"That's her..."
"The female werewolf."
"Her scent is...amazing."
"So that's what female werewolves look like?"
"Ha. Doesn't look like anything special to me. Just another woman—just with golden eyes and white hair."
The voices surrounded Luna like smoke—whispers clinging to her ears no matter how hard she tried to ignore them.
Her head remained bowed low, hair falling forward in a tangled curtain, as if it could shield her from their stares, from the weight of their curiosity and judgment.
She wanted to scream.
'Shut the hell up. All of you. Just shut up.'
But she didn't. She couldn't. Her throat felt too tight, her body too weary, too filthy to fight back. Dirt caked her skin, her dress stuck to her like a second layer of shame, and the frayed rope burned against her wrists with every step she took.
She wanted to think 'I want to go home.'
But even that thought felt like a lie now.
The elders were right—her uncle wouldn't want her back. Not after what she'd become. Not with these eyes, these claws, this cursed blood. If she ran, where would she even go?
'I have no home anymore. No place I belong.'
So, for now, she would bide her time. Observe. Listen. Learn. Gather information and wait for the moment she could use it. It was the only way she would survive.
She just prayed this Ravhiel wasn't as insufferable as the rest.
Because if he was… she might finally snap.
The thrall guided her off the muddy path, and gradually, the biting whispers faded behind them. The change in atmosphere was immediate—the air softened, the damp musk of soil giving way to the faint perfume of wildflowers and fresh grass.
The sound of boots sloshing through mud was replaced by the gentle brush of footsteps against moss and petals.
And then, she heard a voice.
"Oh? A guest."
It was soft. Gentle. Almost… kind.
The strange contrast to everything she had experienced so far made her glance up before she could stop herself.
Her breath caught.
A man sat in a wheelchair beneath a large tree, the sun filtering down through its leaves like strands of gold. His black hair caught the light in places, his golden eyes reflecting a warmth that didn't match the coldness of this place.
He was handsome, not in the rough and rugged way the others were, but in a calm, almost ethereal manner.
But that wasn't what shocked her.
'He's… in a wheelchair?'
As they neared, her gaze flicked down in disbelief. Yes. There were wheels beneath him, ornate and hand-forged, not some temporary injury. His blanket-covered legs didn't shift, didn't twitch.
'But… he's a werewolf. They heal fast. Stronger than humans. So why…?'
It was only then she noticed what surrounded him.
Flowers.
Dozens of them.
Some were planted directly into the earth, blooming in controlled rows. Others spilled from pots of varying sizes, their petals painted in vivid reds, pale blues, deep purples. It was a garden—lush, alive, and breathtaking.
And this man, Ravhiel, held a silver watering can in his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Luna blinked.
'What is this place?'
"Oh, and if it isn't Rose," Ravhiel said suddenly, his golden gaze now on the thrall beside her. A small smile curved his lips.
'Rose? That's her name?'
The girl—no, the woman—bowed her head. And then, to Luna's surprise, she slowly reached up and removed the cloth over her mouth.
Luna stared, stunned.
'She could… take it off? No. She wouldn't dare in front of the others. Only him.'
Her eyes flicked toward Ravhiel, whose smile hadn't faded.
'What… is with this guy?'
She didn't like it. It was too soft. Too easy. Too… wrong. She couldn't afford to let her guard down, not for anyone. Especially not someone who smiled so much in a place like this.
"S-Sir Ravhiel…" Rose spoke finally, her voice timid, soft—almost sweet, with a hint of stutter. She didn't seem afraid of him. Not like she was with the elders.
"Mhm?" Ravhiel replied, without looking up from the flower he was tending.
"T-The elders asked me t-to bring Miss Luna here… and… uh… t-they want you to tour her…"
"Oh? That's new," he said, chuckling warmly, as if someone had just asked him to share a story by the fire. "But then again, no one knows the den better than I do."
