Tear

I see the wolf standing in front of me, its familiar presence stirring something deep inside. My mind flashes back to the haunting sight of the dead wolves impaled on stakes, their lifeless bodies swaying in the cold air. My chest tightens as the image consumes me, and I drop to my knees, unable to contain the flood of emotions.

Tears fall freely, sobs wracking my body. The wolf moves toward me, his large frame lowering until he’s by my side. I reach out, gripping his thick fur with trembling fingers as if holding on to him is the only thing keeping me from shattering completely. His warmth surrounds me, and he presses his head gently against mine, nuzzling me in comfort. His tongue laps at my tear-streaked face, offering a quiet reassurance in the midst of my grief.

But the weight on my heart is too much. I can’t stop the cries that erupt from deep within me, each one more painful than the last. Why does it hurt so much?

The wolf begins to shift, his form morphing until a man takes his place. Strong arms scoop me up as if I weigh nothing, and I instinctively curl against his chest, gripping onto him for dear life. He holds me close, letting me sob into his bare skin, my cries muffled against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He sits down with me still cradled in his arms, his body radiating warmth, though I can feel the tension in his muscles as he fights to remain strong for me.

I hiccup, the tears slowly drying up as I nestle deeper into his embrace, my face pressed against his chest. My eyes fix on the wolf tattoo etched into his skin, a symbol that feels strangely familiar, as if it belongs to both of us. His fingers move softly through my hair, tucking the damp strands behind my ear. The tenderness of the gesture almost makes me want to cry all over again, but instead, I allow myself to breathe, inhaling his soothing honey scent that calms my shattered heart.

For a moment, I wish time could stop. I want to stay like this forever, wrapped in the safety of his arms, far away from the pain and chaos of the world outside. The intensity of everything fades, replaced by the quiet comfort he provides.

But something stirs inside me, pulling me back to reality. My mind starts to register small details—the familiar feel of the dress clinging to my skin, the same one I wore when I arrived in the mines. I glance down at my body and notice the blood. My wound is no longer bleeding, but there’s dried blood everywhere, caked onto my skin like a reminder of the battles I’ve fought.

Then, something unexpected—a tear, warm and unfamiliar, lands on my arm. It’s not mine.

I lift my head, blinking against the light as my eyes adjust, searching for his face. But the world around me shifts in an instant.

My body jolts, and I find myself lying in my bed, back in the home we were in yesterday. The soft blankets wrap around me, and the scent of familiarity fills the air. My mind reels as I try to piece together what happened, the last thing I remember. The mines. That’s right—I was in the mines, rescuing the fairies. The iron guard… the fight… How did I get here?

My eyes dart to my shoulder. The wound is completely healed, though the memory of the pain still lingers in my mind. My guardians must have brought me back. But I can’t stand the feeling of the dried blood on me any longer.

I rush to the bathroom, letting the hot water cascade over my skin as I step into the shower. The sensation is overwhelming, the warmth cleansing not just my body but my mind as well. As the blood washes away, swirling down the drain, I replay the battle with the iron guard in my head. The sheer force of its sword should have taken my arm clean off. How did I survive that blow? My fingers trace the area where the blade had struck, feeling the raised, rough texture of the scar that now sits there. It stretches like a strap, a permanent reminder of the battle I fought.

My gaze shifts to my arm, where my runes glow faintly under the shower’s spray. They spiral up the length of my arm like an intricate sleeve of symbols, each one carrying a weight of power. Two new ones stand out—fresh, untested. One feels like it has something to do with tracking, the other, fire. But it’s not like Arya’s fire. No, this one feels ancient, more primal. I stare at them for a moment longer, wondering how much more of my power I’ve yet to discover.

Stepping out of the shower, I clap my hands, summoning a delicate dress of purple and white lace, the fabric flowing gently around me. It’s soft against my skin, a small comfort after everything that’s happened. With a deep breath, I teleport downstairs, ready to face the day.

But the moment I arrive, I’m met with grim faces. My friends are gathered in silence, their expressions somber and filled with a heaviness that presses down on the room. My heart sinks as I take in their worried stares. Something’s wrong.