Chapter Text
The night pressed close around Y/N’s cottage, thick and breathing, as if the darkness itself were alive. Warm, damp air clung to her arms and to the loose strands of hair that kept slipping free no matter how tightly she tied them back. A restless wind threaded through the trees, stirring the leaves into soft murmurs, almost words. The forest had a voice tonight, low and old, warning her in languages she had long ago learned to respect.
Another howl shattered the stillness. It rose sharp and lonely, answered by distant echoes that rippled through the woods like a shiver running under her skin. The sound tightened her chest and quickened her steps. Just a few more minutes, she told herself. The itch at her ankle flared, prickling in a way she knew too well. When she reached down to scratch it, her fingers brushed cool metal glinting beneath her skin. The chain felt restless too. It knew exactly what night this was.
“They said they would wait,” she whispered, although the trees offered no reassurance.
Tradition had never been kind to the Bridds. For a thousand years, her family had lived under the same moonlit bargain, a desperate pact their ancestors had forged when survival drove them to kneel before the Moon Gods. What began as salvation gradually warped into a debt. Every generation, one child was chosen: one guardian, one chained witch who stood between the mortal and the divine. The rest of her bloodline survived only because she bore the weight for them.
Y/N had been chosen before she even understood what being chosen meant. She could still see her mother’s face the night they fastened the iron ring around her ankle, pride and fear tangled together in her eyes. The chain had been her inheritance. It had been her burden. It had been her proof.
When Aldara, her mentor and the last Bridd elder, died without warning, Y/N had been only thirteen. She had been a trembling girl with ink-stained fingers and a childhood fear of the dark, suddenly responsible for rites older than memory. There had been no option except to continue. The wolves needed their blessings, the Gods required her service, and the chain made sure she obeyed.
Tonight, her duty was sacred. Kim Taehyung had turned eighteen beneath the moon, beginning the long awaited passage from youth to warrior. The Foxglove pack never treated such nights lightly. They believed the Gods renewed their blood when the ritual fire was lit. Tardiness was not something the ceremony forgave.
She steadied herself, pulling her shawl tighter and breathing in the deep musk of earth and pine. Somewhere far away, Yoongi, the kitchen witch who always had something to grumble about, was probably muttering that she was foolish for indulging the wolves and their endless ceremonies. He had once declared Taehyung painfully ordinary, destined for nothing more than routine patrols. Yet Y/N had seen something different in him. The way he looked at the stars. The strange quietness that made spirits lean closer when he spoke.
A pulse of cold light flashed at her ankle. The chain tightened once, painfully, then loosened with a soft metallic sigh. She felt the release before she saw it, the sudden lightness, the shock of freedom so rare she almost did not trust it. She let herself savor it for a single heartbeat. The chain would stay open until dawn. No longer than that.
She moved quickly. Lantern. Herb pouch. Aldara’s black feather charm. The small leather book that hummed faintly with sleeping spells. She murmured the old words to quiet her cottage. The floorboards ceased their sighing, the mirror dulled its restlessness, and the shadows withdrew. She did not have the strength to keep them alert tonight.
A soft rustle at the window caught her eye. Patto, the yellow crowned night heron who had claimed her as his human years ago, perched on the birdbath outside. His feathers shone like burnished gold in the moonlight.
“Human tonight?” he croaked, tilting his head with knowing curiosity.
“It is a man’s coming of age,” she said, adjusting her shawl. “A warrior’s birth night.”
Patto blinked slowly, like he had lived a hundred such nights. “Then I will not keep you, little witch.”
He hopped close enough to brush her cheek with his beak in a brief and soft gesture of affection before launching into the treetops. She watched him vanish, then turned back to her task.
The lavender meteor powder shimmered in her palm like dust gathered from the edge of a star. She knelt and sketched the ritual site onto parchment: the circle, the altar, the stone pillars, the cavern where the wolves waited. When the image was complete, she whispered its secret name, a word spoken only by the chosen, and scattered the powder over the page. Purple fire flared up, devouring the parchment to ash, and she stepped straight into the flames.
