The forest floor was slick with rain, leaves cupped with collected water. No sun broke through the dark gray clouds that smothered the sky. This was the day I saw my first love.

This stretch of forest lay near a Lun’folk village, one whose name no longer matters as it has not existed for many years. I wandered beneath the trees, trying to quiet my mind after the chaos of the days before. My steps eventually led me to the Saelwyn River, its waters swollen and restless from the storm. I settled along the bank, leaning close to the current, hoping the reflection staring back might help me gather my thoughts.

Across the river, a wide clearing opened between the trees, overflowing with flowers, blue, pink, and purple swaying under the falling rain. Bushes heavy with my favorite fruit, Saelberries, grew in scattered clusters, their color bright even beneath the storm darkend sky.

The demigod Eirawen was known to wander those woods, the last white wolf, his coat pure as winter’s first snow. His purpose was simple. Survive. Just as I prepared to rise from the riverbank, I saw him emerge slowly into the flowered clearing. He was watching something I had not noticed before. A section of flowers lay flattened, as if someone had been resting there, hidden among the blooms. Eirawen approached cautiously, a low growl rumbling from his chest. Thunder boomed overhead, shaking the air and causing my ear drums to ring, yet the demigod did not flinch. Only then did I see movement within the crushed flowers as a figure slowly pushed herself upright.

A woman stood there. Tall, broad shouldered, unmistakably strong despite her condition. Long blonde hair hung in mud streaked strands over armor shattered nearly beyond recognition. Blood darkened the metal and her skin alike. She kept herself standing only by leaning on an enormous war hammer planted into the ground, the weapon nearly as tall as she was.

The broken insignia on her armor marked her as a Knight-Captain of the Godkin army. For a moment, I wondered if she might be a paladin, but that thought faded. Had she been one, surely she would have called upon the Light to mend her wounds.

She said something to the wolf, though the river’s rush and the distance swallowed her words. Slowly, painfully, she lifted the hammer into a ready stance, settling into a posture that promised she would fight regardless of the outcome. Even under darkened skies, a faint light caught along the ornate edges of the weapon, glinting through the dirt and blood. Eirawen advanced, confident, as though he believed this battered godkin would be easy prey.

Eirawen lunged first, white fur blurring against the darkened clearing. His paws tore through mud and flowers alike as he closed the distance in a heartbeat, jaws snapping. The woman barely moved in time. She twisted aside, the wolf’s teeth grazing her ruined armor instead of flesh, the impact still enough to send her stumbling. Pain flashed across her face, yet she did not fall. She swung her hammer in a wide, desperate arc, forcing the wolf back as thunder cracked overhead.

Eirawen circled, patient, knowing she was already broken. He darted in again, faster this time, claws raking across her side. She cried out but answered with another swing, the hammer crashing into his shoulder with a sickening crack that sent the demigod skidding through the flowers.

For one fleeting moment they both stood still, rain pouring down over them. Eirawen rose, limping and enraged, and leapt towards the woman to try to end the fight. She met him head on.

As the wolf sprang, she drove the base of her hammer into the ground and held fast. Eirawen collided with her, his weight nearly knocking her flat, but she twisted with the impact and brought the hammer’s head upward with everything she had left. The blow caught the demigod beneath the jaw. Bone shattered with a thunderous crack, and his body flipped midair before crashing into the mud, momentum carrying him lifelessly through the flowers. He twitched once, then lay still, rain washing his blood into the soil.

Breathing in desperate gasps, she staggered toward the corpse. With a cry that I could not hear, only see, she raised the hammer one last time and brought it down across the wolf’s neck. Once. Twice. On the third strike, the spine gave way, and Eirawen’s head tore free, rolling through the soaked petals.
The clearing fell quiet save for rain and the distant rush of the Saelwyn.

The woman swayed, the battle won with a clear victor. Her hammer slipped from her fingers and struck the ground beside her. She tried to take a step, but her strength failed. She collapsed into the ruined flowers and fell unconscious.

After what I had witnessed, I couldn’t bring myself to let that godkin’s life end there. Whether she knew it or not, she had slain a demigod. Had Eirawen been more cautious, he likely would have been the victor that day.

I found a shallower stretch of the river and crossed using the slick stones beneath the rushing water. Reaching her side, I saw she was still breathing, though only barely. She was standing at death’s threshold. I used what lunar magic I could to mend her wounds, closing what injuries were within my power in the moment. Anything more severe would require a ritual. Someone in her condition could not simply be restored with a quick spell.

With what magic remained, I compelled her war hammer to follow me by levitating it and opened a small portal leading back to the Cathedral of Midnight in our capital, Lun. From the portal emerged my lunar owl, Odawyn. At my signal, he turned toward Eirawen’s corpse and cast a spell that whisked the demigod’s remains away.

I bent down and lifted the woman. Fragments of shattered armor slipped free as I did, clattering softly to the ground. I asked Odawyn to gather the pieces while I carried her through the portal. She was far from light.

It was not our custom to take godkin prisoners. Truthfully, we rarely took prisoners at all. Yet something about her piqued my interest. At the time I had no real plan. I told myself I would nurse her back to health and speak with her. It never occurred to me that she might refuse to talk… nor did I consider how a polite conversation would seem after what is, in truth, a kidnapping.

She awoke the next day.

I sat beside her bed in meditation when I noticed her begin to stir. She pushed herself upright slowly, confusion clouding her expression, though she had yet to look in my direction. I wondered how much she remembered of the previous day.

