The night the red string appeared

.......

The moon hung low, a pale sliver swallowed by racing storm clouds. The wind howled through the ancient forest like a mourning spirit, shaking the skeletal branches. Somewhere deep within the shadows, a lone wolf moved silently — eyes glowing amber, muscles coiled like springs. Centuries ago, he had been a prince among wolves, blessed by the moon goddess herself. But betrayal had poisoned that blessing, twisting it into a curse that chained his soul to torment.

Tonight was different.

A sudden gust tore through the air, carrying a strange warmth. His gaze snapped to a flicker of crimson glowing faintly before him — a thread, thin but unbreakable, shimmering like liquid fire. It stretched out, weaving through the trees, pulling taut toward a distant light — a girl. She stood in the clearing, unaware of the invisible tether binding their fates. Her eyes, wide with confusion, traced the thread as it wound around her wrist, glowing against her pale skin. The wolf’s heart, heavy with centuries of solitude, beat faster — both with dread and an impossible hope.

Because this thread was no ordinary fate. It was a bond that could save him… or doom them both.

Prologue (continued)

Her side of the thread

.....

I didn’t know why I was standing there, in the middle of the forest, when the rain had just stopped and the air smelled like earth and secrets. My fingers tingled like they’d been touched by electricity, and I kept looking down at my wrist. That’s when I saw it—a faint glow, red and warm, wrapped around me like a whisper. It felt like a thread, thin but real. And even though I couldn’t see where it led, I felt it pulling me somewhere. I wanted to pull away, but my heart didn’t want me to. It felt like that thread was tying me to something… someone. I shivered, but not because of the cold. It was like I was standing on the edge of something huge, something I wasn’t ready to understand.

Then, suddenly—like a lightning strike in my mind—a memory flashed through me. I was a little girl again, sitting by a window during a storm. My mother’s hand in mine, warm and steady. She told me stories about the moon—how it watched over us, how it tied souls together with invisible threads. She said one day, I’d find mine. That I was never really alone.

The memory faded as fast as it came, leaving me breathless and even more confused. But one thing was clear: this red thread wasn’t just a dream. It was real. And it was mine.

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There’s a certain kind of silence that exists only in the woods.

Not empty. Not lonely. Just… whole.

That’s what drew me here in the first place. Not the pine trees or the fresh mountain air — though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love those too. But the stillness, the way time seemed to pause between rustling leaves and a bird's distant call… it was like the world finally made sense here. Out here, I could breathe.

I wasn’t running from anything dramatic. No big heartbreak or tragic backstory. Just… life had always felt a little too loud, a little too demanding. Somewhere between city deadlines and forced smiles, I lost the version of myself that felt real. So I left. Packed up my things, sold what didn’t matter, and found this tiny cabin hugging the edge of Pine Hollow Forest.

It’s been a year now.

A full year of learning how to live on my own. Fixing leaking taps, hauling firewood, burning more meals than I’d admit.

But also — morning sunlight through foggy windows. Hot tea in silence. Photographs that told stories no words could ever hold.

I wasn’t complicated. I didn’t need much. Just my camera, a working kettle, and boots that could survive a muddy trail. And yet… lately, something about the forest felt different. The silence, heavier. Like the trees were listening.

I slung my camera around my neck as I stepped off the porch, boots crunching into the wet soil. The air had that post-rain sharpness I loved — clean and a little wild.

I walked the same trail I always did, through the pines and toward the small clearing where the wild deer sometimes came in the morning light. But today, they weren’t there. Not a single hoofprint. No birdsong either.

It wasn’t exactly eerie. But it was strange.

And then it happened.

Not a sound. Not a sight.

Just a feeling. Like I wasn’t alone.

I paused, heart beating a little faster, fingers tightening around my camera. I turned slowly. Nothing. Just trees. Fog. And quiet.

"Get a grip, Luna," I whispered to myself, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. But my voice sounded out of place here. Like it didn’t belong.

Still, I lifted my camera and snapped a few shots — the light hitting the mist just right. The kind of photograph that always stirred something deep in me. Nostalgia, maybe. Or longing. For what, I couldn’t quite say.

And then…

A flicker. Barely a blur between the trees. I turned quickly, lens up, breath caught. Click.

I lowered the camera. Nothing there.

But I’d seen it. Something — someone — had been watching me.

I stared into the stillness, my heart thrumming louder than it should. But I didn’t run. I didn’t even move. Something inside me whispered, *stay*.

So I did.

Even though the forest no longer felt like it was mine alone.

Even though the silence felt like it belonged to someone else now.

I didn’t know it then, but the moment I stepped into that clearing, I’d entered *his* world.

And nothing — not my quiet life, not my love for solitude, not even the camera that had always helped me make sense of the world — would ever be the same again.

The forest shifted.

It was slight — a hush in the wind, a change in the weight of the silence — but I felt it like a burn under my skin. I always did, when something touched the edge of fate.

I was already awake. I never really slept. Not the way humans did. Not the way I used to. Sleep was a mercy I lost the night the curse took hold.

It had been years — maybe decades. I stopped counting after the pain stopped surprising me.

I stood beneath the old pine, my breath visible in the cold, heavy air. Every nerve in my body was tense, tight, alert.

She was here.

I didn’t know how I knew. Only that something had clicked into place. Like the earth exhaled… and I breathed in *her*.

I didn't see her. Not yet. But I could feel her. A heartbeat — not hers, mine — reacting as if her presence was carved into it long ago. A pull. A thread.

The red string.

I had stopped believing in it. At least, I told myself I had. A foolish tale tied to fate and soulmates, spoken in the old tongue when wolves still ruled under moonlight.

But now… my curse stirred. The inked runes along my ribs burned faintly — a reminder of the magic I could never escape. The red thread was tied. Someone had entered the forest who wasn’t meant to. Someone *meant for me*.

*No.* I clenched my fists. Fate was cruel. She would not come now. Not when I had nothing left to offer but darkness and regret.

Then it happened.

A sound. A *click* — distant but sharp. A camera.

I turned, eyes narrowing toward the edge of the trees. She was there, somewhere. Not close enough to see me, but close enough to *feel* me.

I let my wolf rise just beneath the surface. Not to change — not yet — but to sense. To taste the shift in the wind.

And then… the trigger.

The air around us — it rippled.

Not wind. Not sound.

But memory. A sudden flash of something not mine — a girl, alone in a field, laughing at nothing, staring at the sky like it held her whole future.

*Her* memory.

The thread had connected.

And if I felt it — she did too.

I pressed my hand to the tree bark, grounding myself, even as my pulse roared like a storm. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone in this forest. Not fully.

But fate has claws. It does not play nice.

And I knew this was just the beginning.

The curse whispered in my ear like it always did:

“She is yours. But you are a warning she will never be ready for.”

And still… I took a step toward the clearing.

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