For one suspended heartbeat, there was nothing. Then cool, living light wrapped around her and pulled her forward.
When she opened her eyes, she stood inside the earth’s ribcage. The ritual cavern towered around her, vast and echoing, its walls painted with shadowy wolves in soot and ochre. The air was thick with resin, smoke, pine, sweat, and life. Quiet growls drifted through the darkness, underscored by the steady beat of drums.
She bowed her head to the unseen Gods. “Thank you for safe passage.”
The altar waited at the far end of the cave, a slab of stone streaked with quartz that caught the flickering torchlight. She arranged her tools carefully: the candles, green for betas, white for omegas, black for alphas. Ground pearls. Moonwater. Sage tied with twine. Each rank required something different. Betas asked for courage. Omegas asked for peace. Alphas asked for balance. Jungkook, the last youth she had blessed, had needed all three, and even then the power had nearly broken him. A young omega boy was rare, even rarer than a female alpha, and she and he had enjoyed a few lovely conversations since that day. He was very funny and constantly at the Luna’s side as her personal companion.
Foxglove had always been led by three alphas: Hoseok the trader, whose laughter could sway a whole crowd; Namjoon the philosopher, whose words cut deeper than blades; and Jimin, soft spoken and sharp as smoke.
She pressed her palm to the stone and waited until her pulse leveled out. “For Lustra, for the Moon, for the pack,” she whispered, speaking the ancient vow her family had repeated for generations, the words that shaped the very root of her lineage.
Next came the circle. She pricked her fingertip, the sting sharp and clean, and let a few drops of blood fall into the line of salt she had laid with exact precision. The metallic scent of it curled faintly through the air, nearly swallowed by the sweetness of the peonies she placed around the perimeter. Fresh blooms, their petals trembling in the draft, soft and bright against the cave floor. Aldara had always relied on chains, bindings of light sharp enough to hold a wolf mid transformation. Y/N could never bring herself to replicate that kind of brutality. She chose softer things. Salt. Petals. Purpose. And it worked just the same.
When the circle was complete, she painted her face for the rite. Blue for wisdom, red for courage, black for shadow. The pigments streaked her skin like raven feathers, which had been her family’s mark since the first pact. The cave’s magic stirred with her movements, humming faintly as if recognizing her touch and readying itself for the night’s work.
She smelled the wolves before she heard them. Their scent drifted through the cavern in slow, curling waves, a blend of fur and damp earth, pine resin and crushed leaves, threaded with something sharper and older. It carried the memory of bared teeth. It moved like smoke through the tunnels, both warning and welcome. Her pulse quickened, thudding against her ribs. Instinct whispered for her to run, to slip back into the shadows and hide inside the earth’s bones. But Bridd witches had never been made to flee. Not her ancestors. Not her.
So she stayed where she was, the hem of her robe brushing the salt line, her fingers trembling only slightly as she steadied the lantern. She lifted her gaze toward the mouth of the tunnel, where darkness pooled like ink. The silence thickened, stretching thin and taut until even her breathing sounded intrusive.
Then a voice broke through, low and resonant and ancient.
“Bless this child.”
Ahn, the pack’s Chief Elder, stepped forward. His cloak, trimmed with wolf fur, swept across the stone as he moved. His voice carried the weight of long years and longer grief, weathered like bark and heavy enough that she felt it in her bones. Behind him, the wolves emerged silently, one after another, their eyes catching the candlelight and reflecting it back in molten gold.
Y/N bowed her head. “It will be done,” she answered, barely above a breath.
The circle sealed with a soft, vibrating hum as she traced her finger through the air. The salt flickered, glowing faintly blue. One by one she lit the candles, twelve flames that ignited the next in a slow spiral until the entire cavern glowed warm and alive. Shadows danced across the walls, flickering over painted wolves and ancient runes carved into the stone long before her time.
