Hands clasped around Arlianna’s shoulders, her nightdress soaked with sweat, the drenched cloth pulsing with her erratic heartbeat.

‘A dream,’ said Lucer’s voice.

Arlianna looked up at the old man, surveying the depths of his fading green eyes, taking stock of his wrinkled forehead and his grey hair. He was the most powerful ward in the kingdom, yet despite his power, he was reduced to offering Arlianna nothing more than the empty reassurance of two words.

Wide-eyed, Arlianna stared at the ward, too aware of how the terror in her own blue eyes was contradicting the sombre, resigned look in his. Two opposing emotions radiated from them both: hers, panic; his, calm. He was the yin to her yang, the only salvation that brought balance back to her thoughts and grounded her.

‘Drink, my lady,’ came another voice, unable to contain the nervous tension Lucer hid so well.

Arlianna looked past Lucer to her ever-faithful chambermaid, Deetry, who held out a cup. The maid’s eyes were like two black pits, their usual murky brown now almost black from the shadows cast across her face. Her long red hair draped down either side of her face like an ancient curtain, trying to conceal the concern that one day the king would likely blame Arlianna’s deteriorating condition on her.

Arlianna reached out a still shaking hand, one unasked question bubbling on her lips. Despite her desperation to know the truth, she had learnt long ago that the king had forbidden the ward from telling her about the true origins of her curse—the reason why her nights were plagued with inescapable dreams. Even if Lucer wanted to disobey the king, to do so would be like trapping himself inside hell’s gates. Her father’s absolute rule dictated that the secrets behind her nightmares never reached her ears. All she knew was that the wolves that chased her in her dreams were real—that they wanted her. Why, she didn’t know. Throwing her weight around did not affect his resolve, nor did arguments.

Arlianna pulled her weary body out of bed, the cool air instantly making her alert.

‘You should try to get more sleep, my lady,’ said Lucer.

‘We can give you another sleep tonic,’ suggested Deetry, her demeanour mimicking that of a nervous squirrel.

Arlianna waved them off. They all knew that sleep would not grace her with its presence again.

‘Leave me,’ she said, her voice mirroring the distracted nature of her mind. ‘Please,’ she added when neither Lucer nor Deetry made a move. Her voice barely fell short of pleading.

Lucer nodded and ushered a less willing Deetry out with him.

Arlianna wandered across the vast space that was her bedroom. Despite being ornately decorated with the finest things, it felt empty, no shadow of a personality that reflected its resident. She moved over to the nightstand, her shadow-ridden eyes and tired complexion staring back at her, her black hair as lifeless as the rest of her. She rubbed her face, a gesture that she did often, a secret hope that she could erase the years of premature, sleep-deprived aging. As always, her efforts failed. She sighed, a sign of resignation, a stamp upon the air which sealed her fate. She was as much a prisoner inside her body as she was in this castle.

Not for the first time, she wished she could break free, find some magic potion that would teleport her to another world, where she was free to roam the street markets, where enemies didn’t see her head as a prize to be mounted on a wall. Yet no amount of wishing had brought her the luxury of escaping her reality. Not even Lucer could conjure that kind of hope.

Her distracted thoughts were replaced by a sharp intake of breath as the howl of a lone wolf echoed through the woods that bordered the kingdom. Her eyes pulled away from the mirror towards the window, her heart suddenly beating erratically. The animal’s cry floated on the wind towards her, an invisible intruder sailing through the windows that kept the world out. Moments later, another wolf answered its call. A chill slithered towards Arlianna, drawing itself up her arms like long sleeves. Wearily, she looked up at the full moon. It was hanging lazily in the sky, thousands of stars speckling the black canvas upon which the engorged, blood red sphere was pinned.

