The Vikings Wolf Bride

The folks of elder grove had many rules.

Don't stray from the paths at night.

Don't leave your windows open during full moon.

And never, ever speak of the Wolf King.

Aria had broken all three before she turned nineteen.

She sat at the edge of the forest now, wind whipping around her like curious fingers, her bare feet grazing soft moss. Her name was whispered by the trees, though there was no one else around. The scent of rain hung in the air, yet the skies were clear—a sign, some would say. But Aria was never curious about signs.

She was only curious about silence.

The village was preparing for the Festival of Moons. Bright banners fluttered between rooftops, and silver coins had been sewn into dresses with shaky hands. At sunset, the villagers would place offerings at the tree line—tokens of peace, tribute for silence. But it was all pretenses. No one had seen the Wolf King in over a hundred years.

And yet. the forest still watched.

Aria lay back on her elbows, eyes straying up to the sickle moon in the late afternoon sky. Its shape was one her mother called the Hunter's Curve. There were some who whispered it was the mark of fate.

But Aria bore her own curve—branded into her skin just above her heart. A crescent-shaped birthmark, pale as milk and warm to the touch when the moon was full.

She didn’t know what it meant. Only that it made people stare.

“Aria!”

She turned at the sound of her sister’s voice. Lila came running across the field, skirts hitched in one hand, a basket swinging in the other.

“You’re going to miss the ceremony,” Lila huffed. “Mother’s already in a twist.”

Aria sighed and rose to her feet, brushing moss from her skirts. “She’s always in a twist. About something.”

“This time it’s serious. The High Seer is here. She’s doing the blessing.” Lila wrinkled her nose. “Creepy old thing. Keeps asking if you’ve been. feeling different.”

Aria’s heart gave a subtle flutter.

“Different how?”

“Like headaches. Dreams. Strange urges to run into the woods and never come back.” Lila rolled her eyes. “The usual doomsday nonsense.”

Aria didn't answer. She had been dreaming. For months, now. Strange, vivid things. A forest covered in silver frost. A pair of golden eyes watching her from the darkness. A man with a crown of bone and a cloak of fur and ash.

He always called her the same thing.

Little moon.

She never said anything to anyone.

By sundown, elder grove was vibrant with firelight and song. Aria stood at the back of the group; her silver-thread dress too tight at the sleeves. Her mother had braided blue flowers into her hair, praying under her breath the entire time.

"Be still," she had warned. "Don't make a scene."