Aurora's pov
The wind always carried whispers in Eldermist.
Some claimed it was the forest speaking. Others swore it was the ghosts of those foolish enough to wander too close to Blackpine's edge. My mother used to laugh at that, insisting the wind was nothing more than air and mood.
Tonight, though… it felt different. It felt colder, sharper.
Like something ancient was stirring.
I stood outside our cottage, a basket of damp laundry pressed to my hip as the moon began its slow ascent over the pines. Half our village was already indoors, doors barred, windows shuttered. The other half hurried with their final chores, eyes flicking nervously toward the forest.
Full moon nights always made the village uneasy.
Understandable, I supposed… when a monster lurked in the woods.
I exhaled through my nose, trying to match the steadiness of the mountains that circled us. Fear was contagious here. And if I wasn't careful, I'd catch it too.
"Aurora! Stop staring at the trees and bring those sheets inside, it's getting cold," my mama called from the doorway.
I smiled despite the heavy feeling in my chest. "Coming, Mama," I yelled.
Our cottage was small but warm, herbs dangling from rafters and the faint scent of rosemary and honey clinging to the walls. Mama sat at the table sorting through roots while the fire crackled behind her. Her hands trembled slightly—her illness always worsened with the cold—but she never complained.
"You're late," my papa said from the hearth, tightening the worn leather on his boots. His voice held that familiar mix of worry and disapproval. "People shouldn't be lingering outside tonight."
"Don't worry, papa," I said, setting the basket down. "Nothing is going to drag me away."
His jaw ticked. "Don't joke about that, Aurora."
Silence fell for a beat too long. Mama's eyes softened with apology, though she wasn't the one who needed to say it.
I swallowed. "I'm sorry."
But part of me wasn't.
Part of me was tired of living in fear of a creature no one had ever actually seen.
The so called beast.
The Lycan King.
The monster of Blackpine.
A hundred names for one phantom.
Papa shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "You know what they say—he becomes restless during the full moon. Better safe than sorry."
They. The elders in the village assumed a lot of things about this so called beast but most contradictory.
Most rooted in superstition.
But…I couldn't deny that tonight did feel strange.
My little brother, Milo, darted down the stairs, brown curls bouncing. "Aurora, look! I fixed the carving knife!" He held it up proudly—then nearly dropped it when Papa snatched it from his hands.
"You shouldn't be touching this," Papa scolded, tucking it away. "it's dangerous."
"Why?" Milo pouted. "The Beast is coming here and we have to be prepared."
Papa nodded." Yes he is coming but you're still too young to be handling a knife, you could get hurt."
Milo huffed in that dramatic nine-year-old way, and Mama reached out to ruffle his hair. "Come sit, love. I made stew."
The tension eased as bowls were passed around. I took my usual spot beside the window, moonlight spilling over the table like liquid silver. Mama always said I looked different in the moon—my eyes turning brighter, almost glowing.
"You're quiet tonight, Aurora," Mama murmured, glancing my way.
I hesitated. "The wind feels strange."
Papa paused mid-spoonful. "Strange how?"
"Like…" I searched for the right word. "Like it's carrying a warning."
The fire snapped loudly, as if reacting. Milo's eyes widened.
Papa set his bowl down. "You're staying inside for the rest of the night. No excuses."
"I wasn't planning to sneak out," I said lightly.
But his brows drew together, deepening the lines across his forehead. "Aurora, I'm being serious, promise me you will not leave this house."
didn't like the urgency in his voice.
I didn't like the fear gathering in the room like a thick fog.
Still, I nodded. "I promise."
He exhaled, relieved.
Hours later, after dishes were washed and Mama had gone to bed, I lay awake staring at the wooden beams above my head. The wind pressed against the walls, rattling them like bones.
Something was coming.
I could feel it like a tug in my chest.
A pull toward the forest.
Toward the unknown.
Toward something that felt… inevitable.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation.
But the wind whispered again—low, deliberate, almost a voice.
And even though I was safe inside my small cottage, wrapped beneath wool blankets and my parents only a room away…
I couldn't shake the feeling that tonight was the last night my life would ever be normal.
That something had found me.
Or worse—
that something was coming for me.
_________________________________________________________________
The bell tower only rang twice a year—once for the Harvest Festival, and once for danger.
Tonight, it tolled with a slow, mournful rhythm that vibrated through the floorboards of our cottage. My pulse raced.
Papa was already at my door, jaw clenched. "They're calling a village meeting."
Mama frowned, standing behind him, clutching her shawl around her shoulders. "At this hour? It must be serious."
Milo peeked out from behind papa, eyes wide.
The bell kept ringing.
Slow.
Echoing.
Unsettling.
I swallowed the knot forming in my throat. "Do you think it's about—"
"Get your cloak," Papa interrupted. "We're not speculating inside the house."
But as we all stepped into the cold night air and joined the stream of villagers heading toward the square, I felt it—every stare flickering toward Blackpine Forest. Fear rippled through the crowd like a shiver passed from body to body.
And the wind, still sharp from earlier, kept brushing my neck like icy fingers.
_________________________________________________________________
Elder's Square glowed with lanterns hanging from tall posts, illuminating the faces of nearly every villager. Children huddled near their parents with wide, fearful eyes, and the hunters stood at the front gripping their spears.
Elder Matthew —our oldest leader and the only man alive who'd seen the Beast with his own eyes, or so the stories claimed—stepped forward.
"People of Eldermist," he said, voice as brittle as winter branches. "We convene tonight because the forest… has awakened."
A murmur spread like wildfire through the square. Papa stiffened beside me.
Another elder, Mara, lifted a parchment so old it looked ready to crumble. "Three signs have been recorded in our history—three omens that warn the Beast has stirred."
I felt Milo grip my sleeve.
"First," Elder Mara said, "the winds turn cold even in warm seasons."
The wind whipped through the square then, as if acknowledging her.
She continued: "Second, the wolf fall silent."
A hush fell so complete I realized we hadn't heard a wolf howl all night. And that was wrong—wolves always howled at the full moon.
"Third…" Elder Rowan took over, voice trembling. "The moon glows red."
Gasps erupted. A few villagers turned their faces upward, but clouds covered the sky.
"It's not red," someone muttered, glancing up the darkened sky.
"Not yet," Rowan said quietly.
The crowd stilled.
"Tonight," Elder Rowan rasped, "our hunters found tracks at the riverbank. Not wolf. Not bear." He held up a sketch—massive claw marks carved deep into rock.
My breath hitched.
"The Beast has crossed into our territory."
The words landed like stones dropping into water—each ripple spreading fear.