Just like in her dreams, she walked towards the shadows. Stopping at the double doors that separated her room from her balcony, she hesitated, her hand lingering over the handles. Beyond the safety of her room, the shadows of spires and rooftop gargoyles morphed into tortured shapes across the balcony tiles. It was never safe to venture out when the moon was in its blood-red cycle. She had been told it was when the wolves were at their most active. The wolves, she knew, longed for her blood because their sole purpose was to end the line of Obinar. Going outside was, at the best of times, her father would say, an unnecessary risk. Going out on a blood red moon was unthinkable. Yet despite the warnings, something in her blood started to sing, her desire to see the wolves more than it should have been. She had been protected well, meaning she had never seen a wolf, except for in the shadowy grounds of her dreams. Although she knew they would kill her if they were given the chance, she had been developing a fantasy about them, that if she looked one in the eyes, her dreams would stop, that she would be cured. It made the temptation too strong; her father’s warnings faded as she decided to step outside.

The coast was clear; Lucer and Deetry had let her be, although she knew they wouldn’t be far. Trepidation filled her bones, her nerves twitching and buzzing. She closed her hand around the handles and, balancing her weight against the doors, she pushed them open.

Outside, the howling was much louder than she had anticipated. The wolf’s cry was no longer haunting but bone-chilling. It left her feeling like she had just spotted an assassin the same moment he had decided to strike, his bow loaded and string pulled taut. Arlianna knew her nerve to remain outside wouldn’t hold for long. She had never been one for heroics, no matter how much she tried to counter the fact. She swallowed deeply, ignoring the rising dis-ease spreading up her throat.

Below, in the streets, a few blocks from the castle gates, something black and large clung to the edges of the shadows, its grace and agility unparalleled. Its form was human, but it didn’t move like a human. It was too light on its feet, too wary of everything it could and couldn’t see.

Beyond where the mysterious shadow lurked was the town square, the main obstacle preventing anyone from getting into the castle. With towering walls encircling the perimeter and guards posted along each one, the castle stood as a formidable fortress. No one had ever penetrated it.

The shadowy figure slunk silently down a series of passageways, edging its way towards the square as people slept in their terrace houses, safe and unaware of the danger that passed by their front windows. When the mysterious intruder approached the east entrance to the square, it stopped to survey what lay beyond. Arlianna followed its gaze, spying the soldiers who stood guard. If whatever or whoever it was could see them, there was no doubt they would be able to see it too if a misstep was taken.

The suspense built, accentuating the silence that had befallen the kingdom, her thumping heart a conspirator to make her stand out. She looked around, wondering why the wolves had fallen silent and, more importantly, where they were hiding. After surveying the square, the figure inched backwards towards the shadows that had concealed it on the way in. With increased speed, it made for freedom. Just as Arlianna expected it to disappear, a second shadow caught her attention. Another person, a man she assumed, was blocking the shadow’s path. Unlike the first, the new addition wasn’t trying to hide in the shadows. Instead, he stood stock still, boldly blocking the path of the one who was trying to remain concealed. When the first figure saw the other, it froze. Arlianna felt the tension rise between them as if it were her own.

A low rumble drifted skyward, mimicking the sound of stone rolling over stone. An onslaught of howls erupted—those once silent now joining in chorus, each one colliding with the next until their low moans fed the night sky a song of a hundred tortured souls. The figure in front of the newest arrival arched its head backwards, responding to their call. Then, as the last note left its mouth, the shadow contorted. A blue light, similar to the glow of the horizon when blue flames were lit to celebrate the beginning of the mid-findler festival, glowed as shadows stumbled forward into the light. Arlianna squinted, barely able to make out the shape of a man writhing in his own skin, an invisible force pulling him sideways, backwards and tearing him in half. As the figure split in two, the light strengthened as it poured from his centre and drove skyward.

Arlianna shielded her eyes, although she could not keep them from watching. She was transfixed by what was playing out before her, curious and fearful all at once.

As the light rose into the night, it began to spin like an other-worldly craft, creating a disc-like shape. Atop the disc stood a man, an umbilical cord of light reaching towards the ground and connecting him to the figure below. He was tall, like the figure in the streets had been, his frame muscular, his chest bare, and his legs concealed by a pair of cotton pants. His chest rippled with muscles that seemed super-human. Long black hair flew out behind him, tormented by the wind.

