When she turned twelve, Moon put her coat on fire.

Damion, her uncle, was devastated by the fear his niece had in her eyes, afraid of her powers. He knew it was too soon, even for a vanik, to develop powers at such young age. Still, he was all she had at the moment, and against his will, he began, slowly, teaching her basic magic, in theory; he planned on taking her to a friend of his, when she got older, to learn everything a vanik was.

At sixteen, during a visit to Vence, a small town to the south, Moon was taken to an old witch. Damion had noticed a strange aura surrounding her, something that no witch nor wizard, regardless of class, had. The old witch kept silent for a long time before finally saying that the strange aura was a demon. A demon that, unknowingly, got attached to Moon.

Why?

The old woman couldn’t see the reason why the demon was attached to her, but the string connecting them was unbreakable.

Before they left, the old witch gave a final warning: to stay away from the Cerdaville family.

When questioned about it, she told Damion what happened in the Kirel Valley after they left.

There was a family, the Cerdaville, a long line of pure-blood dynamis that hunted vaniks to strengthen their lineage. They recently invaded the Kirel Valley in search of a vanik.

His niece.

The old witch kept telling him details about it, including the news that the supposed vanik parents were killed, and the little brother was missing.

He kept his expression nonchalant as if he had no idea who it could be. He didn’t know her enough to trust her with the truth, even if his stomach was twister with it. 

Damion mustered his courage and told the young girl about the recent events. She cried for about an hour, before sighing and saying that she’d grow up strong and she’d find her brother.

She also promised revenge. But Damion hurriedly dismissed that thought, afraid it could ignite something dark within her.

Until she completed eighteen years of age, to keep herself safe, Moon had mastered the act of pretending to be a dynami. Strangely, though, she never heard the demon, only felt its presence. Ominous, but quiet.

One day, though, a few months after turning eighteen, when she entered a store to buy some new clothes, Moon saw her reflection in the mirror; beside her, a woman was standing with a serious expression.

“I’m Noira.” 

The voice echoed inside her head; Moon turned around to see who it was but she was alone. Fear crippled her.

It was the demon attached to her.

Noira had long black curled hair, with a few white strands, and gray eyes.

When she told her uncle, she was advised never to tell anyone about Noira, and never get into situations where she would lose control, which could end up with her using her powers. Not that she needed such advice, after all, she barely used her powers, and Noira always remained very quiet in her mind.

It’s been like that for years. Through college, through multiple part-time jobs, through her mid and late twenties...

They had been in Berkshire for three years already, living near the city’s border, and staying away from the eyes of others, not attracting any attention; Damion got a job at the sawmill, and Moon, at thirty years old, got a job at a pub right in the middle of town. But, a bit hidden in an alley.

Here, in Berkshire, she didn’t have to pretend. Everyone knew she was a witch; the vanik part was still a secret, though.

The South, as far as she heard from the owner of the cafe, is governed by a council of influential family members and, at the top of the hierarchy in Berkshire, are the Sutherlands. That's because, in addition to being the richest and strongest, they are the ones who created what Berkshire is today.

Barlow, the owner of the pub, is a contradictory guy. Although he looks like a barbarian with his six-foot-tall height, woodcutter beard and mustache, and leather boots (not to mention his precious baby, a motorcycle he treats like a diamond); Barlow has the personality of a grandpa: quiet, sometimes grumpy, but always worried, and giving advice.

As she cleans the counter, she realizes how far they've come. Even if there are still some citizens who look down on them and call them garbage or dirty blood, there are people like Barlow who take them in.

― Hey, Moon, I've got to work some things out at home. Can you take care of the shop for me?

― Sure, Barlow, no problem!

― Don't forget to lock up! If any problem arises, call me... I'll send Sketch to help you.

Moon nods her orange flannel as Barlow climbs on his bike and disappears from the line of sight that the big windows in the pub provide. Ace, a guy who helps them in the late afternoons and nights, was arriving just as the shift of ‘unbearable’ Dellia, as they called her, was over. And, as always, Dellia threw her apron on Moon and left without saying a word.

― Ain’t it funny how she feels so high and mighty? She’s just a freaking niko, no big deal… ― Ace said as he put his backpack under the counter.

― She’s still part of a greater number than us witches. ― Moon said as she put the mugs on the shelf behind the counter.

That's something that annoys her way too much.

This hierarchy that the dynamis are above all and that they must be respected and obeyed. Only Moon knows the thousands of times that Barlow or her uncle and even Ace had to take her away from somewhere because she didn't follow that rule.

