A Prophecy of Faith and Fear

Flashback: 8 Years Earlier

BZZZT! The buzzer reverberated through the packed stadium, signaling halftime. “And that’s the half, folks! The current score is 38-42, with your Half Peak University Wolves trailing their rivals,” the announcer boomed, his voice echoing across the stands.

Melody leaned forward in her seat, her excitement barely contained. The energy in the arena was electric, the kind of pulse that made your heart race even if you weren’t on the court. But Melody wasn’t just any spectator; she lived for basketball. It wasn’t just the game—it was the strategy, the skill, and, okay, maybe the players didn’t hurt either. Her brothers had taught her well, and it showed whenever she managed to sneak into a pickup game.

Tuning into the college game day radio station on her headphones, she caught the commentators’ halftime analysis. “The University of Triton Foxes have absolutely dominated this game so far,” one host said. “But let’s talk about Andrew Kirston, the Wolves’ freshman phenom. Would you agree he’s been the player of the half?”

Melody nodded in agreement, even though no one could see her. Andrew was the best player on the court, no question, even with their team trailing. She and her dad had left their seats to grab some popcorn, but she couldn’t wait to get back. Missing a single moment of the second half wasn’t an option.l

By the time they returned, the Wolves were clawing their way back. The court was a blur of motion as players darted, passed, and dove for the ball. Melody’s fingers gripped the edge of her seat as the final seconds ticked away.

“71-72. Thirty seconds left on the clock,” the radio commentator announced, his voice tense with anticipation. “The Wolves have possession. This is their last shot. Can they pull it off?”

The arena buzzed with nervous energy. Melody kept one headphone in, loving the layered experience of live commentary and the crowd’s roar. For a fleeting moment, her pulse seemed to sync with the hum, like a silent vibration rippling under her skin. She shook it off as excitement but felt an odd warmth flicker in her chest, a sensation that faded just as quickly as it had come.

Andrew received the inbound pass and dribbled up to the top of the key. He moved with a cool confidence, weaving the ball between his legs as the clock ticked down. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. The crowd began counting aloud, their voices rising in unison.

Andrew passed the ball to a teammate, cut toward the basket, and caught a quick return pass. Three seconds. Two. He jumped, releasing the ball as the buzzer blared. Time seemed to freeze. The ball bounced on the rim once, twice, and then… swish.

The stadium erupted. Fans leapt to their feet, screaming, clapping, and stomping. “The Wolves have done it!” the announcer exclaimed. “73-72 is your final score. Thanks for coming out and supporting your home team!”

Still riding the adrenaline high, Melody tugged on her dad’s arm. “Can we go down to the court? I want to get my cup signed!” she pleaded.

Alpha Michael Nickels sighed but nodded. “Alright, let’s go.”

Yep, that’s right. Alpha. Melody’s dad wasn’t just any father; he was the leader of their pack—their “village,” if you will. They were werewolves, though you’d never know it if you weren’t in the know. Their pack had generations of practice blending seamlessly into human society. To the world, they were just another close-knit community.

As they approached the players, Melody’s dad’s eyes glazed over—a telltale sign of a mind link. Werewolves could communicate telepathically within their pack, like a built-in, silent phone. Melody rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Pack business? Now?” she muttered under her breath. Couldn’t it wait for one night? For once, she’d managed to get out of the packhouse and do something normal. She wasn’t about to let it get ruined.

While her dad was distracted, Melody approached Andrew. She held out her limited-edition Wolves cup, her cheeks flushing slightly. He was even more impressive up close, with his dirty blonde hair tousled and damp with sweat, and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. “You played an amazing game,” she said, her voice almost drowned out by the lingering noise of the crowd.

Andrew grinned, taking the cup. “Thanks,” he said, scribbling his signature across the side. Melody couldn’t help but stare, her heart fluttering. He was… well, dreamy. No other way to put it.

But just as he handed the cup back, Melody felt herself being hoisted into the air. “Dad! What the—” she gasped as she landed with a thud over his shoulder.

Her father’s voice was low and urgent. “Rogues. We’re under attack. We need to get home. Now.”

Her stomach dropped. Rogues. The word alone was enough to send a chill down her spine. Rogues were wolves without a pack, bitter and destructive. They lived by one twisted rule: if they couldn’t have a pack, no one could. They were ruthless, killing indiscriminately to tear down any pack they came across.

Melody craned her neck to look back, catching one last glimpse of Andrew as her dad bolted for the exit. He was standing there, holding her cup, watching her get carried away. She’d probably never see him again.

The memory faded as Melody scrubbed the Beta family’s tile floors, her knees aching from hours of cleaning. That basketball game felt like a lifetime ago. It was the last time she’d left the property—the last time she’d done anything remotely normal.

After the attack, everything changed. Half the pack was gone. Most of the casualties were female warriors. Her dad had taken it as a personal failure—a punishment from the Moon Goddess, he said, for letting women stray from their “proper” roles.

But Melody? She became his scapegoat.

“If I’d been home, none of this would’ve happened,” he’d said countless times, his words dripping with anger and regret. Over and over, he blamed her for dragging him to that game, for taking him away when the pack needed him most. It didn’t matter that the attack wasn’t her fault. In his eyes, she was the reason half their pack was gone.

Now, the once-open and welcoming Gold Peak pack felt more like a prison. The packhouse was fortified like a compound, and Melody was on permanent lockdown. Her life revolved around cleaning, cooking, and endless “atonement” for sins that weren’t even hers.

Her dad’s devotion to the Moon Goddess only deepened after the attack. He was convinced their survival depended on strict adherence to her will. But it wasn’t just him. The whole pack seemed to fall in line, desperate to avoid another tragedy. And Melody? She bore the brunt of it all.

Scrubbing another stubborn stain, she paused to wipe her brow, her mind drifting back to Andrew’s smile. That night was supposed to be a happy memory, but now it was just a painful reminder of everything she’d lost. Her freedom, her future, her sense of self—all of it was gone, sacrificed on the altar of her father’s guilt.

“Maybe one day,” she whispered to herself, “one day, things will be different.” But deep down, she wasn’t sure she believed it anymore.

The soft, insistent blare of Melody's alarm clock pierced the tranquil silence of her soundproof room. It was 5 a.m., a time most people dreaded, but for Melody, it marked the start of yet another relentless day. She groaned, stretched her long limbs, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. No point in lingering; the day wasn’t going to wait for her.

Melody’s room was small but tidy, her only oasis of calm amid the whirlwind of her life. She quickly pulled on her white sheath dress and tossed her blue one into a duffle bag. Gotta be ready for a quick change after the temple visit. The dress clung to her lean frame, a result of the endless physical labor she’d grown accustomed to over the years. Grabbing her bag, she headed down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. The smell of stale coffee from yesterday still lingered, but it would soon be replaced by the fresh, rich aroma she was about to brew.

The kitchen was the heart of the pack house—spacious, bustling, and alwa