For a brief moment, his eyes left the enemy blocking his path to look at Arlianna. He pointed a long, tanned finger at her, his voice echoing across the sky, amplified by whatever magic he was drawing on to perform his current actions.

‘It was meant to be you,’ he said, his eyes dark, cold and unforgiving.

Arlianna’s mouth hung open, the man’s words repeating in her mind. She was unable to comprehend how they could be identical to the ones the wolf whispered to her in her dreams. Before she could process the coincidence, a single arrow flew towards him. Arlianna’s eyes tracked the weapon as it sailed towards its mark. She expected the weapon to slice through the disc of light and strike the man down—but instead, it vanished into nothing. Arlianna looked towards the palace walls, spying the one soldier with his bow bare. Next to him, the other soldiers had their bows loaded, arrows levelled at the intruder, awaiting the command that would signal their deadly rain.

‘Fire!’ called a voice, firm and absolute.

A flurry of arrows followed the first, all of them hitting their mark, but none of them surviving their flight once they hit the light.

On the street below, the figure connected to the man on the disc continued to twist awkwardly. The man who had appeared in the street to block the path of the first remained unmoving. Whoever it was, he seemed to know something that the soldiers did not—that the man on the disc was impervious to harm.

The man on the disc lowered himself onto one knee. He plunged his hands into the disc, pulling two streams of light towards him, making him look like a chariot driver holding onto the reins of an unstoppable animal below. With his eyes fixed on the contorting figure, he pulled his right hand backwards, the rope-like light tugging at the edges of the figure below. A ripping sound echoed off the stone walls. From the figure that had once been the man rose a midnight black wolf, far larger than Arlianna ever imagined. On all fours, it was able to look its enemy in the eyes.

The man on the disc reefed his left hand backwards, the cord pulling tight, the wolf responding like a marionette to a puppeteer’s command. The wolf stepped forward, taking an attack position. A snarl slipped through its bared teeth, a note that sang of its deadly intentions. The figure opposite the giant animal did not flinch.

The man on the disc drew his hands to his chest, and the wolf below reared high into the air, towering over the other figure. For the first time, the stranger opposing the wolf took a defensive stance. From hidden pockets, the wolf’s enemy pulled out two short, cylindrical objects. With the flick of a wrist, the objects became one and tripled in length. The man above responded by pulling the wolf into a defensive stance.

The wolf’s attacker began to swirl his weapon. The choreographed movements drove the wolf backwards. The man on the blue disc looked behind him and into the town square. He tugged hard on the strings of light, and the wolf turned on his command. It ran towards the square, but not into it. Patiently, the wolf spun on its heels to face the direction it had just come. The wolf’s tail flicked greedily from side to side, waiting for the mystery figure to arrive. Before long, the wolf’s pursuer caught up. The caution in his every step told Arlianna of the dangers he was about to face. Although the pursuer’s step did not falter, it slowed, his every movement steady and calculated. The man on the disc smiled when the figure approached, the wolf growled, its hackles rising.

The waiting game was over. Though neither made the first move, Arlianna could feel the electricity in the air, the energy coursing through their muscles as the opponents faced off, preparing to fight. The wolf snapped its jaws towards the man who was intent on preventing its escape. The great animal underestimated the man’s speed, one of the man’s weapons driving upwards, connecting with the wolf’s mouth. The wolf’s head snapped sideways, but only for a moment. The man on the disc pulled the cords in his hand in such a way that the wolf had little time to register any pain it felt.

The figure stretched one foot forward; his weapon poised before him. The wolf responded with lightning-quick reflexes, its jaws clamping around the object. Unwilling to let go, the man lost his footing. The wolf arched its head backwards, causing the weapon and the man to fly through the air, as if he were pole vaulting his way into the town square.

