Chapter One

Rain pelts down onto the battlefield, moistening the earth below. The smell of mint and pine fills the air, pleasurable to the noses. Above, gray clouds huddle across the sky, like sardines in a can. On the ground, numerous armor clad warriors wage a long battle. Blood spills all over the soil, and night is falling quickly. Screams cut through the air, but both sides are stuck in a deadly stalemate. From a distance, a wolf howls a warning cry.

A pack of wolves appear on the battlefield, attacking warriors of the opposing side. Hundreds, if not thousands, of enemies begin to fall. Many try to fend off the wolves, but all attempts to do so are futile. These are not average wolves that roam freely in the woods. These wolves bob and weave through the warriors, disappearing into a cloud of smoke whenever someone tries to hit them. And they are fast, faster than ordinary wolves. Occasionally, their leader, a black wolf with silver specks in its fur, will bark and howl a command. The rest of the pack obeys, never losing track of the alpha, always following the trail.

“Retreat! Run for your lives!”

General Malkin grabs the hilt of his giant sword, preparing to defend himself. He turns towards the direction of the castle, but finds it is too late. The alpha wolf is standing before him, growling, its eyes glaring into his soul. It begins to circle him, never taking its eyes off of him, taking note of his every step. Malkin has no choice but to stand ground.

“You are foolish, human, to think you have a chance against my people.” A melodic voice, a woman's voice, begins flowing out of the wolf's mouth. “However, I'm a generous being, leave now or suffer any punishment I think you deserve.”

That voice sounds so familiar, but Malkin cannot grasp to whom it belongs to. “Who are you?” He raises his sword, ready to strike. No wolf is taking him down tonight.

“That is not your concern, human. I say it one last time, leave or accept your punishment,” the wolf growls.

“My soldiers will triumph.”

Instead of backing down, the alpha female laughs. “Foolish boy, look around you and count how many of your soldiers are still living.”

She is right, not many are able to survive the wolves' attack. Malkin bites his lips, contemplating on the idea. Either run as a coward or die as a hero. Despite the dire circumstances, he chooses the latter. “It is time to turn the tide, here and now,” he declares, taking in a deep breath. “Show me your strength.”

The alpha female says nothing, but sits and arches her back. A beautiful melody rings out to the gray storm clouds, temporarily confusing Malkin. He stands there, stuck in a daze, staring at the wolf with his mouth wide open. The hisses and snarls of other wolves breaks him out of his daze. Around him, a dozen or so white wolves stare at him, baring their fangs. A faint glow covers them, suggesting the fact that they are spirits and not living creatures.

“My brother and sisters, the man before you has a heart as black as night... So black that even Ijos, the god of the Heavens, does not want him. He has killed many of your kin before, and I give you the opportunity to take revenge,” the alpha female explains, coolly.

Without another word, the wolves begin to attack. Malkin frantically swings his sword around, but the wolves are too fast. A set of fangs sink into his arms, drawing out blood. Cuts and lacerations begin to appear on his face and hands. He drops to his knees, feeling the energy draining out of him. With every wound the spirits inflict, the weaker he gets.

“Enough.”

The command echoes and fills the space around them. As fast as they have come, the white wolves disappear into a puff of white dust. The alpha female steps forward, making eye contact with Malkin. “Any last words?”

“Please... Spare me... Let me live,” he begs. “I'll do anything, give you anything, I promise.”

“So unlike a lion you are,” the alpha female says. “As much as I am kind, my pack is hungry, and the alpha must grant them their meal... Especially after a battle.”

Malkin clenches his teeth, fearing and expecting the worst. He clutches his sword, but it is too heavy for him to lift. Unable to move, he looks at the alpha, listening to her beautiful yet eerie song.

To the god of Death, I send thee thy sacrifice,

A man whose heart is as black as night,

He whose soul is full of malice,

Shall join thee in thine Palace of Fright.

A dark mist begins to envelope the alpha female, forming a deadly spear. The armor on Malkin's body falls, no longer protecting its owner. With a flick of the wolf's tail, the spear wrenches itself into Malkin's heart. The lifeless body falls in a bloody heap.

“Feed, my children. This is your reward.”

