Page 35

As time slowly crawled towards Hagan's sixteenth birthday, some days felt like borrowed time - moments tucked between prophecy and tradition, between what had been written and what they could still write for themselves.

Hagan had become a near-permanent fixture in the Oracle's cottage, though he liked to claim otherwise.

"I'm just here to carry things," he'd had said with mock gravity the first time he appeared, strapping her gear bag across his back like it was a sacred duty.

And now...

"Seren, can’t you just be happy with one pair of lenses? And what is all this other stuff?" he groaned in mock agony as he trudged behind her.

"I need something to plug my ears. You complain like the cook in the longhouse." Seren muttered, adjusting her camera as they hiked toward the marsh.

He groaned. "You've got three lenses, a tripod, a pouch of herbs, and something wrapped in beeswax that smells like old feet."

"That's the fermented honeyroot."

"It still smells like old feet. "

She glanced sideways at him, hiding her grin. "Honestly, your wolf does kind of look like a mule from the side angle. That's probably why the critters keep scattering."

He stopped mid-step, scandalized. "A mule?"

"Not a big one," she said sweetly. "More like a fluffy forest donkey. Good for carrying heavy loads."

"You wound me."

But later that evening, Hagan sat hunched over a small stack of printed photographs Seren had laid out on the kitchen table. He was quiet, more than usual. His brows were drawn together, eyes moving slowly from frame to frame.

There was a stillness in her images that he hadn't noticed when she'd taken them-an understanding, a reverence. Animals caught mid-movement, eyes blinking into her lens like they knew her. Like she wasn't separate from the wild, but part of it.

One image showed his wolf form in profile-sunlight behind him, tail low, ears tilted toward something out of frame. And damn it, from the angle she'd caught him... he did look a little like a shaggy mountain mule.

But he also looked free. Fierce. Himself .

"These are incredible," he said quietly.

Seren shrugged, but there was a flush on her cheeks. "Talis built me a website."

He looked up, startled. "You have a website?"

She nodded. "He kept nagging me to showcase the shots. Said it wasn't fair to keep them in files and drawers. It's picking up attention. A couple of small wildlife journals have already reached out. One wants to feature the Fox series."

Hagan stared at her. "Why didn't you tell anyone? No one knows this."

She hesitated, suddenly shy. "I don't know. It didn't feel... real. Or maybe I didn't want it to feel like I was showing off."

He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "You should show off. Seren, this is - this is talent."

She blinked, caught off-guard. Her silver eyes seemed to stare into his soul.

And in the silence that followed, he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time - not just the girl with the sharp tongue and soft eyes - but as someone luminous. Capable. Strange and rare .

Just as she was enjoying the warmth of that look.

"Oh, and who is this Talis person?"

- -‐ -------------------------------

At first, Seren was stiff in his presence-hyper-aware of every brush of his arm, every glance he sent her way. But over time, his persistence wore her down. He never pushed, never asked for more than she could give. His patience wore down her defences like water smoothing stone.

In wolf form, he padded after her silently, a brown silhouette who tried - often unsuccessfully-not to startle the small critters she worked so hard to photograph.

"You're too big for stealth," she told him once, laughing.

He wagged his tail in protest, tongue lolling. The wolf half of him liked cuddles and belly rubs. He was like a giant puppy.

Sometimes, she would feel his thoughts brushing hers-just fragments, wordless impressions of emotion.

She never let on she could hear more than most. She hadn't told him, not yet, about how the voices of animals and wolfkind alike sometimes filled her head like wind through leaves.

How she healed the forest animals. Some things still felt too raw to name.

But she almost told him once .

They were sitting near the grove, the sun slanting low, and Hagan had shifted back from wolf to boy, stretching out beside her in the grass. He slowly munched on the banana fritters she had packed for herself.

"You will be the size of a small mountain if you eat at this rate." Seren teased.

Hagan said, licking his fingers" Well, it would be your fault then. These are ...wow"

A comfortable silence ensued.

"Do you ever feel like you're... two people?" she asked.

He glanced at her, thoughtful. "No. The wolf isn't separate. He's another side of me."

She frowned. "But how do you know?"

Hagan sat up. "It's like this. When everything gets too much - the prophecy, the expectations, my parents, the tribe-I want to throw off my skin and just run. Not away. Just... free. And the wolf? He doesn't overthink. He just is."

He paused, a rueful smile on his face. "When I was four, I shifted into a pup and refused to turn back for days. My mother thought I'd become one of the Forgotten. "

Seren blinked, startled. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "Veyr found me chewing on tree bark and howling at squirrels. I was fast, even then. The Oracle had to come bribe me with smoked meat."

Seren laughed until her sides hurt. "I wish I'd seen that."

He grinned. "I wasn't very majestic."

From the porch, the Oracle watched silently, and beside her, Veyr leaned against the wooden frame, arms crossed. His eyes stayed on Seren. He never interfered. Never stepped between them. But he always watched.

With school behind them, Seren now trained daily with Astrid, learning what it meant to be Lunara. The training was harsh and lonely. She told no one about her abilities. Not even Astrid. Not even Hagan.

It was hers alone. For now.

Hagan trained under Draken and Garrik-two of the best, and both relentless in their demands.

Draken's voice was clipped as ever, movements precise, as if every breath he took was accounted for.

Garrik was broader, louder, all grit and instinct.

They worked well together, though their teaching styles clashed more than once.

Vir often watched from the perimeter, arms folded, voice sharp whenever either of them overstepped .

The tension between Hagan and Seren was like a thundercloud waiting for the storm to break.

Their paths crossed more and more often now, drawn together by duty and bond, and though their conversations were easy, there was an unspoken pressure between them - like a string pulled taut, vibrating with things unsaid.

Sometimes Seren would glance at him and forget to breathe. Sometimes he would watch her walk away and forget why he'd come in the first place. They didn't always speak. But when they did, the air felt charged-like a storm waiting just beyond the tree line.

A stolen glance across the training fields.

A whispered word passed between them in the shade of the herb garden.

A playful tug on the end of her braid when he passed behind her - light, maddening, deliberate.

She'd swat his hand away with a glare, but the smile that followed always betrayed her.

They had put off the handfasting, despite the murmurs it caused. Despite the elders' stern disapproval and Draken's parents' protests. Seren and Hagan had agreed-silently at first, then aloud-that they wanted to know each other better. To choose each other, not just be given to one another.

They would wait until they were both eighteen .

Every moment between them was simple on the surface, yet wonderous with something profound growing just beneath - the slow, quiet unfolding of the inevitable.

They were learning each other slowly. Carefully.

And still, the bond thrummed beneath their skin, growing more insistent with each passing day.