“Good morning, Knight-Captain,” I greeted, hoping the acknowledgment of her rank might put her at ease. It had the opposite effect. She jolted at the sound of my voice and whipped her head toward me, eyes sharp with alarm before she forced herself to calm. “My name is Aer’Ellyn,” I continued. “What is yours?”

“I am Corrine,” she replied flatly. “As of yesterday… former Knight-Captain.” Her gaze drifted past me, distant and hollow. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the capital city of my people,” I answered, folding my arms.

She seemed unconcerned with the fact that her armor, and everything beneath it, was gone as she swung her legs from the bed, attempting to stand. Only then did she notice the chain secured around her ankle.

“My apologies,” I said. “But I can’t allow you to leave just yet.”

She exhaled sharply and sank back onto the bed. “Am I a prisoner?”

“That depends,” I replied. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Corrine told me she had struggled within her unit for years. She had grown up poor, was mocked for her height, and never quite belonged among her peers. She fought back when she could and complained when things grew unbearable, but nothing ever changed.

On the day I found her, her own unit betrayed her. They cornered her in the woods, beat her nearly to death, and left her behind, believing the forest would finish what they had started. They were tired of seeing her, hearing her, being forced to tolerate her presence. Removing her seemed easier. Somehow, she managed to crawl away, dragging her war hammer behind her until she reached the flowered clearing. When Eirawen appeared, she knew only that she did not want to die there. She did not even know what she was facing. She had never seen a wolf so massive, nor one with fur so impossibly white. Of the fight itself, she remembered little, only scattered moments between pain and exhaustion.

For several days, I rarely left the building where she recovered. I cooked each of her meals and tended her wounds myself. Slowly, she began to speak more freely. I learned of her brother, a Captain in his own right, of the poems she loved, and of the regrets and fears she rarely voiced to others. At night, I often remained nearby as she slept, hoping foolishly that my presence might keep her nightmares at bay

.
Not long after, I removed the shackles from her ankle. They were no longer necessary. She told me she intended to stay if she was welcome. There was nothing left for her to return to. I had clothes prepared for her and granted her freedom to wander the city as she pleased.

In time, her faith in the Godkins began to erode. More and more often she would visit the Cathedral, listening as I spoke. Then one day, after a sermon, she approached me and offered a small, uncertain smile.

She thanked me for saving her life and said she wished to serve as my guardian. I asked her to join me in my chambers, deep within the Cathedral’s regal halls, so we might speak in private. My room was immaculate, draped in deep black tones with faint violet undertones. Grand curtains framed the tall windows, a rug woven in the likeness of our moon covered the floor, and crescent-shaped pillows adorned the bed. Above us, the ceiling was painted as an endless galaxy, mirroring the night sky seen on the darkest evenings. We sat together at the edge of the bed, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched.

She explained that, in her culture, one who saves anothers life is owed a debt until it can be repaid in equal measure. Protecting me, she believed, was the only way to settle that debt. I pretended indifference. I did not want her to sense the growing fondness I felt. I told her someone like me had little need for protection. Yet, despite my words, I chose to trust her. I shared my past, my purpose, and my ambitions. I dispelled the illusions that softened my appearance and showed her the truth of what I was.
She did not flinch. My monstrous form did not trouble her. Nor did the fact that my path would inevitably place me against her own people. Even my inability to remain dead failed to disturb her.

In return, she confessed that she truly was a paladin, and that, on the day we met, she had been unable to call upon her holy magic. After attending my sermons, she had begun to question whether her goddess was as righteous as she had always been taught. She wished to learn more of the First Celestial and asked if I would teach her magic myself.

I agreed. She was the first godkin to show genuine care for my people.

Eirawen’s head was fashioned into a hood for her to wear, and beneath the harvest moon the clergy performed a ritual to enchant it with strength. I wanted her to be as formidable as possible. My private blacksmith forged a new suit of armor for her, tailored perfectly and etched with lunar motifs. I infused her with a portion of my own magic, granting her the ability to learn lunar arts from other sources as well, though I still guided her training personally.

For years she remained at my side, rarely far from sight. In time, she mastered lunar magic and even learned to shape aspects of my Dream itself.

Within my realm, when we are alone, she often chooses the form of a small white wolf. She creates forests to wander, animals to live beside rather than hunt. It is her refuge, a peaceful world she builds for herself. Yet whenever she walks there, I feel a quiet longing within her, a wish for a life of simple freedom. I wish I could give her that life permanently. But we may only enter this realm when I sleep, and I cannot sleep forever.

I knew how cruel fate could be, peace never lasts. As conflict spread and the war with the Godkin intensified, the world seemed determined to pull Corrine back toward the battles she had tried to leave behind. During the years she stayed with me, I never asked her to raise a weapon against her own people. Yet as we grew closer, the burdens I carried slowly became hers as well.

With time, even the forests she shaped within my Dream began to change. Where once they were gentle and bright, shadows began to creep between the trees. The creatures she conjured, once soft and welcoming, grew restless, their forms sharpened by unseen tension. She continued her solitary walks through those shifting woods, ever resolute, but she too began to change alongside them.

In hindsight I understand the truth I was too blind to see then. The wolf who walks my dreams would eventually become a nightmare, not by her own will, but by the path we were both destined to follow. By the oath she swore to stand as my guardian.