14th Century

Somewhere in the mountain lands on the 14th century.....

On the crest of a mountain, a small village inhabited by a group of extraordinary people who can transform into enormous wolves. They referred to their small community as a “pack,” which is led by an “alpha” chief.

The majority of their dwellings were constructed entirely of straw, hay, and wood. A massive fire blazes in the dead of night, rapidly consuming highly flammable materials down into ashes.

Frantic shouting and wailing drown by the ferocious crackling of the burgeoning massive fire. Few men attempted to extinguish it with a wooden bucket filled with water, but their efforts were fruitless, as the angry fire had consumed nearly half of the small hut.

The door collapses with a loud groaned, revealing from the inside of the burning hut a slump of a man that is started to stir into awake.

“Murderer!”

Dylan woke up by the screams of voices surrounding him. The crackling of fire sounds deafening on his ear and a palpable heat crashing him down, almost burning him alive.

Opening his eyes, he first saw the alpha of blood moon Pack standing just beyond the fire-licked door beams. It was his hollering voice that had to rouse him up, pointing at him with an expression of both horrified and rage.

His mind was still in mosaic, and everything around him appeared to be hazy.

Dylan made an attempt to disseminate his distorted gaze. The walls of his small hut were engulfed in flames, and blood was splattered across the wooden floor. The pungent odor of suffocating smoke filled his nostrils, pounding at the back of his head like a hammer as he attempted to make sense of what was happening.

Blood.

That was the last thing he recalled seeing after losing consciousness. He lowered his gaze to his red liquid-coated arms, and the fogs in his vision began to dissipate, allowing him to see clearly. As he followed the trail of dried blood, he came across a macabre scene that shattered his heart.

The ability to stand fled his body as he took a gander over the two corpses laid in front of him. Body strips with deep claw marks, mutilated beyond recognition was the corpses of his own family. His mate and his five years-old-son. Both eyes remained open, but they were glassy and lifeless, staring blankly above the small hut’s fire-engulfed canopy.

He looked once more to his bloodied hands, bits of flesh clinging on them.

It was already past dusk, and the massive fire was lighting into the night.

“He killed his own family!” Another voice rang from the outside, his head lifted, and he saw the gathering of the crowned circling on the burning hut.

His hut.

He couldn’t move. His mind seemed to stop processing everything that was happening around him, left in wonder on what exactly had transpired.

“Take him! He’s a monster!”

The alpha’s voice stands out from the chorus of cries, and the next thing he knew, two pairs of incredibly large hands clamped on his arms and dragged him viciously outside.

He didn’t fight with them. He didn’t protest nor do something to get off from their iron grasp as they kicked him behind his knees, making him fell forwards and bound his wrist behind him.

He just lets them.

He was still in a daze, confused, his heart grieving from the sudden loss of his family—the love of his life.

With one forceful tug, he was pulled harshly to his

feet and stand awkwardly, his head hanging low and his skin still burning with pain from the fire.

“Why did you kill my daughter! My grandson!”

Ahard punch suddenly landed squarely on his face, throwing his head to the side from the impact, and if it weren't for these two men holding him upright, he would’ve been uprooted from his feet.

It was Laura’s father.

“Answer me, you bastard! Why did you kill them?” He seethed once again, throwing another punch on the other side of his face.

On the spot where he was struck, pain erupted, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. He raised his gaze to his fuming father-in-law, blood trickling down the side of his temple, obfuscating his vision with red and tears that he was unaware were flowing from the corners of his eyes.

“I didn’t kill them,” he croaked, almost not recognizing his own voice. It was tinged with unexplained agony, grief, lamentations, and befuddlement.

“Liar!” Laura’s father roared in his face, spittle spraying on him as he grabbed him by the collar of his fire-licked shirt that adhered to his skin and slapped him backhanded one more time. His cheeks were painfully pierced by bony knuckles, busting the ironic tang of blood.

