The Prophecy's Reject

Zylia's POV

"Found this by the ridge," he said, his voice rough with nerves.

He tossed it into the dirt. The firelight caught on dark metal , blackened, cracked, stamped with a strange sigil. A crescent shape torn through by claws.

The murmurs began instantly.

"What the hell is that?"

"That's not pack work."

"It reeks of magic."

Mason crouched beside the emblem, his brow furrowing. "Where exactly did you find it?"

"Near the stream," the man said. "Half buried. Looked fresh."

I took a step closer, the smell of ash biting at my nose. Something about the symbol made my stomach twist. It felt... wrong. Not dangerous in the way blades were , dangerous like something older.

Like Something was watching.

Mason touched the edge of the emblem with his knife. "This isn't Howlborne's mark."

One of the older rogues spat. "Then whose is it?"

No one answered. The silence that followed was worse than the question.

A man behind me muttered, "It showed up the same week she did."

My heart skipped. "What?"

"She's the only new thing around here," another voice growled. "Maybe she brought it."

Mason straightened slowly. "You think she dropped a curse on her own camp?"

"Wouldn't be the first time a pack rat brought trouble," someone snapped.

Laughter followed, sharp and mean.

"I didn't bring anything!" I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I swear, I've never seen that before."

"Lies." The man who spoke stepped forward , tall, scarred, his yellow eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. "I can smell the pack on you still."

He grabbed my arm before I could move. His grip was firm, tight, like iron, crushing the flesh beneath his fingers. "Maybe we should cut the truth out of you."

"Let her go," Mason said, his voice even.

The rogue didn't move. "You're too soft, Mason. You keep taking in strays, and one day they'll gut you in your sleep."

Mason's knife was at the man's throat before I even saw him move. The blade glinted, reflecting the fire's thin light.

"Say that again," Mason murmured.

The man's jaw clenched. After a tense heartbeat, he released me and stepped back. Mason didn't lower the knife until the other rogues looked away.

I rubbed my arm where bruises were already forming. Mason noticed, his gaze flicking to my skin, then away. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied.

He turned back to the emblem in the dirt. "Whatever this is, it's not pack work. But it means someone's tracking these woods."

A low murmur spread again , quieter this time, edged with fear.

"Tracking us?" a rogue asked.

Mason nodded once. "Maybe. Or testing boundaries. Either way, it's a warning."

The fire crackled, spitting embers into the cold night. I could feel their stares on me , suspicion crawling like insects beneath my skin.

I took a step back. "You think it's me, don't you?"

No one answered.

Mason's voice was steady. "If someone's coming, we'll be ready. Get some rest."

The others hesitated before drifting off into the shadows, muttering under their breath. The only sound left was the wind tugging through the trees and the whisper of the knife sliding back into Mason's belt.

He kicked dirt over the emblem, burying it beneath ash and soil. "Don't leave camp tonight," he said without looking at me.

I nodded, though my throat felt tight. "Mason,"

"Just stay close to the fire."

He walked off into the dark, shoulders tense, leaving me alone with the faint glow of embers and the feeling that something unseen was crawling closer.

I sank down beside the dying fire, hugging my knees to my chest. The woods beyond flickered with shadows, and my thoughts wouldn't stop circling the mark , the torn crescent, the claws, the way the air around it had felt heavy.

Something about it called to me. Whispered.

A faint breeze brushed the hair from my face. For a second, I thought I heard it again , the whisper from my dream.

Not all prophecies speak truth. Some speak choice.

I shivered and pressed my hands to the ground, grounding myself in the dirt.

Then I heard the crunch of a twig behind me.

I froze. "Mason?"

No answer.

The sound came again, slow and deliberate.

I turned, but the dark behind me seemed to breathe.

Another step.  But this time, it was closer.

"Mason?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

A shadow moved between the trees , tall, deliberate, watching.

The air grew colder. My pulse pounded in my ears.

Then a voice, deep and calm, spoke from the dark.

"Running won't help you, little stray."

I couldn't breathe.

The wind shifted, carrying the faintest scent of smoke and blood.

"Who...who are you?" My voice shivered.

I didn't turn to look at who it was.

My pulse spiked.

"Touch her or you're wolf steak." A voice growled from behind me.

I turned and it was...