The snow fell thick over the battlefield, covering the world in a silent veil that muffled nothing — not the screams, not the clash of blades, not even the roar of flames devouring the houses. Loona was only seventeen, yet that night felt like it carried every winter she had ever lived.

An endless cycle.
A war that had lasted twenty years.
A war that had begun even before she was born.

And always… always in winter.
As if the cold itself called for blood.

Kaishiki Village and Momonuske Village clashed once again, driven by ancient grudges, unburied losses, and vows of revenge passed down through generations.
But Loona didn’t want to be there.

The smell of burning wood and fallen bodies made her nauseous.
The sound of swords made her tremble.
She wasn’t a warrior. She had never wanted to be.

While the men charged forward and houses burned, Loona ran. She ran through the shadows, stumbling over snow stained with ash, until she slipped into one of the abandoned cabins. The wooden walls shook with the distant impact of battle, but inside, at least she could breathe.

She curled up in a corner and stayed there, waiting… waiting for another bloody winter to end.

Across the human border, beneath a full moon that lit the snow with silver shine, a wolf pack advanced in silence.
At the front was Scar, the alpha: massive, scarred, and carrying in his eyes the weight of many seasons.
Behind him walked his apprentice and second-in-command: Sant, a young white wolf with alert, focused eyes.

They had left their old den behind, searching for a new home before the coming storm grew worse.

Scar walked beside the young heir, his deep voice blending with the crunch of snow under their paws.

“Sant…” the alpha began without taking his eyes off the path. “You know you don’t carry my blood the way Mara does. She is your sister by bond, not by birth.”

Sant lowered his head, saddened but understanding.

“I know, father…”

Scar touched his shoulder gently with his muzzle — a rare gesture from an alpha.

“But none of that matters. You are my son, Sant. And one day… you will lead this pack.”

The young wolf lifted his ears, startled.

Scar continued:

“You carry the blood of the Northern wolves. More than that… you carry the blood of the Children of the Moon.”

Sant stopped for a moment.

“I… I didn’t know.”

“There is much you do not know.” Scar’s voice wavered — for a heartbeat, frail. “And my time is coming to an end. The wind has told me… and so has my body.”

Sant said nothing, simply walking closer to his adoptive father.

The pack marched until they reached a giant fallen tree lying across a snowy clearing.
The colossal trunk was split in half, and its exposed roots formed a natural shelter — deep, warm, and safe.

“This will be our new den,” Scar said.

When the night finally quieted and the war ended from sheer exhaustion, Loona stepped out of the house where she had been hiding.

The snow now reflected the moonlight on the ruins.
The silence was terrifying.
The air, unbearably heavy.

She walked slowly among ashes and bodies… until she saw him.

Her father, collapsed in the snow. Still breathing — but every breath was a burden.
His chest was marked with deep cuts. Blood seeped into the white around him.

“Dad!” Loona ran and fell to her knees beside him.

He opened his eyes with effort, a faint smile appearing like the last glow of dawn.

“Loona… my little one…” His voice was almost a whisper. “I’m sorry… for dragging you into this fate…”

She held his hand, crying silently as snow fell over them, cold as the memory of all the winters before.

The war had never given her anything…
And now, it was about to take everything.