Rowan’s gaze faltered, guilt flickering across his sharp features.

“I didn’t mean for him to see me…”

 he muttered, almost as if confessing a crime.

The old woman’s voice cut through the quiet night.

 “I told you to be careful.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides.

“I was careful. He just… came out of nowhere. And—”

“You know you’re not just an ordinary human, right?” 

she interrupted firmly, her tone sharp but steady.

Shadows slipped across Rowan’s face as his eyes lowered.

“I know…” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Her gaze softened only slightly, but her words remained unyielding.

 “Then stick to the plan. You promised me.”

For a moment, Rowan’s chest tightened with unspoken defiance, but it withered under the weight of her authority. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes dimmed with defeat.

“…Okay.”

Silence fell between them. The grandmother rose, her shawl swaying with the night breeze. She placed her hand briefly on Rowan’s shoulder—a gesture caught somewhere between comfort and command—before turning to walk back inside, leaving him alone in the shadows.

Rowan stood where he was, watching the door close behind her. The guilt lingered, heavy and unshakable, as the forest hummed quietly around him.

The thought slipped unbidden into his mind, tightening something in his chest.

A faint golden glow flickered in his eyes, and then—like a breath being released—the light expanded, consuming him in a sudden flash. His form shifted, bones bending, muscles reshaping until the boy was gone. In his place stood a sleek wolf, silver-black fur glistening under the moon, eyes glowing with that same golden fire.

he thought, his wolf’s gaze sharpening.

With one swift motion, Rowan bounded forward, disappearing into the forest. His body moved with fluid grace, paws barely making a sound as he slipped through the bushes like a living shadow.

The forest greeted him as it always had—quiet, vast, eternal. Branches swayed above, the moonlight filtering through to kiss his fur as he raced deeper into the wild.

Yet even in the rhythm of his stride, even with the night air rushing past him, an image tugged at the edges of his thoughts.

Those wide, bright eyes. That soft smile.

Rowan slowed to a halt near the base of a towering tree, his breath steady and even despite the sprint. His glowing eyes scanned the darkness, sharp, watchful.

He’s just… a kid, he told himself, 

shaking out his silver-black fur. 

It doesn’t matter.

----

Back at the house, the grandmother stood by her window, her shawl draped over her shoulders as she gazed out toward the woods. Her lips pressed thin, eyes deep with worry.

Please don’t make the same mistakes again, 

she thought, gripping the fabric tight.

___

Far away, in the quiet of his own room, Leo lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Moonlight spilled across his face, soft and silver. On his nightstand, the paper and pen he had used earlier still rested there, waiting.

He turned his head toward them, a small ache in his chest.

"I hope he read it…"

Leo squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the sheets. His chest rose and fell with a small, stubborn wish.

Outside, the night carried on in silence. The moon hung high above the forest, bathing the cliffside in silver light. It was the same place where fate had first drawn the boy and the wolf together.

A lone leaf drifted from the trees, spiraling gently through the air until it landed on the very spot where Leo had left his letter.

And there he was.

Rowan stood at the edge of the cliff, human once more, the wind threading through his dark hair. In his hand, the folded letter rested like a fragile truth. His expression was unreadable, yet his lips curved into the faintest whisper.

“…Maybe.”

_____

The years passed quietly. The forest grew more distant, the memories of that summer tucked away like a half-forgotten dream.

Leo’s days had settled into something simple, something ordinary.

The shrill ring of the school bell echoed down the hallways as students spilled out of classrooms, laughing and shoving each other. Sixteen-year-old Leo adjusted his backpack, weaving through the crowd with an easy smile. His hair was a little longer now, his steps lighter, his face carrying the glow of someone who lived without much worry.

“Leo! Over here!”

A friend waved from the courtyard. Leo jogged over, lunch bag in hand. The group sat under the shade of a tree, talking about exams, weekend plans, and the new club activities.

Leo opened his lunch, listening, laughing when someone cracked a joke. His world was full of small, ordinary things — deadlines, teachers, inside jokes with friends.

Sometimes, walking home after school, he would pause for a moment at the sound of wind rustling the leaves. The woods that bordered the town seemed to call in their quiet way. But he always shrugged it off, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, too busy thinking about homework or what game his friends wanted to play that weekend.

For Leo, the forest was just a backdrop. A place he passed without meaning.

---

The sky was painted in shades of orange and rose when Leo reached home. The smell of something warm drifted from the kitchen, filling the little house with comfort.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” 

his mother called, her hands busy stirring a pot on the stove.

Leo kicked off his shoes and padded into the kitchen. 

“Smells good, Mom. What’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite,” 

she said with a soft smile. 

“Braised chicken. I figured you’d need the energy after that test you had today.”

Leo grinned sheepishly.

 “It wasn’t too bad. I think I did alright.”

“That’s my boy.” 

She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, eyes shining with quiet pride.

 “Your grandmother would be so happy to see how you’ve grown.”

At the mention of his grandmother, Leo’s heart warmed. He remembered her gentle hands, her voice calling him my little star. He didn’t know why, but sometimes when he thought of her, he also thought of the forest — fleeting, like a half-forgotten dream.

He pushed the thought aside and leaned against the counter. 

“Can I help?”

“You can set the table,” she said. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Leo hummed and began pulling out plates, his world simple, ordinary… safe.

But far from the warmth of the kitchen, the night carried different whispers.

_____

In a secluded house by the woods, Rowan stepped silently through the door. His golden eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, where the grandmother sat waiting in her chair, a shawl draped around her shoulders.

At twenty-four, Rowan moved with the quiet confidence of a predator — deliberate, controlled. Years spent alone had carved sharp edges into him, hardening his once-wild spirit into something more calculating. He no longer carried the restless energy of a boy. Instead, there was a steadiness in his steps, a weight in his gaze that spoke of battles fought both outside and within.

“You came,”

 she said softly, as though she had known all along he would.

Rowan crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. 

“You said it was important.”

Her gaze, though kind, carried weight.

 “It is. You’ve lingered in the shadows long enough, Rowan. Now is the time to plan.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. 

“Plan what?”

“Revenge,” 

she said, her voice steady.

 “You promised me once, remember? My son’s and your parents death cannot go unanswered. You have the strength — and the power — to finish what was started.”

For a moment, Rowan said nothing. His jaw tightened, his eyes flickered with an old pain. Finally, he muttered, 

“I remember.”

The grandmother’s expression softened, though her words cut sharp.

 “Then it’s time, Rowan. The world won’t wait forever.”

Rowan looked away, out toward the dark forest. The scent of earth and leaves filled his lungs, grounding him. In the back of his mind, however, a boy’s bright laughter echoed faintly — one he had sworn not to remember.

He clenched his fists. Revenge first. Nothing else matters.