And then Taehyung stood before her.
He was tall for his age, broad shouldered, with the lines of his body sharp under the pulsing firelight. Tradition required him to stand bare before the Gods, and he obeyed without shame. Still, something in his expression betrayed the boy he had been only yesterday. A spark of wonder. A tremor of uncertainty. His hands flexed at his sides. His breath came controlled but shallow. The fire softened the edges of him, catching in his hair and turning it gold. His eyes, dark brown and nearly black in this light, held steady on hers. His skin was warm and sun touched and alive.
Y/N began the chant.
The words were ancient, older than Lustra and older than any living pack, heavy with iron and smoke and thickening the air as they left her tongue. The circle’s glow wavered as her voice rose, and behind her the wolves bowed their heads in reverence. A pressure gathered in the cave, dense and expectant, as if the stone itself leaned in to listen.
Tonight, the Gods were awake.
She felt the shift before she heard the murmur that swept through the pack. A sharp scent bloomed in the air, rich and heady and unmistakable. Alpha. Someone gasped. Ahn’s lips moved silently, perhaps in prayer or gratitude or fear.
Y/N kept chanting, although her heart lurched in her chest. The transformation had begun.
She had seen it three times before, and it had never grown gentle. Jungkook had been the last, sweet and trembling, apologizing even as the power tore through him. But Taehyung was different. There was a calm in him, a steady quiet that felt like standing at the center of a storm. As though he had already accepted whatever waited for him on the other side.
The air vibrated.
She lifted the bowl of white paint, its surface glowing faintly. From her belt she withdrew her bone handled knife, worn from years of use. Silver would have cut cleaner, but silver was forbidden. Silver belonged only to the Gods.
Without hesitation, she sliced her palm. The pain was brief and almost familiar. Her blood fell into the paint, swirling into it like a spreading bloom. The wolves shifted behind her, claws scraping stone at the scent.
“Taehyung,” she said.
He stepped forward immediately, eyes never leaving hers. She took his hand and cut his palm with the same decisive motion. His body flinched, but he did not make a sound. Their blood mingled in the bowl. The mixture flashed gold.
Then the world snapped open.
Taehyung roared, an animal sound ripped from somewhere deep and primal. His spine bowed. His body convulsed. Muscles surged under his skin, reshaping themselves. Fur erupted across him, sandy and bright under the dancing flames. Bones cracked and rearranged and reformed. His hands curled into claws. His face lost its humanity and molded into a muzzle. The scent of ozone and blood filled the cavern.
Y/N stumbled back, breath catching, but she held her ground. She had to.
She lifted her hand and spoke the word of command. The magic surged instantly, hot and bright, and raced through her like liquid fire. The wolf staggered, his massive body convulsing as light rippled over him. Fur withdrew. Limbs folded. Bones reset. When the glow finally faded, he was kneeling before her again, human and shaking uncontrollably, slick with sweat that clung to his trembling shoulders.
She dipped her brush into the bowl of painted blood and pressed the bristles to his skin. The first sigil flowed easily from her hand, two narrow trapezoids that formed the Foxglove emblem, twin paths of loyalty and leadership. Then came the constellation mark. Aquila, the eagle in flight, traced in strokes that glowed white as falling stars along the line of his neck.
Taehyung screamed when the symbols seared into his flesh, the scent of burned skin rising sharply beneath the incense smoke. Power coursed through Y/N so intensely that her hands shook. The gods never accepted words alone. They always demanded something taken from the body.
When the last syllable left her lips, she snuffed the yellow candles with a breath and lit the blue ones in their place. The new flames rose higher and colder, bending strangely, their light behaving more like moonlight than fire.
Pain struck her without warning, sharp and violent, tearing straight through her spine. Her knees buckled. She pressed her palms to the stone, gasping as something deep inside her split apart. Bone cracked. Tendons snapped. With a wet, wrenching sound, two vast wings broke free from her back. They were metallic black and dripping blood, trembling in the torchlight.