He turned his full attention to Luna, and once again, his smile found her. "Hello, Luna. It's nice to meet you."
She didn't answer.
But she looked at him.
Watched him carefully.
Waiting.
'Show me your real face. Let's see how long you can keep this nice-guy act going.'
If he was like the others—arrogant, patronizing, predatory—it would only be a matter of time before he slipped.
But he didn't seem bothered by her silence.
"Not much of a talker?" he mused. "I understand. Our pack practically stole you from your home. I wouldn't talk either."
He gestured to himself. "I'm Ravhiel, as you guessed. And as you can probably tell… I'm the pack's resident gardener."
'Gardener? Why would a wolf pack even need a gardener?'
"You must be wondering why a wolf pack needs a gardener," Ravhiel said casually, not looking up.
Luna flinched.
'Did he just read my mind?'
He chuckled. "No, I can't read minds. It was just written all over your face."
He rolled his wheelchair forward, the wheels moving smoothly over the grass. Luna instinctively stiffened, her body tense, uncertain if she should step back—but she didn't move.
She was… curious.
"Sir?" Rose asked timidly, glancing between Luna and Ravhiel as he extended his hand toward her.
His fingers were long, pale, and calm—too calm.
"Can I have her rope?" Ravhiel's voice was smooth, almost casual, like he was asking for a cup of tea rather than control over a living being.
Luna nearly laughed—but not because she found it funny. The bitter sound got stuck in her throat, becoming a lump she couldn't swallow.
'Of course. Just like the rest of them.' she thought coldly. 'Pretending to be kind, only to tighten the leash the moment you let your guard down.'
What had she even expected? A savior? Mercy?
Foolish.
Rose hesitated only for a moment before nodding, silently handing the rope over to him. Luna couldn't even bring herself to look. Her eyes burned—not with tears, but with fury. Shame. Exhaustion. She stared at the grass instead, willing the tour to be over before it could even begin.
She didn't move when she heard the wheelchair rolling toward her again. The grass barely muffled the sound of its approach. But then—
A sharp gasp from Rose.
"S-Sir Ravhiel, should you really—"
Luna tensed, her head snapping up at the urgency in Rose's voice.
And then she saw it.
A flash of silver in the light.
A blade. Not a knife, but something similar—gardening shears, glinting coldly in the morning sun as they neared her.
'What the—?!'
Instinct kicked in, and Luna stepped back, her heart leaping up into her throat. But Ravhiel pulled her forward without warning. His grip on the rope was strong—unnaturally strong for a man in a wheelchair. Her breath caught in her chest.
"W-What are you—" Luna stammered, a flicker of real fear flashing in her eyes.
She braced for pain, expecting to be cut, branded, punished—
Snip.
The sound was soft, almost too soft to register at first.
But it wasn't her skin that the blade had bitten into.
It was the rope.
Luna stared in disbelief as her arms slowly dropped to her sides. Her wrists… they were free.
The rough, chafing binds that had been her constant companion—her cage—now lay on the ground like a discarded snake skin.
"Huh?" she muttered, staring at her hands.
No blood. No pain.
Just freedom.
"There we go," Ravhiel said pleasantly, tossing the shears aside into a nearby flower bed like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. His smile hadn't faded.
'Huh?'
Luna blinked.
'What just… happened?'
Her mind spun, trying to make sense of it. Her heartbeat hadn't caught up yet. It was still pounding in her ears, like the danger hadn't passed. Because this didn't make any sense.
Why would he free her?
"Let's head on to the tour then," Ravhiel said casually, turning his chair with practiced ease, the wheels crunching softly over the grass and gravel.
But Luna didn't move.
She couldn't.
"Why..." Her voice cracked.
Ravhiel paused, glancing back at her. "Hm? Did you say something?"
She looked at him, really looked at him—this strange, calm man with golden eyes and useless legs, who had a garden full of flowers and a smile she couldn't read.
"Why would you do that?"