For taking them from me?
I turned my gaze back to my parents, my voice barely a whisper. "They're gone."
Grandfather's hand tightened slightly, his grip steadying me even as my world crumbled. "They're gone," he said, his voice softer now, "but we're not. You're not. And we will make sure whoever did this regrets ever breathing."
***
As we walked through the dense forest, the silence between us grew heavier with each step. Grandfather's pace was steady, his sharp eyes darting over the shadows around us. I followed close behind, my senses still heightened, though my thoughts were a chaotic mess.
Everything I'd ever known was gone. Left behind. Whatever lay ahead, I couldn't even begin to imagine.
Grandfather suddenly stopped and nodded toward a clearing. "Our ride awaits."
At first, I saw nothing, but then it emerged from the darkness—a weathered truck tucked between the trees like a beast resting in the wild. Its rusted exterior blended seamlessly with the surroundings, almost as if it belonged here.
I stared, my mind racing. This was the thing Grandfather had described so many times during his visits. The "truck." I had always wanted to see it, but not like this. Not when everything else had been ripped away from me.
"Your truck," I said softly, a hint of awe slipping into my voice.
Grandfather smiled, his eyes twinkling despite the grief that lingered in them. "The one and only."
I approached cautiously, reaching out to touch the cold, dented metal. It felt solid, unfamiliar. "What's this thing?" I asked, tapping the side.
Grandfather chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "You get in through here." He yanked open the door with ease.
I climbed onto the worn seat, the strange smells of oil and metal filling my nose. Grandfather slid in beside me, and I turned to the assortment of buttons, levers, and dials on the dashboard. "What are all these... things?"
"You'll learn soon enough," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
He pulled a shiny object from his pocket and slid it into a slot. "What's that?" I asked, my curiosity flaring.
"A key," he said.
I repeated the word, testing it on my tongue. "Key."
He turned it, and the truck sputtered, groaned, and then... nothing.
I frowned, looking at him. "Did you break it? Is that all?"
Grandfather chuckled. "Not yet, boy."
He fiddled with some levers and knobs, and suddenly the truck roared to life.
"Ahhhh" I yelped, gripping the seat as the beast beneath me roared and rumbled.
"Easy, Kyle," Grandfather said, his laughter filling the cabin.
The vibrations coursed through me, strange and exhilarating. "How does it move?"
Grandfather's smile grew. "Just watch."
With a press of his foot, the truck lurched forward. I clung to the seat as the world outside started to blur.
"Magic?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the noise.
Grandfather laughed again, his first real laugh in days. "No, boy. Technology. The world's full of wonders."
"This... this beast is alive!" I declared, staring at the dashboard in disbelief.
Grandfather roared with laughter, shaking his head. "You've got a lot to learn."
Despite my fascination, the exhaustion from earlier crept back in. My eyes grew heavy, and the sorrow I had pushed aside returned with a dull ache. The tears I thought I'd shed dry still lingered somewhere inside. Before I knew it, I drifted into sleep.
When I woke, the rumbling was louder. Honks and strange noises filled the air, and lights—so many lights—glared through the windows. Some were attached to poles, others darted past us at blinding speeds.
I sat up, wide-eyed, taking it all in. The night was still dark, but everything here seemed... alive. People walked along the sides of the road, in groups, alone, everywhere. I'd never seen so many in my life.
Grandfather slammed his hand against the wheel, and a sharp honk sounded. "Assh*le!" he barked as the truck swerved slightly before steadying again.
"You're awake," he said, glancing at me briefly before fixing his eyes back on the road.
I gripped the seat tightly, my heart racing as the world zipped by. Everything was too fast, too loud. I didn't understand how Grandfather could control this beast—or how anyone could navigate this chaos.
"Welcome to the real world," he said, pulling me from my daze. "Here, nobody is your friend. And you must never shift into your wolf form, especially not in public."
I nodded, still staring out the glass.
"These are humans, Kyle," he continued. "Most of them don't know we exist. But the ones who do? They're the dangerous ones. One of them killed your parents."
The anger bubbled up inside me again, but it fizzled as sorrow took over. I nodded again, looking away.
The truck slowed as we pulled up to a building. It was different from the caves I'd known, but I recognized it from Grandfather's descriptions.
He opened the door with a practiced motion and stepped out. I stared at the mechanism, frowning. How did he do that?