Her voice shook, but it did not break. “For Lustra,” she cried. “For the Moon.”
The wings spread behind her, great and heavy, gleaming like obsidian washed in rain. She reached back, touched the feathers, and plucked a single one. Its tip glowed faint blue. She laid it gently on the altar. The feather lifted into the air, spinning and whirling faster until it shone like a small sun. A gem materialized at her brow, pulsed once, then dropped neatly into her hands. She placed it beside the feather and whispered the final verse. Both vanished in a burst of light.
Her wings folded slowly and dissolved into stillness.
For a moment, the cave felt carved from silence. Her ragged breaths were the only sound. Then the wolves erupted into howls that bounced wildly off the stone walls. They chanted her name again and again. “Bridd. Bridd of the Moon.”
Y/N tried to smile. It came weakly, barely there. Her legs trembled so badly she had to lean against the wall to remain standing. Power always exacted its toll.
But she was not finished.
She reached for the feather lying on the altar, the new one born from the ritual, and turned back toward the salt circle. Inside it, Taehyung lay on his side, his chest heaving and his expression dazed but triumphant. He looked smug in a soft and disoriented way, like someone feeling power settle inside him for the first time.
Y/N stepped toward him, ignoring the sharp throb in her spine. “Kim Taehyung,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite everything. “This represents your newfound freedom. May you use it wisely.”
She flicked her fingers and the salt circle dissolved. Setting the feather before him, she waited as he shifted into his wolf form. He picked it up gently between his jaws, then shifted back, the feather cradled carefully in his hand. His eyes shone.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice raw and cracked.
She managed a faint smile. “Thank the Gods, not me.” She bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Congratulations, Alpha Kim Taehyung.”
Howls rose in answer, his new title echoing through the cavern.
Y/N turned back to the altar. With what remained of her magic, she unwound the sacred circle. Candles extinguished themselves one by one, their flames shrinking into curls of smoke that twisted upward and vanished. Power drained from the chamber until only the soft crackle of torches and the fading scent of ritual remained.
She peeled off her blood-soaked robe. The cloth clung stubbornly to her skin before releasing with a wet sound. Cold air rushed against her bare arms and she shivered. The wolves did not notice. Bodies meant for wilderness rarely cared about nudity. But Y/N had been raised in the quiet warmth of a cottage, and the chill pressed sharp into her bones.
Still, she stood in the dim light for a long time, aching everywhere but deeply and strangely at peace. Outside, the full moon hung pale and heavy, its silver face glowing through a break in the clouds above the trembling forest. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cool, damp air.
A new alpha had been born tonight. And somewhere, the Gods smiled. Their smiles were soft and secret, hidden in the moonlight and trembling through the canopy like blessings scattered across the earth.
The cave began to settle. Magic faded into an aftertaste, faint and metallic, humming like a cooling forge. Smoke from the extinguished candles rose in thin blue spirals, weaving upward into the carved ceiling. Blood dried on the ground, dark and copper scented, mingling with the odors of sweat and fur and damp soil left by the wolves’ paws.
Y/N gathered her tools, each motion slow and deliberate. She touched everything with the reverent caution of someone handling dangerous, half sleeping things. Her hands trembled as she packed away the candles, some still dripping with wax. The enchanted powders came next, gleaming dusts that shivered like fragments stolen from star trails. She poured a bit more into her pouch with steady care, even as her breath remained thin and unsteady. The aftermath always hollowed her out, like the echo of a bell struck too hard.
She unrolled a new parchment. Her quill whispered across it, sketching the path home. The winding trail through the woods. The hidden glade. The narrow creek that mirrored starlight so clearly it felt like a doorway to somewhere untouched. “Luna, grant me passage,” she murmured, letting the old prayer rise naturally from her tongue.
