Page 15 of Moonlit Fate

In the dream, I was younger, less marked by the scars of my life. Around me, my pack—myformerpack—moved with fluid grace, their forms blurring, changing seamlessly from man andbeast as we sparred under the canopy of trees. Laughter mingled with the sounds of exertion, a symphony of camaraderie that now seemed a distant echo.

I locked arms with a fellow warrior, our muscles straining, the heat and sweat pouring off our bodies. “Come on, Atticus,” he goaded, his eyes alight with challenge. “Show me what you’ve got.”

With a deft move born of years honing my craft, I swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing into a scattered layer of crisp fall leaves. My victory was met with good-natured jeers and applause, affirming my place among them—respected, integral, and one with the pack.

“Never better, brother,” I laughed, offering a hand to help him up, basking in our pack bond. It was a time of harmony, when every member was an integral part of our existence.

But even as the dream painted this idyllic portrait, shadows lingered on the fringes of my consciousness, a prelude to the storm that would tear it all apart. The unity was fleeting, the laughter hollow, a harbinger of the pain that would soon sear itself into my very soul.

The forest surrounding us seemed to darken, the lively greens now muted shades that whispered of treachery. I stood alone, my brothers-in-arms just phantoms in the fog of memory. The pack bond, once thought to be invincible, was as fragile and susceptible to the gentlest caress of the wind.

The thud of paws against the ground was so familiar, it was nearly a muscle memory, a cadence that matched the thrumming pulse of nature. We were a flurry of motion under the canopy, shadows streaking through the twilight. The hunt was on, and with it came the surge of adrenaline that made my wolf sing.

“To the left.”

I veered, muscles coiling and uncoiling like steel springs as I spotted the deer. A stag, a majestic creature of muscle and sinew. I could hear its heartbeat, a rapid drumming that echoed my own. With a burst of speed, I closed the gap, my pack brothers and sisters fanning out around me in a lethal, instinctual dance.

The kill was clean, and as the warm blood coated my muzzle, a snarl interrupted our victory.

“Atticus, you glory-hogging cur!” The voice belonged to Kieran, younger than me by two winters but eager to make his mark.

I shifted into my human form and straightened to my full height, my gaze locking on eyes that glittered not with pride for the pack’s success, but with the green sheen of jealousy. “The pack hunts as one,” I reminded him, my tone steady, unfazed by his accusation.

“Then why is it always you at the lead? Why is it your fangs that sink first into the prey?” His hackles rose, and the pack’s unity unraveled around the edges.

“Because he’s our best hunter!” someone shouted, but Kieran’s snarl drowned out the support.

“Or perhaps he’s just the best at leading everyone astray,” Kieran remarked, his words laced with venom. “We’re no longer in the safety of our own borders.”

“Pack law prohibits crossing territories without a challenge,” I countered. “We must remain within our lands.”

“Then explain this.” Kieran pointed towards a tree, its bark bearing the unmistakable scent of a rival pack, the boundary much closer than any of us had realized. “In your quest for victory, you and your shadows led us into rival territory.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, all traces of camaraderie gone. I searched the faces of my pack, seeking some semblance of trust, but encountered only the seeds of doubt sown by Kieran’s reckless jealousy.

“An honest mistake,” I admitted.

But the damage was done. The elders, their fur grayed with age and wisdom, exchanged uneasy glances. Their authority was absolute, and in their eyes, the reflection of a judgment yet to be spoken.

“Atticus has never led us astray before,” another protested, but fear had crept into their tone, a treacherous whisper insinuating that perhaps, just perhaps, the accusations against me held merit.

Kieran’s chest swelled with triumph, his smile a slash of white against the darkening sky. He had played his hand well, tapping into the undercurrent of unease that came when power rested in the paws of one wolf.

“Possibly,” the eldest elder said, “but to ignore such a claim would be to invite chaos. We must consider...”

Their words became a distant murmur as I looked at the family I had known since my first breath. Here, I found myself on the precipice of exile, betrayed by the very bonds I had assumed were unbreakable.

I had assumed people could see past their narrow-minded beliefs of shifters with magical talents, that those who mattered could see the heart of me and know there was nothing to fear. I was the same Atticus, just with a little extra. It was a hard lesson learned, and it taught me to be cautious with my trust.

The verdict was as swift as it was unforgiving, each word tearing at my soul. I stood before them—my pack, my family, the collective center of my world. Their gazes pierced me with a finality that left no room for pleas or protests.

My father’s voice rang out with an authority that hid his inner turmoil, if he had any. “You have been found guilty of leading the pack into rival territory. Such recklessness endangers us all. We cannot overlook this transgression.”

I stared at his face, searching for any flicker of doubt, any trace of the bond we might have once shared. But he averted his eyes. His fear of the power coursing through my veins had eclipsed any love he once had for his son.

“Father, please...” I choked out, the desperation making my throat constrict, the plea unfamiliar even to my own ears. Fear had a scent, and as it clung to me, it seemed to repel those I loved most.

“Your gifts have always set you apart,” my father said with a tremor of sorrow. “But they also pose a threat, one that threatens to disrupt the harmony of our pack.”

---