‘It is true, it was not me,’ he desired to say aloud, pleading with them to believe him, but he lacked the strength even to raise his voice and speak for himself. Instead, a sob broke into him.

He felt lost, useless, a piece of mutt that could do nothing to protect his family.

He last recalled them eating a hearty dinner around a single flickering gas lamp in the center of their meager table. His son, Myro, sat on his lap, poking his food with his spoon in a playful manner while Laura chastised him for spoiling their son excessively. She wasn’t angry with him, as her eyes gleamed as she glared at them.

Dylan only brushed off his mate with a laugh and fed Myro using his mouth with a piece of thick wild boar meat he had roasted from his hunt earlier.

They were savoring their meal when the door swung open unexpectedly, bringing with it a ferocious gush of winds—throwing the gas lamp around, spilling its flammable contents, and causing a massive fire to break out.

Everything has been a blur since then, too fast for him to even began to wrap his mind around what exactly had transpired.

“Take him to the stake and burn him alive.”

The verdict that was bestowed upon him brought Dylan to the current situation he was in. Before he could even react, he was once again dragged towards the center of their pack. His wrists were now tied with silver chains—a burning sensation biting on his skin where the silver touches.

Just then, on the uprisen dais, prepared pinewoods on the stake, piling around to ensure no way out. A death sentence punishment for those who committed heinous crimes, but Dylan didn’t commit any. He alleged to himself that he was innocent, but no matter how he begged them, no one would listen, no one believed in him.

The moon shines brightly above him. The cold night air blew past him as he stared at it. Silently, calling for the goddess to hear his pleas.

The image of his dead mate and son crosses his mind. They were definitely murdered, not by him but by someone.

But the question is who?

He was one of the pack’s hunters and an exemplary warrior at that.

He had no one in mind he could point to except for himself.

Had he really killed them?

were no other pieces of evidence left at the scene except they were all pointing at him.

‘I killed them, hatred to himself bloomed in his chest, even though he had not proved it, he claimed it to be his fault. If he did not murder them, he was incapable of protecting his family. He deserved to perish and rot in hell, having squandered two perfect lives ina single night. His will to live had been snatched away from him along with them.

From the corners of his eyes, he saw Laura’s father walks closer to the dais he was tied to. The fire from the torch flickering through the night reflected the rage that was blazing in this gaze.

“Die! You murderer!”

He throws the torch down to the pinewoods, combusting the light materials into roaring fire. Dylan didn’t move. He just stared down towards the crawling flames as they began to lick his toes. He was breathing heavily, but he refused any pain in his face. He deserved to suffer, to have this kind of punishment.

Just then, he thought he was about to die. A slight gust of wind carrying an unknown voice reaches through his ear, whispering, “Flee, my son, you are not to blame for their demise in this world. Flee and rebuild your life away from this desolate place. For when the time is ripe, I will grant your heart’s desire”

A warm, comforting touch of air caresses his face, and he’s damn sure that it wasn’t because of the fire that had made its way up to the stake he was bounded.

Just then, something strange happened. The loud clicking of silver chains resounded as it started to melt by the fire but wasn’t burning him nor touch his skin. He stood at the center of the dais, watching his hands became unbound. The flames grew more extensive, creating a barrier between him and the bewildered crowd as they stood astounded.

“Flee...”

The whisper urges him again as the fire parted, giving him away from where he could go and run away from this place.

Dylan deliberated at first because he didn’t even know where he would go if he left now. But if he stays, he’ll die. Not that he hadn’t expected that, but the voice that tells him to go weighs heavier in him.

With a ginger steps, he moved forward, and for the last time, he looked over his shoulders, watching the pack he had lived his entire life, where he had built his family, and now, he’s going to left them all behind.

And just beyond the clearing, the sight of the small burning hut had finally crumpled down into nothing but ambers and ashes.

Then, he ran, leaping into the air and transformed into a large silver wolf. The fire behind had protected him from them as they tried to chase him.

“He’s escaping!”

“Rogue! Dylan had gone rogue!”