Only a few wolves remained. Most had disappeared into the night to celebrate and to sing Taehyung’s name under the rising moon. But three lingered. They were the alphas. They stood a little apart, their voices low, their silhouettes carved in alternating torchlight and shadow.
Y/N kept her eyes lowered. She knew the boundaries well. The Bridds were allies, not pack. No matter how often her blood mingled with theirs in the sacred rites, she would always remain separate. Necessary. Respected. Other.
She dressed quickly in the spare clothes she kept for nights like this. The cotton was worn thin in places and softened by years of use. Once wrapped in them, the shivering eased. She tucked her hair back, slid her feet into her boots, and began tying the laces.
She sensed attention on her before she heard the footsteps.
“Excuse me, Bridd?”
She turned, a faint jolt running through her chest. Jung Hoseok stood a few paces away, wearing a gentle smile that eased her nerves the moment she saw it. His brown hair was pulled back, damp from the heat of the ritual, and his dark, steady eyes held the kind of warmth that never felt misplaced. Behind him stood Kim Taehyung, Taehyung’s older cousin, tall and thoughtful and composed as always. And beside them stood Park Jimin.
Y/N’s heartbeat faltered. She fixed her gaze on Hoseok, refusing to let her eyes linger on Jimin for more than a split second. His stare always carried something sharp beneath the surface, amusement layered over hunger.
“Mr. Jung,” she murmured, bowing her head slightly. “How can I assist you?”
Hoseok’s smile deepened, impossibly warm. “Namjoon and Jimin have lists of supplies they need,” he said, extending two neatly folded parchments. His tone held a faint apology, as if he hated troubling her at all.
She accepted the papers with both hands and bowed first to Namjoon. His nod was contained but sincere, his expression calm, the gentleness of a scholar more visible in him than the ferocity of a wolf. Then, inevitably, she looked to Jimin.
His gaze met hers, dark and gleaming even in the cave’s dim light, and the air between them seemed to thicken in a subtle and powerful way. His silver hair caught the torchlight like strands of frost, and his skin held the same ethereal glow as his wolf form. She dropped her eyes at once.
“Mr. Park,” she said quietly, barely more than a breath.
His lips twitched, somewhere between a smirk and a smile, but he did not speak. The silence that gathered around him felt aware, almost alive, pulsing with its own rhythm.
Hoseok cleared his throat gently, grounding the moment. “Do you need new paper and ink? I heard your mate is still visiting her family,” Y/N asked, unfolding the lists.
Hoseok chuckled. “You know everything, do you not?” His grin reached his eyes. “Yes, please. Hyuna will not be back for a week or so. I included that on my list.”
Y/N allowed herself a small smile. “I will add it to the order,” she said, tucking both parchments into her satchel with care. “But I will need four days to prepare everything. Tomorrow, and probably the day after, I will be useless.”
“Of course, Bridd,” Hoseok replied warmly. “In that case, forget the extra paper and ink. Just rest.”
Namjoon inclined his head. “Our pack remains indebted to you,” he said, his deep voice carrying a sincerity that tightened something in Y/N’s chest. “Please rest.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said softly, bowing again. “I will.”
They dismissed her with quiet nods, already turning back to their muted conversation. She lingered a moment, watching the three of them. Hoseok’s easy laughter softened the last shadows of the cavern. Namjoon’s calm presence anchored the space. And Jimin, luminous and distant, stared at something she could not see. There was a loneliness in his gaze that she could never understand.
Turning back to her work, she finished her map with precise, looping lines. She sprinkled a ring of meteor powder around it and spoke the name of her destination. The fire rose in a soft violet bloom. With one last glance at the alphas, she stepped into the flame.
The world folded around her, warm for a heartbeat, then cool again as if silk brushed over her skin. When the light released her, she found herself just across the clearing from her cottage. The little house sat half hidden under its shroud of ivy, its windows dark and still. Fireflies drifted near the porch, blinking like tired stars.
“Of course,” she muttered, groaning under her breath. “Off by twenty paces again.”
