The Veil of Danu

To Ashes they Fall (8)

The night felt wrong, heavier than usual. The clouds hung thick and low, swallowing the moon and stars. Not a single sliver of light to guide me. I stood at the gates, my grip tight on the hilt of my sword, the cold air biting through my cloak. The only other person on duty was Caelan, the older Night Guard. He didn't talk much, but he had a sharpness about him that made him as reliable as the very walls we were sworn to protect. The twins, of course, had the night off. Most likely deep into their cups at a tavern somewhere, completely unaware of the dangers beyond the gates.

There was a strange stillness in the air, the kind that prickles the back of your neck. The usual rustle of leaves or hum of nocturnal life was missing, and the silence settled like a weight on my chest. Every creak of the wooden gate seemed too loud. Too... ominous.

I shifted my weight and glanced at Caelan. His expression remained unreadable, his eyes scanning the dark woods with an intensity I didn't fully understand. I knew he was waiting, always waiting, for something to break the quiet.

Then it did.

A howl split the night—low and chilling. The sound wasn't quite like anything I had heard before. Not a wolf's usual call, but something deeper, more primal. It sent a jolt through me, my hand tightening around my sword's hilt. Caelan was already on alert, his posture changing in an instant. His fingers twitched toward his blade.

Then came the eyes.

A flash of yellow. Just a glimpse in the shadows, but unmistakable. A second pair of eyes, then a third, flickering in the darkness. At least three wolves. Too close. Too many.

My heart hammered in my chest, and I could feel my hands start to tremble as I gripped my sword harder. Caelan was already moving, his body a blur as he shifted into a defensive stance. His gaze never left the trees.

Another howl. This time from behind us. Inside the town.

A chill ran down my spine. How had it gotten past us?

"Damn it," Caelan muttered, his voice tight. Without hesitation, he yanked the rope attached to the bell above the gate, sending it ringing out into the night. The sound was deep and urgent, a warning that echoed across the village.

The bell had barely stopped when figures began to move in the streets, Night Guards stirring from their sleep, scrambling to arms. And then the wolves—more than I'd ever seen before—poured into the village. They flooded the streets, dark shadows among the flickering lanterns, their yellow eyes gleaming with hunger.

I didn't think. I just moved.

I darted into the streets, chasing the nearest wolf as it darted into an alley. I could feel the adrenaline surge, every muscle in my body screaming for action. The wolf's body was sleek and fast, a blur of motion in the dark, but I finally managed to corner it. It snarled at me, teeth bared, eyes burning with fury.

But before I could strike, the beast lunged. It leapt right past me, dodging my sword as if it had anticipated my every move, and bolted back toward the town's edge. A sick feeling twisted in my gut.

I ran after it. Stupid, reckless, but I didn't care. It couldn't get away.

I passed the tavern on my way out, and there, leaning against the door, was a bow and a quiver—forgotten in the madness. The tavern's "no weapons" policy had never seemed so ridiculous as it did in that moment. I grabbed them without thinking, slinging the quiver over my shoulder, and sprinted into the forest.

The trees closed in around me, the dark pressing in, but I didn't care. I could see better now, clearer than ever before, something giving me vision in the pitch black. I picked up the wolf's trail easily, its scent fresh in the cool night air.