No matter who you are, respect is a must.

― The world is still fucked up if people are still living like this… ― he put a cigar in his mouth, without lighting it.

― Being a witch is bad luck.

Ace sighs.

― It's hard to find a soulmate when you're a hunted race…

― Ace, you've been reading too many books... Soulmates don't exist. ― Moon sighs as she looks at the red thread around her ring finger.

When she turned eighteen, Moon started seeing these strings connecting people. When she told her uncle, he gave her a big book, with a brown leather cover. According to him, it belonged to her grandmother. Most pages were empty, but one began writing itself with what the strings meant. She then learned about them. The red one indicated that her destined one was somewhere near.

― Destined mates, ok, I might believe that. But soulmates? This… deep and eternal love that people talk about? No, that doesn’t exist.

― You're too skeptical, Moon…

― Realistic, Ace, I'm realistic. ― she sighed, ignoring the itching feeling on her finger.

Ace then leaned his arm on her shoulder and looked down the street.

― One day, listen to me, one day you’ll find out that soulmates do exist. And then, I wanna be the first one to know. And I’ll make so much fun out of you…

― Fuck you, Ace.

Ace laughed loudly. But then his laugh died.

― Oh, yeah, fuck. Look who’s coming…

Moon looked to where Ace’s eyes were pointed at.

Archie, or ‘Mr. Arrogant’, as they call him, was at the door, behind her, with his troupe of brutes.

― That's great, isn’t it? ― she says. ― Just when Barlow isn't here, this idiot had to show up.

― Behave, for fuck’s sake, Moon. It’s always vaniks hunting season. ― Ace whispers before leaving her and walking back to the counter.

Moon chuckled and turned around, also going to the back of the counter.

As soon as he opened the door, Archie snorted at Moon and Ace.

― I swear I don't understand how they still allow people like you into this city. I think my father will have to talk seriously to Mr. Sutherland. ― Archie said, with his eyes changing between brown and green, probably trying to intimidate with his aura, given he was a dynami.

And those were the times when the problems happened.

People below the dynamis are always intimidated by the tone of voice they use and automatically bow their heads. Not Moon. Because she was sure she could win him easily in a fight; being a witch had its advantages.

― Good afternoon. Welcome to Barlows. What would you like to order? ― she smiled as best as she could while thinking of the thousands of injuries she'd like to inflict on him.

Noira’s presence was bugging her as well.

One of the guys who walked in with him, tall and tanned, was the only one who didn't treat anyone like that. He was always quiet, which led her to believe there was something very wrong with him.

He ignored everyone else and came to the counter.

― I'd like a beer and a medium portion of french fries.

Moon had to bite her lips so as not to laugh at Archie's incredulous face. After a few curses to the man, Archie, and his group made the requests to Ace.

Taking advantage of the calmness of their presence, Moon decided to finish cleaning the tables while Ace prepared the french fries.

But Archie wouldn’t be himself if he left her alone.

Thanks to his foot, Moon fell face down on the floor and hurt her arm while she tried to hold on to a nearby chair. Noira did not like it at all, itching Moon’s skin as she tried to get out.

Her arm became increasingly red as she took a deep breath and got up.

She could hear Ace calling Barlow.

Moon got up, tilting her jaw in anger.

― Apologize.

― What? ― Archie asked before he had a laughing fit.

Everyone else laughed, except the tall, tanned guy.

Every second of his laughter made not only Moon but Noira as well, angrier.

Archie stood up and held the collar of her red plaid shirt.

― Who the hell do you think you are?

― Your worst nightmare. ― Moon felt the essence of being a vanik coming to the surface. ― Apologize… ― she could feel Noira’s erratic behavior trying to take control of her consciousness.

In seconds Archie held her against the wall while one of his hands squeezed her neck. This time, both eyes were green.

― I don't know where you came from, but here, in Berkshire, there’s a fucking hierarchy, bitch. Dynamis rule this place. You should bow your head and obey me, you understand?

Moon felt even more anger than ever, and held Archie's wrist, piercing her nails into his skin.

“No powers are allowed in public.”, she remembered her uncle saying when they first came to Berkshire.

She was right when she said she could take him down easily. With little resistance, she managed to get his hand off of her neck; no wolf could ever compare to a vanik in terms of strength.

― I think you should see a doctor. How can a filthy witch like me get your hands off so easily? Are you sure you're a dynami? So… fucking... weak.

Archie closed his hand and as he was about to hit her face, a hand held his fist.

― Not my best friend, Archie. You don’t want me as your enemy.