The moonlight was silver when Arya stepped out of the cabin—her heart cracked open, bleeding emotions she couldn't name. Each breath she took burned like frost in her lungs. The night was painfully quiet, only her footsteps crunching against the snow echoed her isolation.
Her fingers trembled as they clutched the old camcorder. It had been her idea to capture Rihaan's reaction. A midnight surprise. A memory to cherish.
But instead… she had seen enough to haunt her forever.
Isha's lipstick smeared across Rihaan's neck. His arms wrapped tightly around her. Her best friend's whispers drowning in his laughter. Their silhouettes carved in betrayal under the moonlight.
She had run. Out. Away. Into the cold. Into the woods. Away from the world that had shattered her in seconds.
Now, here she was—alone—each snowflake slicing her like tiny shards of truth.
Arya kept walking, deeper into the forest, blinded by tears and pain. The trees were tall, silent witnesses. Somewhere above, the moon shifted—a shade of blue crept into its glow, as though it, too, mourned for her.
A long, echoing howl cut through the night.
She froze. Her heartbeat stilled.
The howl wasn't human.
It was ancient. Agonizing. As if something alive and broken had called to the heavens with centuries of grief.
Arya turned sharply toward the sound. She wasn't thinking. Her feet moved before her mind could catch up. Her pulse raced in her ears, louder than the wind whispering through the pines.
Then she saw it.
Just beyond the clearing, illuminated by the eerie moonlight, stood a man.
Nude. Still. Facing the moon.
His back rippled with strength, muscles lined like carved stone. But what caught her attention—what stole her breath—was the intricate mark burned into his skin. It pulsed faintly like it had a heartbeat of its own. A symbol. Old and almost… sacred.
In his hand, he held a pendant—a silver locket with a glowing blue gem at its center.
Arya gasped silently, slowly lifting the camcorder to her eye, trying to zoom in. She focused on the pendant. The mark. Click.
But suddenly, the man tilted his head, sniffing the air.
She stiffened.
"No…" the man whispered into the wind, his voice a deep tremor. "Not again... She can't be here."
He turned, his face still hidden from her sight, but she could feel it—he was searching. Her.
Arya ducked behind a thick cluster of bushes, heart slamming against her ribs like a drumbeat of panic. She clutched the camcorder close. Her scent. Could he smell her?
The man stepped forward, boots crunching the snow.
"Where are you?" he said, voice thick with something—pain? Longing? Rage?
Then—right before her eyes—his body began to convulse.
Bones cracked. Skin tore. A sound like thunder echoed as his frame twisted and reshaped, fur sprouting from his spine. His scream was no longer human—it was a howl of transformation.
Arya's mouth dropped open in horror. She tried to back away silently, but her foot slipped on the frozen ground. The camcorder jolted from her hand and cracked against a stone.
She fell—hard. Rolling down a slope hidden under layers of snow and ice. Sharp branches tore her skin. She landed with a cry, leg twisted unnaturally, blood soaking her jeans.
Then came the growls.
Low. Menacing. Multiple.
Glowing eyes emerged from the shadows. Wolves. Dozens.
Their breath steamed in the cold, teeth bared.
Arya couldn't move. She tried to crawl, pain searing up her thigh. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her vision blurred.
This is it, she thought. This is where I end.
But just as the first wolf lunged—
A blur of gold slammed into it mid-air.
A giant beast. Towering. Majestic.
A werewolf.
His eyes glowed—not red. Not silver.
Golden.
He snarled, standing protectively above her, fangs bared. The pack retreated. They recognized him. Feared him.
Arya barely saw what happened next. Claws. Roars. Darkness.
Then… silence.
And black.
She awoke to the scent of antiseptic.
Her eyes fluttered open to a white ceiling and soft beeping nearby. A dull ache throbbed in her leg.
"Arya?" a familiar voice said.
It was Richa. And Mehul. Then Isha. Even Rihaan, looking worried—but somehow distant.
"You're okay," Mehul smiled. "You scared the hell out of us. We found you unconscious near the cliffs, you were unconscious for almost two days. Doctors said it was probably an accident… You're lucky."
Arya blinked. Her mind spun. Accident?
"The forest…" she croaked. "The wolves… The man—"
"Shhh," Isha leaned in. "You must've been hallucinating, Arya. You had a bad fall. A real bad one."
Arya's hand reached under the pillow, searching.
The camcorder.
She found it—cracked but still intact.
She clicked open the screen.
Only static.
The tape had shattered.
Her proof… gone.
But something inside her didn't let go. The locket. The mark. The golden eyes.
It felt real.
Was it?
Or just a cruel dream?
As the others talked around her, Arya stared out the window.
The moon was back to silver.
But something deep within whispered—
Not all dreams are made by sleep. And not all howls come from wolves.