"In the heart of the forest, the moon does not rule alone.
Every beast bows to fang and blood,
and the law is written in the silence after the kill."
— Fragment of the Old Hunt
⸻
The howl came again—long, deep, and resonant enough to stir the trees.
It was not a challenge. It was a call.
Lin Wuji followed it through the dark until the air grew thick with scent—fur, musk, iron. The forest around him changed. The ground became slick with moss, the trees wider, older. The moonlight broke through the canopy in thin, trembling blades.
He was not afraid. The fear had burned out of him nights ago. What filled him now was sharper, more primal—an instinct that felt like memory.
He reached a clearing veiled in mist. Something moved within it—shapes gliding between the trees, low and silent. Yellow eyes flickered, reflecting the moon like broken glass.
Wolves.
Dozens.
They didn't stalk him. They surrounded him.
The first one stepped forward, grey and scarred, its head low but gaze unyielding. Another followed, then three more. Their breath clouded the air. They formed a half-circle, studying him the way soldiers measured distance before a strike.
Wuji didn't move. Every muscle screamed to run, but some deeper pulse in his blood held him still. The beasts inhaled, tasting him, searching for what he was.
The largest of them—dark as midnight, with a single torn ear—growled softly. Not a threat, not yet. A question.
Wuji lowered his head in return.
Something changed in the air. The growl faded. The pack's tension eased—slightly.
A connection bloomed inside him, wordless and alive. It wasn't speech. It was meaning carried through pulse and breath.
Who are you?
The thought struck him like a heartbeat in his mind. He swallowed hard, answering aloud though he didn't know if they would understand.
"I don't know."
The grey wolf tilted its head, understanding enough.
Another step closer. Another breath shared. The circle tightened. Their heat pressed against him from all sides, the musk of wildness heavy in his lungs.
One sniffed his shoulder, another brushed his arm. He held still. The instinct to strike or flee melted into something else—a strange, grounding awareness.
When they pulled away, he felt the forest exhale.
The scarred one barked once, low and deliberate, then turned north. The rest followed.
Without thinking, Wuji followed too.
⸻
They ran together beneath a bleeding dawn. The forest blurred past—a living ocean of green and shadow. The wolves moved with effortless rhythm, weaving through roots and stone, paws soundless.
Wuji kept pace.
He didn't know how, but his body remembered the rhythm—the push of air in his lungs, the roll of his spine, the angle of every leap. The wolves accepted his presence without looking back.
By midday, the pack slowed as they reached the foothills of the northern valley. A clearing opened before them, wide and circular, its center marked by an ancient slab of stone veined with moss. The scent here was stronger—dominant, heavy with command.
The pack spread into formation. Silence rippled through them like wind through tall grass.
Then, from the shadows, the Alpha appeared.
⸻
Fangxin.
He was enormous—fur black streaked with white scars that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. His eyes burned gold ringed with grey, bright enough to make the mist shimmer. When he walked, the ground seemed to yield beneath his weight.
The pack lowered their heads.
Wuji felt his knees weaken.
The Alpha stopped before him, studying him in silence. The air thickened with power—a presence that pressed into bone, commanding instinctive obedience.
Then, Fangxin spoke—not with words, but through the blood itself.
You reek of man.
The sound wasn't heard; it was felt—a voice that thrummed inside his chest.
Wuji's jaw clenched. "I was."
The pack growled, the sound rolling like distant thunder. Fangxin's stare sharpened.
You wear the moon's gift, yet speak with the tongue of prey.
"I didn't choose this."
Choice is a word for the weak.
The Alpha began to circle him, each step silent and measured. The scent of old blood followed his path.
You've killed, Fangxin's voice rumbled. Our kind. Their kind. Both. You carry death and call it survival.
"I'm not your enemy."
The Alpha stopped, muzzle inches from his face, golden eyes unblinking.
Then prove it.
⸻
The pack widened their circle. Tension crackled like lightning. Fangxin lunged—one fluid motion of speed and weight.
Wuji dodged, rolling across the dirt. The ground shook where Fangxin's claws struck. The Alpha turned instantly, a blur of black muscle.
Wuji met him head-on.
Their collision thundered through the clearing. Fangxin's strength was monstrous—each blow deliberate, testing, forcing him back. Wuji fought on instinct, faster than thought. His limbs remembered movements his mind didn't know—blocks, strikes, leaps that blurred between man and beast.
When the Alpha slammed him to the ground, Wuji twisted free, panting. His vision tunneled. The moon above flared white.
Fangxin lunged again. Wuji countered, claws raking against the Alpha's flank. Fur tore. Blood spattered. The pack roared, encircling tighter.
Fangxin struck back with a paw heavy as a hammer, knocking Wuji against the stone. The impact cracked the earth beneath him.
The Alpha loomed, pressing him down with one massive paw.
You bleed our blood, Fangxin's thought thundered. You cannot deny it.
Wuji growled, half-human, half-wolf. "I never asked for this!"
Fangxin leaned closer until their breaths mingled.
No one asks. The moon decides.
Then, with a shove, the Alpha stepped back. The weight lifted.
The pack howled—not in triumph, but in recognition.
Wuji knelt, chest heaving, his skin slick with blood and sweat. The ache in his bones was unbearable—but within it thrummed something fierce, electric.
Fangxin's gaze softened—barely.
You will run with us, he said. Until you remember what you are. Then you will choose—fang or fire.
He turned and walked into the trees. The pack followed, silent shadows fading into mist.
⸻
Wuji stood alone, breathing hard. The clearing hummed with the echo of the Alpha's command.
For the first time, he felt the forest not as an enemy, but as something alive, ancient, watching.
He wiped the blood from his jaw, eyes glinting gold beneath the moonlight.
There were no monsters here.
Only laws older than mercy.
He looked toward the path Fangxin had taken and followed—not out of fear or hunger, but something deeper.
Belonging.