The soldiers split their focus, their response precise and disciplined. Every second arrow that had been pointed at the man on the disc was now levelled at the man fighting the wolf. The figure hit the ground hard, but he held tight to his weapon. Neither he nor the wolf was willing to give up their hold.

The town square was well-lit compared to the streets beyond. Torches with hungry flames were evenly spaced around its circumference, allowing an orange glow to light the space as if it were trying to mimic dawn. With the additional light, Arlianna could see that the figure had long hair tied into a braid, revealing that the wolf’s opposition was a woman and not a man. She was slender yet muscular, a female with a warrior’s determination and a soldier’s training. Her shoulders were tense, yet her body still held a discernible degree of cockiness, a carefree attitude that radiated a defiant resolve. She was wearing a pair of leather pants, a cotton shirt, and a hooded vest underneath a leather breastplate. Arlianna felt herself squinting, unable to fathom why anyone, let alone a woman, would be fighting a wolf. In her father’s kingdom, women were expected to be women and men were expected to be men. Each gender had its duties, and no line was ever to be crossed.

Somehow, the woman found her footing again without ever loosening her grip on the weapon. She pulled it towards her, but with the wolf still attached, it didn’t move. Instead of trying to dislodge the wolf by force, she created a force to dislodge the wolf.

To the side of where the woman was standing was an outcrop of bricks, forming an archway with a recess behind it. Still gripping the weapon, the woman charged into the recess; when the weapon struck the wall, the impact hurled the wolf forward into the square.

The soldiers realigned their aim to cover the woman, the wolf and the man on the disc. A lone arrow whistled through the square, the metal tip striking the cobblestones and skating off to the side. It was a warning shot.

‘Hold your fire,’ shouted the woman who had moved into the square with the wolf. ‘If you shoot, you’ll hit me, and if you hit me, this thing will escape.’

The soldiers didn’t flinch, yet their posture seemed to ask the same question: Who was this woman, and why should they obey her? A general, discernible by his uniform, roused the attention of one of the armed guards who was standing inside a turret. He whispered something to the guard before the guard took off at full sprint towards the castle.

Angered by the woman’s ability to regain her weapon, the wolf snarled, its teeth bared, saliva dripping from its mouth. The man on the disc above pulled at more cords, directing the wolf to realign its footing before launching another attack.

From the other side of the square, a lone dog sprinted towards the commotion, its bark lost amid the wolf’s growls. Fearlessly, the dog approached the fight, but before it could land more than a single bite, the wolf kicked its foot and sent the dog flying backwards across the square. It yelped as it thudded against a nearby wall, then fell lifelessly to the ground.

The woman looked relaxed despite her stance being guarded, ready for what was to come. She twirled her weapon, taunting the wolf. The man on the disc had to work hard to rein in the wolf’s fury. It wanted to lurch forward—to rip her throat out—even at a distance, Arlianna could tell that much. Despite the animal’s bloodlust, the man on the disc was far more composed. He had the stance of a warrior and the wisdom of a man who would not be rushed toward death.

The wolf and woman danced around each other, no doubt trying to discover a weakness in the other’s defence. The man on the disc looked towards the soldiers. Two-thirds of the arrows continued to be pointed towards him and the wolf. While he didn’t seem perturbed by the idea of the arrows hitting him, his expression carried an unspoken concern about the wolf’s mortality. Many of the soldiers looked to be on the verge of unleashing a storm of metal, wood, and feathers. The man’s hands worked quickly, pulling at the cords of light to command the wolf’s movements.

The wolf lurched forward, its jaws snapping, not at the woman’s weapon but at the hands that held it. She danced out of the way. She wasn’t elegant in her movements, but she was quick and sure-footed. When the wolf repositioned, she kicked her leg outwards, her foot connecting with the hound’s side.

