Moonbound

Chapter 8: An unseen Threat

The morning air is thick and humid, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. As I step outside, I take a deep breath, centering myself, letting Athena's steady presence guide me. Today's training will push us to new limits—I can feel it in the way Killian's voice held a hint of gravity at breakfast, his words clipped and focused.

Killian's footsteps approach, steady and purposeful, as he guides me toward a clearing at the edge of the forest. There's a chill in the air, a reminder of last night's encounter. Whoever that stranger was, they left something lingering in the air, a tension that coils in my chest, filling me with both dread and resolve.

"Freya," Killian's voice is calm, but there's a thread of steel beneath it. "Today, we're focusing on live combat with an unexpected twist. I want you to push beyond what you think you're capable of."

I nod, feeling Athena's strength rise within me. My senses stretch outward, picking up the subtle shifts in the earth underfoot, the faint rustle of leaves as a breeze sweeps through. I focus on the sounds, the scents, letting them fill the space where sight once would be.

Killian's footsteps retreat, and I know he's moved to the edge of the clearing, giving me space. "You'll be facing multiple opponents, one after the other. They will come at you with the intent to overpower, to break your defenses. Do not let them."

I stand ready, listening intently as the silence stretches. I'm not alone—my opponents are nearby, their scents carrying traces of adrenaline and the faint musk of sweat. They move in a circle around me, their steps cautious, measured.

Then, without warning, I hear the faintest rustle of fabric, the soft intake of breath just to my left. I pivot, my body coiled and ready, catching the incoming strike with my forearm. The force reverberates through me, but I hold my ground, countering with a swift jab to where I sense his ribs. A grunt of pain confirms my hit, and he steps back, but another opponent is already closing in, their footsteps pounding toward me.

I duck low, feeling the rush of air as a fist passes inches above my head. Athena's instincts surge within me, guiding my movements as I sweep my leg out, catching my opponent off balance and sending them stumbling backward.

{Stay focused,} Athena's voice urges, her tone steady and calm. {They'll come at you harder now. Be ready.}

I brace myself, feeling the ground beneath me, listening for every hint of movement. The next attack comes from behind, a sharp intake of breath warning me just before impact. I twist, grabbing my opponent's wrist and pulling them forward, using their own momentum to flip them onto the ground. They hit the earth with a heavy thud, and I waste no time, moving quickly as another set of footsteps closes in.

Each strike is a blur of sensation—the faint scent of leather, the warm press of skin, the cold bite of metal as someone swings a blade just inches from my face. I duck, feeling the wind from the swing, and lunge forward, catching my attacker with a well-placed punch. They stagger back, and I press the advantage, driving them away with a series of quick, calculated hits.

But they regroup quickly, surrounding me once again, their breaths heavy, their movements more aggressive, more determined. I can sense their frustration, their growing desperation, and it fuels my own resolve.

{They're trying to overwhelm us,} I tell Athena, feeling a surge of adrenaline. {We can't let them.}

{Then let's show them what we're made of,} she replies, a fierce pride in her voice.

I sink into a defensive stance, feeling the ground solid beneath me, grounding me. The world narrows to a series of sensations—the soft crunch of leaves, the shifting of air, the faint, almost imperceptible hum of energy that surrounds each attacker. They come at me from all sides, but I meet each strike with a counter, each blow with a dodge or block, moving with a precision that feels both instinctual and honed.

Time blurs, and I lose myself in the rhythm of the fight, each movement a testament to the strength I've fought to build, the resilience that carries me through every challenge. When the final attacker falls, I stand alone in the clearing, my breaths ragged, my body aching but unbroken.

Killian approaches, his footsteps steady, the scent of pine and leather preceding him. "You held your ground," he says, a note of approval in his voice. "But remember, the threats you'll face in the future will not show you mercy."

I nod, feeling a weight settle in my chest. "I understand, Alpha."

"Good," he replies, his tone softening. "There's one more test today. Meet me by the river after lunch. We have something else to discuss."

As I make my way to the river later, I catch the faint scent of wildflowers mixed with something sharp, metallic. It's subtle but unmistakable—a reminder of last night's intruder. The tension coils tighter, but I push it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

When I reach the river, Killian is waiting, the sound of water rushing over rocks filling the air. He turns toward me as I approach, and I sense a change in his stance, a hint of something unspoken.

"Freya," he begins, his voice low, "I need to show you something that may put things in perspective. The threat we face is not just from rogue wolves. There's something darker at work."

He reaches down, and I hear the faint clink of metal. "I found this near the pack house last night," he says, handing me what feels like a small, cold object. I run my fingers over it, feeling its shape—a coin, rough-edged, marked with unfamiliar symbols that scrape against my fingertips.

"It's a calling card," he explains. "A warning from a group that operates outside the laws of any pack. They call themselves the Night Claws. They move in shadows, striking from the dark, leaving destruction in their wake. And they've taken an interest in you."

A chill runs down my spine as I absorb his words. "Why me?"

"Because you're powerful," he replies, his tone grave. "And you're an anomaly—a blind wolf with heightened senses, something they consider both a threat and an opportunity. They seek to recruit those with unique abilities, but they have no mercy for those who refuse."

I swallow, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud. "What do we do?"

"We train," he says, his voice a steady anchor. "You need to be prepared for whatever they throw at you. We'll push harder, go beyond what you think you can handle, because they will not hold back. And you cannot afford to either."

I nod, feeling the familiar spark of determination flare within me. This is more than just training—it's survival. The Night Claws may think they can control me, but they're wrong. I will face whatever challenges they bring, and I will not back down.

As I turn to leave, a faint rustle catches my attention, and I tense, listening. There, just beyond the trees, I sense a presence, the scent of something foreign, something that doesn't belong. I grip the coin tightly, feeling its rough edges dig into my palm, a reminder of the dangers that lurk just beyond my reach.

"Freya," Killian's voice is a whisper, almost lost in the sound of the river, "stay vigilant. They're watching us."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and nod. "I'm ready, Alpha. Let them come."

That night, I lie awake, the coin clutched in my hand, its rough surface a constant reminder of what lies ahead. The Night Claws are out there, waiting, watching, and I know they will come for me soon. But as I close my eyes, I feel a quiet resolve settle within me.

Whatever challenges they bring, whatever darkness they unleash, I will face it. Because I am not just a blind wolf—I am Freya of the SilverMoon pack, and I am stronger than they know.