She shoved the pouch of meteor dust into her pack and flicked her fingers lazily. The air between her and the cottage shimmered, then pulled her forward in a blink. She landed on the doorstep, shoulders sagging with relief.
Her entire body ached, magic humming weakly through her bones, yet the chain at her ankle remained loose, cool against her skin. Two hours of freedom still remained.
She closed her eyes. The breeze brushed her cheek, crickets whispered through the tall grass, and Patto’s distant call floated from somewhere in the trees. The moon watched over her, round and bright and patient. Its silver washed over the clearing like a blessing.
For once, Y/N allowed herself to breathe. Not as Bridd, not as witch, not as servant to gods, but simply as a girl beneath a generous sky.
Inside, the cottage welcomed her with its familiar sigh, the old wood humming quietly as she shut the door behind her. The silence that followed wrapped around her like a balm. She slipped off her shoes, careful not to disturb the dried line of petals along the threshold, a charm against wandering spirits, and placed them neatly beside the door. Her ceremonial tools she arranged with careful reverence: the pouch of meteor dust, the cracked bone knife, the raven feather shawl, the silver bowl still glowing faintly with residual magic.
Only then did she realize something was missing.
She froze, her hand halfway to untying her shawl, replaying the last moments in the cave. The packing. The bows. The murmured goodbyes. She had left her lantern burning beside the altar, its flame flickering low when the wolves began their celebration.
“Damn,” she whispered, rubbing her temples. The curse sounded too mortal in the quiet, but it escaped anyway. With a sigh, she made her way to her writing desk, lit only by the soft glow of a moonstone orb. She pulled out a scrap of parchment and let her quill sweep across it:
Mr. Jung,
I seem to have left my lantern in the ritual cave. Kindly return it when next you visit.
Thank you,
Bridd
Folding the note neatly, she called, “Shiloh!”
A rustle of feathers answered her. The barn owl swept through the open window, landing on the back of her chair with the elegant poise of a king. His round, pale face turned toward her, eyes bright and expectant.
“Yes, yes,” she sighed, cracking a smile. “Payment first.”
She retrieved a small wooden bowl, filled it with plump, chirping crickets, and placed it on the sill. Shiloh dipped his beak in with a pleased hoot.
“Take this to Hoseok,” she instructed, tying the note carefully around his leg with gold twine. “And try to be polite this time.”
The owl gave a disgruntled trill, then launched into the night, wings whispering through the air.
With him gone, the cottage settled back into its gentle murmur. Y/N exhaled slowly, feeling something inside her unclench. She moved to the hearth and set the kettle over a low flame. As the fire warmed, she stripped off the remnants of her ceremony, the robes stained with blood and the paint smudged along her wrists like smeared twilight.
In the washbasin, the water flushed rose and blue as the pigments dissolved. She washed her face, her neck, her arms, until nothing remained but her pale, tired skin. Beneath her shirt, her fresh wounds pulsed faintly, stinging with each breath. They were already scabbing, already healing.
Crimson to violet. Violet to silver. Another mark added to a body that had become a map of promises kept.
The kettle whistled sharply. She poured the boiling water into her clay cup, dropped in a handful of dandelion petals, slipped a small linen sachet of herbs beneath the surface, and breathed in the sweet, grassy scent rising with the steam. Honey and warm earth, comfort in its simplest form.
She rarely had the luxury of sitting after a ritual. Most nights she barely made it to her bed before exhaustion pulled her under. But Taehyung’s transformation had spared her. His wolf had surrendered to the Gods’ call without resistance, none of the thrashing or panicked pleas or hoarse screams that had wracked Jungkook until dawn. Taehyung had stepped into his power quietly and calmly. That stillness would carry him far as an alpha, she knew.
She settled at the window, warming her hands around the cup, idly drawing shapes through the steam as it curled upward. The cottage seemed to breathe with her, the soft creak of old wood and the dim thrum of sleeping magic tucked into corners and shelves. Outside, the forest spread in an endless dark, the trees rising and falling like the lungs of some great, dreaming creature.