Immediately, the rest of the pack appears to enjoy their feast. While they dine, the alpha separates herself from the pack. Black mist, the same black mist that formed the spear, covers her whole body. When the mist subsides, a girl around the age of seventeen takes the wolf's place. Her long black hair cascades like a beautiful waterfall down to her waist, and covering her body is a long silver dress. Purple tattoos the shape of the moon and stars decorate her arms and legs, and on her head she wears a beaded headdress with a sparkling sapphire gemstone.

“A thousand casualties today, could be a lot worse,” sighs the girl.

Behind her, a stocky, young man with dark blue hair appears, bowing down respectfully. “Thank you, Princess Arya, for your help.”

Instead of thanking the man, Arya smiles wryly. “You know I went against my father's will, Valentia.”

The young man named “Valentia” stands up, his eyes staring into her own. “All for a good cause, right? You saved me and my troops.”

“Father's going to rage when I get back.”

“Then let him... For now, let's celebrate our triumph.” Valentia wraps his arms around the princess, but instead of returning the gesture Arya pushes him away. “What's wrong, my lady?”

“You reek of blood.”

“Only to add to my collection of battle scars, right?”

“Let me heal them.”

“No.”

“As your princess, I command you to let me heal your wounds.”

Valentia winces as he unwillingly strips himself of his torso and armor. Puncture wounds from arrows and slashes from swords paint a bloody picture on his skin. Arya closes her eyes, her head spinning. Despite seeing many injuries in her life, she still weakens at the sight of blood. She takes in a deep breath and begins to chant a healing spell, and her hands begin to glow a light purple. She runs her hands along Valentia's injured skin, and the wounds slowly begin to heal itself.

“The puncture wounds are too deep for me to heal completely, you'll have to bandage them when you get back.” Arya ignores the expression of awe and desire on his face. “Other then that you are good as new.” She pauses, noting the sudden awkwardness of the situation.

“How about that kiss now, hm?” Valentia suddenly asks, lifting up her chin.

“We're in the middle of a battlefield, and all you can think of is a kiss?”

“Aw, come on, just one?” He brings his lips close to Arya but gets a slap on the cheek instead.

“Let's go home, your soldiers need to rest.”

With a grunt from Valentia, the two begin to guide the warriors back to the Citadel. The soldiers try not to let their injuries hinder the voyage back, but Arya understands the pain they are going through. She uses her magic to heal some of their injuries, allowing them to travel swiftly. Along the way, she tries to avoid Valentia's gaze.

“Arya.”

An authoritative voice calls to her, and Arya can see her father's figure standing outside the gates. She motions for Valentia and the soldiers to go without her, walking towards her father. “You don't have to yell at me, Father. I know what I did wrong.”

Her father looks at her sternly. “Why did you disobey me again?”

Arya hesitates for a minute, but she quickly regains her composure. “I can't just sit in my room and watch my subjects die.”

“They are not your people.”

“I'm still a princess, they are my people as well as yours.”

“Your powers have not matured enough to use in battle.”

“They may not be, by your standards, but the priestess says I am ready.”

“Do you have any idea how horrible it will be if you died?”

Arya hesitates. She has to admit the thought never seems to make an appearance in her mind. “Valentia will inherit the throne for me,” she replies weakly.

“But Valentia isn't family like you are. Please, my daughter, stay in the walls for me. Let the soldiers do their job.” Arya's father is so desperate he is almost begging. “You are so like you mother when she was young, brash and impertinent.” He shudders. “That is why I lost her to the enemy.”

Arya says nothing at first, but just stands there and stares into her father's eyes. They are so lonely that the life and light in them is gone. However, Arya is not going to take no for an answer. “Father, I am seventeen now, you cannot control me anymore. The priestess will not allow me to stand here idly and wait for the war to end, this is what I need to do.”

She begins to walk towards the castle, away from her father's grasp. Guilt stabs at her heart, but Arya quickly brushes it away. Just as she takes her second step, a question from her father stops her.

“Your relationship with Valentia... How is it?”

“I don't love him, that's for sure.”

“Your marriage will take place in another fourteen moons.”

Arya bites her lower lip but says nothing in reply, continuing her walk back to the castle. At the last minute, she changes her mind and runs towards the Temple of the Moon, where the priestess is waiting.