Chapter3

The third day after the feast, on the night of the full moon.

The entire tribe gathered at Howling Cliff. The circular altar's center burned with the "Eternal Moon Fire," flames said to have never been extinguished since the tribe's founding, dancing with an eerie silver-blue color.

The tribespeople wore moonstones carved with family runes, chanting ancient prayers in low voices.

I had no moonstone.

Father ordered me to wear a "Silence Stone"—a smooth black pebble, hung from my neck with a leather cord.

It was heavy, ice-cold, absorbing all sound resonance around it. Wearing it, I couldn't participate in the howling chorus, could only stand in the "Penitent's Position" at the altar's outer ring.

That was a low stone circle, three steps below the main ground, like a deliberately carved depression.

Emily stood beside Mother, positioned right next to the main altar.

The sacred oil on her forehead reflected in the moonlight, the splint on her leg already removed, wrapped only in light bandages. Her gaze toward the flames was full of devotion.

Damian, as an honored guest, stood at the front of Graymane Tribe's delegation. His gaze swept across the altar, pausing briefly on me before quickly moving away. As if seeing something unclean.

The chief elder raised his bone staff, the chanting reaching its climax. The tribespeople looked up, low trembling wolf howls emerging from their throats. The sound gathered into waves, striking the cliff walls, moonlight seeming to vibrate with it.

The silence stone at my neck was like a barrier, blocking out the sound waves.

I could only see the tribespeople's open mouths, their trembling necks, but couldn't hear the complete sound.

The world was split into two parts:

Their side—connected, boiling, belonging to the moon;

And mine—in the silent, excluded side.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. The pain kept me lucid.

The ceremony proceeded to the offering segment. The chief elder held up a bone bowl, walking toward the Eternal Moon Fire, preparing to scatter the sacrifice into the flames.

Just then, the flames shot upward violently.

Not a normal flicker, but a violent expansion and distortion. The silver-blue instantly mixed with thick black smoke, the smoke rolling upward as if alive, emitting a piercing hissing sound.

An eruption of black mist from the fire's center, rapidly spreading, carrying the stench of sulfur and rotting flesh mixed together.

The chanting stopped abruptly.

The tribespeople stepped back in shock. Mother covered her nose and mouth, Father stepped forward half a pace, his face changing drastically.

"The Moon Fire has been defiled!" a shrill voice rang out.

It was Emily. She pointed at the flames, her face drained of color, trembling all over.

"Unclean... something unclean has invaded the sacred fire!"

The chief elder demanded sternly: "Who? Who brought this contamination?"

Beside the altar, a tall, thin elder bought by Emily—Glen—immediately turned toward me.

His finger pointed precisely at my position. "It's her! Look at her forehead!"

All eyes instantly pinned on me.

"Her moon mark was forcibly burned and concealed," Elder Glen's voice was loud and full of accusation. "That was a blessing mark from the Moon Goddess! Forcible removal leaves a void wound, perfect for dark forces to invade! She stands in the penitent's position, closest to the sacred fire, her uncleanliness attracted the contamination!"

The tribespeople stirred. Fearful whispers spread.

"I didn't." My voice, suppressed by the silence stone, sounded dry and weak.

"Still dare to argue?" Elder Glen advanced a step, his eyes gleaming with fanaticism. "Your very existence is polluting the ceremony! Those stripped of their marks should never appear at the full moon altar!"

Emily sobbed on cue, clutching Mother's arm.

"Mom... I'm dizzy... that black smoke's smell... reminds me of those... those dark creatures that attacked me in the Black Forest..."

Her words were like sparks falling into an oil barrel. The tribespeople's eyes shifted from suspicion to anger.

"Expel her!"

"Protect the sacred fire!"

"She's a calamity!"

Shouts rose from everywhere. Father's face appeared distorted in the dancing firelight and black smoke.

He stared at me, struggle in his eyes, but more a kind of frenzy swept up by group emotion.

The ceremony was ruined, the sacred fire contaminated—this was blasphemy against the tribe's foundation.

He needed an explanation, an answer that could immediately calm the panic.

And Elder Glen and Emily had laid the answer before him.

"Alpha!" Elder Glen knelt on the ground. "We must purify immediately! Use silver thorns to exorcise! Otherwise the contamination will pollute the entire land!"

Silver thorns soaked in salt water could burn werewolf skin, leaving wounds difficult to heal. They were specifically used to punish serious crimes or drive away possessing evil spirits.

Father closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, only cold resolution remained.

"Bring the silver thorns." His voice cut through all the clamor.

My heart felt frozen.

I looked at Mother—she turned her face away, holding Emily tighter.

I looked at Damian—his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a line, but he made no move.

Two guards quickly left, soon returning with instruments that gleamed with an ominous metallic sheen in the moonlight.

"Hold her down." Father commanded.

The guards came forward and grabbed my arms. I didn't struggle. Struggling would only make this humiliation uglier.

They dragged me to the open space in front of the altar, forcing me to turn around, back to the crowd. My leather vest was roughly torn off, exposing my entire back. Night wind scraped across my skin, raising shivers.

Elder Glen personally picked up a silver thorn whip. He weighed it, walking to my rear side.

"In the Moon Goddess's name, expel the unclean!" he shouted.

The first lash fell.

Searing pain exploded. Not simple flesh pain, but burning, corrosive agony, spreading from my shoulder blade to my spine.

I bit down, didn't cry out. The taste of blood filled my throat.

The second lash. The third lash.

Each one precisely tore open skin. I heard the sound of flesh being split, heard the surrounding tribespeople's suppressed gasps, heard Emily's small, seemingly frightened whimpers.

Vision began to blur.

Nine lashes. The ancient number of exorcism.

The last lash was especially heavy, striking my waist. My legs gave out, I fell to my knees. Knees hit broken stones, but the pain was completely drowned by the burning on my back.

The world spun. The foul black smoke seemed to have dissipated somewhat, the flames recovering some silver-blue.

The tribespeople quieted down, like watching a completed sacrifice, satisfied yet exhausted.

Elder Glen threw down the thorn whip, dark blood staining it.

"The contamination has been dispersed."

Father's voice came from overhead, distant and hollow:

"Take her to the side cave, no treatment allowed, let moonlight purify the wounds."

Guards lifted my arms. I barely stood, the wounds on my back pulling at every nerve.

I raised my head, scanning the crowd.

Mother bowed her head. Emily hid behind Mother's shoulder, her eyes unnervingly bright in the shadows.

Damian had already turned around, speaking quietly with his Graymane companions.

No one said a word for me.

The guards dragged me away from the altar. As I passed through the crowd, the tribespeople automatically parted, their eyes filled with fear, disgust, and a strange relief—the calamity was removed, they were safe.

I withdrew my gaze, no longer looking at them.

The side cave was a place for storing old ritual implements, cold and damp, permeated with dust and mildew.

The guards threw me onto a pile of dry grass, locked the wooden gate, and left.

I lay on the straw, my back burning with pain, but my heart filled with deathly cold.

Moonlight slanted through rock crevices, illuminating mottled ancient murals on the opposite wall. In the paintings, wolf packs ran beneath the moon, free, wild, belonging to one whole.

And I had just been personally whipped with silver thorns by my tribe, my blood kin, my Alpha, expelled from that picture.

Outside the cave came faint sounds of the howling ceremony restarting, chanting rising again, pure, devout, as if the recent episode had never happened.

I closed my eyes, burying my face in the earth-scented dry grass.

The last thread of expectation for "home" completely severed in that cold air mixed with blood, dust, and distant singing.