I pulled at the handle, and before I could react, the door came off in my hands.
"Kyle! Jesus!" Grandfather's voice rang out as he smacked his forehead. "We've really got a lot to teach you."
I held the door sheepishly, trying not to smile at his exasperation.
I stared at the door in my hand like it might magically reattach itself if I willed it hard enough.
Grandfather smacked his forehead again and groaned. "Kyle, you've got hands like a bear and no clue how to use them."
I looked at him sheepishly. "It's not my fault your... uh, truck thing is so fragile."
"Fragile?" He threw his hands up and laughed, though I could see his exasperation bubbling beneath it. "This beast is older than you and tougher than half the wolves I've known. Fragile, he says..."
I tried to set the door gently on the ground, but it toppled over with a metallic clang. I winced. Grandfather muttered something under his breath and walked over to me.
"Come on, boy. Let's get inside before you break something else." He stepped up to the building's entrance and shoved the door open with a practiced ease that made me feel even more out of place.
I followed him cautiously, my eyes darting around the unfamiliar structure. The walls weren't jagged like the rocks of our cave; they were smooth and flat, painted in colors that didn't exist in the forest. The air smelled strange too—not earthy, but sharp and artificial, with a faint tang of something metallic.
"Where are we?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Grandfather didn't answer right away. He flicked on a light, and the room filled with a soft, yellow glow. I blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness.
"This is a safe house," he finally said, his tone curt. "A place your father never wanted to use, but I insisted we keep ready... just in case."
I flinched at the mention of my father. The pain was still fresh, raw, like an open wound that refused to scab over.
Grandfather must have noticed because his voice softened. "It's not home, but it'll do for now. You need to rest, Kyle. There's a lot to learn, and you won't survive if you're dead on your feet."
I didn't argue. Exhaustion was pressing down on me like a heavy weight, dragging my limbs and fogging my mind. Grandfather motioned toward a small room with a narrow bed.
"Go on," he said. "We'll talk more in the morning."
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was smooth and white, nothing like the jagged, familiar rock above my cave. My mind wouldn't quiet, replaying the scene in the clearing over and over. My parents' lifeless forms, the silver arrows, the faint, bitter scent that still lingered in my memory.
Who would do something like this? And why?
Grandfather's words echoed in my head: "We'll make them pay."
Pay. It sounded so simple when he said it, but the anger boiling inside me didn't feel simple. It felt messy, tangled with grief and fear and something else I couldn't quite name.
I shifted onto my side, clutching the scratchy blanket to my chest. The tears I thought had dried came back, hot and silent as they slid down my face.
I didn't sleep much that night.
__________________________________________
Morning came too soon, the light filtering through a small, square window above the bed. I blinked against the brightness, my eyes heavy and sore.
Grandfather was already up, sitting at a table in the main room with a steaming mug in his hands.
"Good, you're awake," he said as I stumbled out, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Sit."
I obeyed, sliding onto a chair that creaked under my weight.
"We need to talk," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I was ready for what he was about to say.
"Your father tried to shield you from the world, Kyle," he began, his eyes fixed on me. "He thought he could keep you safe by hiding you away. But the world has a way of finding you, no matter how well you hide."
I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
"Whoever did this," Grandfather continued, "isn't just some random hunter. This was planned. Precise. Professional. And if they found your parents, they'll find us too if we're not careful."
I clenched my fists under the table, anger bubbling up again. "Why would anyone want to kill them? We never bothered anyone. We stayed hidden!"
Grandfather's gaze softened slightly. "Not everyone sees it that way. To them, we're monsters, Kyle. And some people will do anything to get rid of what they fear." he continued "This is the same thing I have always tried to tell your father but his stubborness wouldn't make him listen. Nobody cares about your own story or whether you are good. As long as they see you as a threat either from their imagination or practically, they won't hesitate to take you out"
I stared at the table, my jaw tight.
"But," he added, leaning closer, "this isn't just about fear. Whoever did this had a reason. A motive. And we're going to figure out what it is."
I nodded, though my mind was already racing ahead. I didn't just want answers—I wanted justice.
Grandfather sat back, his expression unreadable. "For now, we focus on survival. That means blending in, keeping your head down, and never—never—shifting in public. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," I said quietly.
"Good." He stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "Now, let's get moving. The sooner we figure this out, the better."