The wolf growled, its tongue licking the air as if it were tasting the woman’s blood before it had managed to spill a drop. Arlianna heard the woman laugh softly. She was no more deterred by her lack of progress than she was worried about the arrows that were pointed at her. It was clearly a game for her; she was the cat, the wolf the mouse. The wolf lunged again. This time, she skated out of the way with less time to spare. Before her footing could be regained, the wolf spun around and knocked her to the ground, its heavy frame pinning all of her, bar her legs to the cobbles beneath. She kicked upwards with a force that seemed impossible for a human to produce, the wolf’s body arching involuntarily backwards through the air.

The man on the disc pulled feverishly at his cords, the wolf scampering sideways as it flipped over its own weight. Together, the woman and the wolf pulled themselves into a standing position, each looking at the other as though they were a prize to be won, a head to be mounted on a stake.

The woman didn’t waste any time. She leapt into the air, once again displaying abilities that should not have been possible. The wolf jumped into the air, trying to catch her mid-flight, but it missed, a few strands of her hair the only thing that teased its efforts. Like a gymnast, she landed on the great creature’s back. The wolf rejected her presence, trying to buck her off, its head twisting around to snare her in its jaws. She straddled its neck like a rider would a horse. Leaning forward, she grabbed the wolf’s upper jaw, its mouth forced open by her strength. The wolf collapsed to the ground in an effort to either throw the woman from her post or squash her in the process. But her seat didn’t falter, her legs firmly wrapped around its neck like a snake squeezing life from its prey. The wolf whimpered in pain, but the man commanding it didn’t notice. He instructed the beast to forge on, to get up and keep fighting. The woman was winning, and soon it would be over.

Arlianna looked up, noticing that the man’s determination was not matched by his strength. He looked to be waning—life being drawn from his body as the wolf lost its battle. Arlianna didn’t know where to look or even if she wanted to. Yet somehow her eyes wouldn’t peel away. Her heart was thumping, her eyes wide, her mind a flurry because she couldn’t decide if she wanted the woman or the beast to win. If the woman won, Arlianna would be safe for another night. If the wolf won, she might one day be granted the opportunity to find out why they plagued her dreams.

In the square, the wolf began to lose its footing, its weight becoming too heavy for its legs to bear. The woman’s determination didn’t subside; her lack of love for the creature was obvious. The wolf stumbled once more, the man’s grip on the cords he used to engineer its movements slipping.

Then something changed. The woman who had been so vehemently pursuing her prey lost her grip. Her head lolled as her body swayed. The wolf found new life, bucking her from her post. She fell to the ground. Arlianna expected her to stand up, but she didn’t. The wolf looked at its fallen opponent with a mixture of shock and anger. The man on the disc regained his strength, his hands taking a secure hold of the cords once more. He looked between the woman and the soldiers. For a moment, their bows had relaxed, and time seemed to stand still, freezing the moment that stood between life and death. Arlianna could sense his desire to finish the woman off, but instead, he pulled the wolf away, towards the streets from which he had originally entered. As the wolf disappeared around the first corner, arrows began to fly, but none found their mark. The man on the disc followed the wolf, his platform floating like a pontoon, an airborne chariot.

Arlianna watched on as the wolf found safer ground several streets away. It wasn’t until then that she saw another figure, who was holding a bow, join the wolf. The elegant way in which the new arrival moved left no doubt that he was related to the wolf. Twice as quickly as the man had transformed into a wolf, the wolf transformed back into the man, his blue disc sailing to the ground, his body landing inside the wolf’s body as it contorted inwards, allowing man and beast to merge. Within seconds, only the man was visible. He beat a hasty retreat to the safety of the woods beyond the city with his new companion close behind.

Once he was out of sight, Arlianna’s eyes snapped back towards the square. The woman lay motionless on the ground, a thin shadow of an arrow protruding from her side, the first tell of what had cost her the fight. Arlianna’s hand went to her mouth the same moment the soldiers began to shout. Guards that manned the portcullis rushed into the square, surrounding the woman and hiding her from view. The commotion below had caught more than just their attention. The clamour of people surging from both inside and outside the castle quickened her retreat indoors. She stole one last glance towards the square and then raced back inside, closing the doors before she was caught.