Chapter 1: The beginning of an ordinary life

The village of Ravenglen lay nestled in the shadow of the misty woods, its narrow paths winding between modest stone cottages. Life here was simple, but it carried an undercurrent of unease. To the villagers, Aurelia’s family was an enigma—a line cursed by whispers of old magic. And yet, Aurelia carried herself with quiet grace, her head held high against the sharp tongues of the townsfolk.

Aurelia knelt in the soft dirt of her family’s garden, cradling a wounded sparrow in her hands. Its wing was twisted unnaturally, but she spoke to it gently, her voice as soothing as the morning breeze. “You’ll fly again,” she promised, her fingers brushing lightly over its feathers. Though she didn’t know how, warmth always seemed to flow through her touch, knitting together what was broken.

Within moments, the bird’s wing stretched out, whole once more. It fluttered away, disappearing into the sky.

From the porch, her grandmother, Amara, watched with a frown. “Aurelia, you must be careful,” she warned. Her weathered face was framed by a scarf, her gray eyes sharp despite her years. “The world doesn’t take kindly to miracles.”

Aurelia stood, brushing the dirt from her hands. “It’s just a bird, Grandmother. Who would care?”

“Not the bird, child,” Amara replied, her voice heavy with meaning. “But those who see. They’ll wonder. They’ll fear.”

The villagers already feared them. Aurelia had heard their whispers—the stories of how her mother had vanished, the rumors of strange powers. Her father had tried to shield her from their judgment, but even he had succumbed to despair, leaving the family years ago. Now, it was just Aurelia, her protective older brother Kael, and Amara. The weight of their family’s secret hung over them like a storm cloud.

That afternoon, Aurelia ventured into the woods, a basket slung over her arm. The forest was her sanctuary, a place where judgment couldn’t reach her. She hummed softly as she picked herbs, her mind wandering to dreams of a life beyond Ravenglen—a life unburdened by fear and secrets.

She was reaching for a sprig of lavender when she heard it: a low, pained whine. Turning, she saw a creature sprawled beneath a tree, its dark fur matted with blood. It was a wolf, though unlike any she had seen before. Its eyes, a piercing silver, locked onto hers, and she froze.

The creature whimpered again, its body trembling. Aurelia’s heart ached at the sight. She knew the risks—knew what Amara would say—but she couldn’t walk away. Kneeling beside the wolf, she reached out cautiously. “I won’t hurt you,” she murmured.

As her fingers brushed its fur, a familiar warmth spread through her hands. The wolf flinched but didn’t pull away. Slowly, the gash along its side began to close, the blood drying, the skin mending. When the healing was complete, the wolf staggered to its feet, staring at her with an intensity that made her shiver.

Before she could react, it turned and bolted into the trees, leaving her alone.

That evening, as dusk fell over Ravenglen, a different kind of shadow descended upon the village. Strangers in dark cloaks prowled the streets, their eyes scanning every corner. Zorath’s agents were here, their presence unsettling.

From the safety of their home, Amara peered through a crack in the shutters. “They’re looking for someone,” she said grimly. “Or something.”

Kael, sharpening a blade by the hearth, scowled. “Let them come. They won’t touch us.”

But Aurelia’s mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the memory of the wolf’s eyes—eyes that had seemed almost human.

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