Page 28 of The Moonborn's Curse

"I am sure it will. It has happened to wolves before. Don't worry." said Draken.

Chapter 15

Hagan

Airlia was quickly becoming a fixture within Hagan's small group of friends, but unlike the others, she and her mother, Gaia, could not access the tribelink. Their wolves had been lost, severed from them by trauma.

Highclaw Draken had been suspicious at first, uncertain whether they were even true wolves. He called for Gaia, summoning her to his quarters after his return from the quest.

She arrived smiling, her voice sweet—a honeyed thing that made the Highclaw's instincts sharpen.

"It is true, Highclaw," Gaia said in that smooth, musical voice of hers. "I am wolf-born, but my mate was human. Airlia carries my blood."

Draken studied her, unblinking. "Many have claimed the same before."

Gaia's smile never wavered. "Would you like me to swear it on my life?"

There was no hesitation, no nervousness—only ease, a kind of confidence that made Draken less wary.

However, it was not her words that convinced him.

It was Airlia's scent.

She smelled of the wild, of wolf blood.

There was no mistaking it.

Finally, with a nod, he relented. "Then you will be given the mark of the pack."

He motioned for the elder to come forward, and the tribal tattoo was imprinted onto their skin—a small circle with a wolf and fire at its centre.

Gaia flinched as the needles pierced her skin. Airlia only watched with mild interest as her tattoo took shape. That, more than anything else convinced Draken that he had made the right choice.

The months passed, and life in the tribe continued as the newcomers slowly became family. Hagan and Airlia grew closer, their bond slowly forming in the way of childhood friendships—built on small moments, shared laughter, and whispered secrets.

It started as a murmur in the village—nothing more than quiet voices that seemed to follow them wherever they went.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Those eyes... like silver."

"Perhaps she's the girl from the prophecy."

"Could she truly be the Alphason's match?"

Hagan heard it.

Airlia heard it.

Her face flushed crimson, and when Hagan glanced at her, he felt his own cheeks heat in response.

Neither spoke of it, but the whispers never stopped.

The howls of the pack faded into the distance, leaving only the crackling of the fire and the rustling of leaves in the cool night air. Nine-year-old Airlia hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the dark tree line where the others had disappeared.

She barely noticed Hagan plopping down next to her until he kicked a small rock near her foot.

"You're making that face again," he said.

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