His words strike something deep inside me—sharp and a pounding ache erupts in my skull. Then–images. Fragmented and flashing like lightning.
A little girl in a white dress, a glittering necklace resting against her chest. Tom’s laughter–my best friend—as we build a sandcastle and chase waves along the shore. The sweet scent of roses. A wooden swing beneath the old oak tree in the garden. My mother’s gentle fingers braiding my hair. My father lifting me into his arms, reading bedtime stories in a voice full of warmth and love. Early morning pancakes. Fireflies dancing in glass jars. Kisses on scraped knees.
My name was Maya… and it fits. It always did but tom used to call me M.
A soft smile tugs at my lips, comforted by the warmth of those memories. But then–like a curtain violently torn away–the light disappears. Because I remember everything now.
I was playing with Tom, building a sandcastle in the playground, when my mother suddenly appeared–panicked and frantic. A terrifying man was with her, and without warning, he stomped on my sandcastle, crushing it beneath his boot.
My mother dropped to her knees, cupping my face, her eyes wild with fear.
“Run to your room,” she whispered urgently. “Hide under the bed. Don’t come out until I come for you.”
So I did.
Hay there, trembling in silence, waiting for her to come. Waiting for her to say it was safe.
But she never came.
My stomach growled in hunger. The house had fallen silent–eerily so. Too quiet.
Eventually, I crawled out from under the bed, afraid but determined. I searched for food… for my mother… for Tom.
And then I passed the throne room.
The door was cracked open.
I paused. Listened.
Inside, men with deep, cruel voices spoke to the Alpha King–my father. They said I needed to be taken away. Sacrificed. Offered to complete some twisted ritual.
I froze.
Then—a hand clamped over my mouth from behind.
The world spun.
Next thing I knew, I was in a hut that stank of blood and dark magic. I never saw the face of the man who took me, only the way he moved. He walked with a limp–his steps uneven. He was old. Cold. Evil.
I was going to die.
They were going to sacrifice me.
But then… something inside me shifted.
Power?
I didn’t understand it then, but I called out with it. Not with words but with something deeper.
And she came.
A woman walked into the witch’s hut unnoticed, like she wasn’t supposed to be there. But my magic–whatever it was—had
drawn her to me. She had the same face as the woman I would later call Mother.
She didn’t hesitate.
She took me away.
She saved me.
And now… I remember all of it.
But the worst memory is still waiting.
It hits me without warning.
A blade piercing my chest.
Pain so raw, so deep, I feel it again now.
The throne room.
Those green eyes–haunting and familiar–staring down at me. Eyes like mine.
The Alpha King.
I gasp, my hand flying to my chest. It’s healed now… but it aches as if it’s been torn open all over again.
And that’s when it crashes into me- -the truth. That’s why his presence burned against my skin. Why I couldn’t stop looking at him.
Why something primal stirred in me every time he spoke.
Because I know him.
Because I remember.
Everything.
Who I am.
Who he is.
My hands tremble violently as I remember whispering “Father…” through bloodied lips… as I bled out on the floor.
Maybe he didn’t plunge the blade into my chest himself–but Celestia is his daughter too. That makes him responsible. He allowed it. The only reason he didn’t kill me himself… is because some part of him must have known. Must have felt the same strange, painful connection I did.
But what if I weren’t his daughter?
Would I already be dead?
The thought slices through me like a fresh blade.
My heart aches. My wolf… she’s still silent but the emptiness that once haunted me is gone. I can feel her presence now–quiet but healing in her own way, just like I am.
Then another realization strikes, and it sends my mind spiraling.
If the Alpha King is truly my father… that would make Celestia–my sister?
Panic surges in my chest. The Moon Goddess must be cruel to bind me to such a fate. But something doesn’t feel right. Something feels… off.
Celestia is about my age—maybe a year older–but I don’t remember ever having a sister or sibling. I remember being an only
child. Cherished. Protected. A mother and father who loved me completely.
