The first thing Mika noticed was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind that came after snowfall or dawn prayers…
But the heavy kind.
The kind that pressed against the ears like a warning.
His lashes fluttered.
Light filtered through thin curtains, pale and strange, as if even the morning sun had forgotten how to shine properly.
Mika's throat was dry. His body felt unfamiliar—like he had been poured into someone else's skin.
He tried to move, but a dull ache bloomed behind his temples.
A headache.
No…
Not a headache.
It was emptiness.
A hollow space where memories should have been.
He sat up abruptly, breath catching.
The room around him was small, simple, and warm. Wooden floors. A modest dresser. A cracked mirror near the corner. A faint scent of herbs lingering in the air.
It was not his room.
Or…
Was it?
His heart pounded.
Who am I?
The question rose instinctively, sharp and panicked.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
His fingers trembled as he pressed them against his forehead, as if he could physically force the past to return.
Nothing.
No childhood.
No name.
No life.
Just—
A single fragment.
A sensation.
Ink staining fingers.
The weight of a pen.
The final stroke of a story completed.
He remembered… finishing something.
A novel.
A BL novel.
He remembered typing the last line, exhausted but satisfied, whispering to himself—
"It's done."
And then…
Darkness.
A knock came suddenly, soft but urgent.
"Mika?"
The voice was feminine.
Gentle.
Familiar in a way that made his chest ache.
The door creaked open.
A woman stepped inside.
She looked to be in her late thirties, her brown hair loosely braided, eyes wide with worry. Her apron was dusted with flour, as though she had been pulled away from baking.
For a moment, she simply stared.
Then her face crumpled.
"Oh, Moon above…"
She crossed the room in three quick steps and cupped his face between her hands.
"Mika… you're awake."
Her hands were warm.
Real.
His breath hitched.
"…Who are you?"
The woman froze.
The silence shattered.
Her lips parted, trembling.
"…Mika?"
His voice sounded wrong to his own ears.
Thin. Uncertain.
He swallowed.
"I… I don't know who you are."
The woman's eyes filled with tears.
Her fingers tightened around him as if she could anchor him to the world by touch alone.
"No… no, sweetheart…"
She shook her head violently, as if refusing reality.
Then she forced herself to breathe.
"You… you remember nothing?"
Mika stared at her.
He wanted to.
He wanted to remember.
But the emptiness remained.
"I remember…" he hesitated, searching the void.
"One thing."
Her expression flickered with desperate hope.
"What is it?"
He whispered slowly, "I remember finishing… a novel."
The woman stiffened.
Hope died instantly.
Something darker replaced it.
Fear.
"Mika…"
Her voice dropped into something fragile.
"That… that doesn't matter."
He frowned. "Why?"
She stood too quickly, turning away as though she couldn't bear his gaze.
"You suffered a fever two nights ago," she said, forcing steadiness. "You collapsed. The healer said…"
She swallowed hard.
"…amnesia."
The word struck like ice.
Amnesia.
Mika looked down at his hands.
They were slender. Pale.
Beautiful.
Too beautiful.
His fingers didn't look like the hands of someone who had lived a normal life.
His nails were neat, his skin soft, as though he had never worked a day in harsh labor.
He shifted slightly—
And caught his reflection in the cracked mirror.
He froze.
The boy staring back at him was… breathtaking.
Delicate features like a painting.
Soft lips—
And on the lower one…
A scar.
A faint, curved mark, almost like a crescent kiss.
Yet instead of ruining his beauty, it made him unreal.
Like something sacred.
Like something marked.
Mika lifted a trembling hand to his mouth.
"What… is this?"
The woman's breath caught.
Her eyes flickered toward the scar.
For the briefest moment—
Pure terror.
Then she forced a smile.
"It's nothing."
Mika's voice sharpened. "It's not nothing."
The woman's hands clenched at her sides.
Finally, she whispered—
"It's a birthmark."
A lie.
He didn't know how he knew.
But he knew.
The air itself felt like it was holding secrets.
The woman returned to him, smoothing his hair back with shaking fingers.
"Listen to me, Mika."
Her voice was low.
Urgent.
"You must not speak of your scar."
Mika blinked. "Why?"
Her throat bobbed.
"…Because people talk."
"About what?"
She hesitated.
Then, as if the words burned—
"About omegas."
The word hit something deep inside him.
A tremor.
His skin prickled.
"Omegas…?"
The woman's eyes shut briefly.
Then she looked at him.
Her son.
Her secret.
"Mika," she whispered, "you are… different."
His chest tightened.
"What do you mean?"
She leaned closer, as if the walls could listen.
"In this kingdom… wolves walk among humans."
Mika's breath caught.
Wolves?
She continued.
"They can shift at will… but only after they come of age."
"Eighteen," Mika murmured without knowing why.
The woman flinched.
"Yes," she whispered. "Eighteen."
His fingers curled into the blanket.
"I'm… eighteen?"
She nodded slowly.
"And that is why…" her voice cracked, "…I am afraid."
Mika's lips parted.
Afraid of what?
Her gaze flickered upward.
To the window.
To the pale sky.
"The Forest Rite," she whispered.
"When wolves come of age, they go into the forest… to awaken their wolf."
Mika's breath turned shallow.
"And me?"
The woman's hands trembled as she gripped his shoulders.
"You must not go."
Mika stared.
"Why?"
The woman's eyes filled again.
Because if you do…
The Moon will answer.
But she didn't say it.
Instead, she whispered—
"Because the world is cruel to omegas."
A faint sound came then.
Outside.
A distant murmur of voices.
Mika turned his head.
The street.
The city waking.
Life continuing.
Unaware.
Or perhaps…
Not unaware at all.
The woman wiped her tears quickly.
"I am your mother," she said suddenly, forcing strength. "Elara Elowen."
She pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"And you are Mika."
Mika swallowed.
"Mika Elowen…"
The name felt strange.
Like borrowed clothing.
Elara stood, her voice soft but firm.
"Rest. Do not leave the house today."
Mika frowned. "Mother—"
Elara's eyes sharpened.
"Promise me."
The urgency in her tone made his stomach twist.
"…I promise."
Elara exhaled shakily, then turned toward the door.
But before she left, she paused.
Her hand hovered over the frame.
Almost like she was listening.
Then she whispered—
"The Moon has been… restless."
Mika's breath caught.
"What do you mean?"
Elara didn't answer.
She left quickly, shutting the door.
Mika sat frozen.
The silence returned.
But it no longer felt empty.
It felt… watching.
He looked back at the mirror.
At the scar.
At his own breathtaking face.
And somewhere deep inside—
A pull.
A call.
Like the forest itself was waiting.
Then—
A howl.
Low.
Ancient.
Not from the street…
But from far beyond the city walls.
From the direction of the forbidden forest.
Mika's blood turned cold.
And in the deepest part of his mind…
A voice whispered, velvet-dark and starving.
> "I smell you…"
> "Lunaris…"
Mika's breath shook.
Outside, the morning sky began to shift.
And for the briefest moment—
The Moon, still faint in daylight…
Gleamed an impossible shade of blue.