The wolves believed their blessing was both gift and curse. Bound to ancient gods, they stood guard as protectors of the land, soldiers in a war no tongue remembered naming. The Bridds were tethered by the same fate: to bless, to bind, to maintain balance between mortal world and divine. Not one of them lived for themselves. They lived for the Moon.
Her cottage was both refuge and cage. Blessed by Luna Sol herself, it would stand long after Y/N’s bones turned to dust, waiting patiently for the next witch chosen to wear the chain. When her time ended, she would slip free of her body like shedding old skin. Perhaps she would become an owl. Perhaps a raven. A creature unbound, watching the forest from above.
A comforting thought, bittersweet but comforting all the same.
Y/N rose and stepped outside with her cup. The night air wrapped around her, cool and alive, filled with the whir of crickets and Shiloh’s distant hoot from the oak tree. Moonlight brushed over her hair, silvering it, and the earth felt soft and forgiving beneath her bare feet.
She paused at the edge of the porch, gazing across the clearing where she had once danced as a child. She could still feel the sun-warmed grass under her toes, could still hear her own wild laughter as she chased rabbits through the underbrush. Back then, she had simply been Y/N, the curious girl who loved small magics and whispered secrets to the wind. Her aunt, the Bridd before her, had allowed her such innocence. She had taught her rain-scented spells and lullabies that soothed tempests.
“You’ll be greater than I ever was,” her aunt had once told her, eyes bright with pride. “The gods have plans for you, little bird.”
Now her aunt was gone. Devoured by the same gods who whispered destiny into Y/N’s ear. And someday, Y/N would join her.
She sipped her tea, letting the warmth bloom in her chest. The bitterness hovered faintly at the back of her tongue, sharp and unwelcome, but she swallowed it anyway. Bitterness soured the heart. Bitterness earned the gods’ silence.
The forest pulsed gently around her, every rustle a heartbeat, every breath a prayer. Moss scented the air, fresh and deep, mixing with the sweetness of her tea.
For a few fragile moments, she let herself exist without expectation. No ritual waiting. No duty gnawing at her spirit. No chain tugging at her ankle. Just the night, the moon, and the throbbing ache across her shoulder blades.
Only Hoseok and the Moon herself had ever seen her like this, stripped of paint and power, pared down to her most human self. No other wolves came this far into the woods. Her life was mostly solitude now. A lonely honor. A gilded cage.
She tipped her head back, eyes closed, letting the moonlight wash over her. The tea cooled in her hands and the breeze threaded gentle fingers through her hair.
“I love it,” she whispered, voice unsteady. Then, softer still, “I hate it.”
Both truths drifted into the trees, carried on the wind only the gods could hear.
Time slipped. The night deepened into that quiet, fragile hour when the moon tilts slightly and the stars seem to whisper secrets only the wild things can make sense of. Y/N sat on her porch, her tea cooling in her hands, the last of its warmth settling into her palms like a dying ember. The world shimmered silver, softened by moonlight. Somewhere in the distance, the forest exhaled, a long and low murmur as leaves rustled awake.
A rustle, quiet and controlled and far too deliberate to belong to the wind, broke the stillness behind her.
It came from the thicket at the clearing’s edge. A dry twig snapped, followed by a careful shift of weight. Y/N’s hand froze halfway to her lips. She turned slowly, narrowing her eyes.
Two pale glints hovered in the shadows. Her heart leapt, then eased when familiarity settled into her bones. She smiled, small and knowing, and set her cup on the railing.
“So,” she murmured, barely more than breath, “one of you couldn’t resist the stories, hm?”
Something moved from the brush, low and fluid, gliding through the moonlight as if made of it. For a moment she assumed it was one of the pups Hoseok always teased her about, the bold little wolves who whispered legends about the forest witch with glowing eyes and strange apparitions. According to Hoseok, they dared each other to sneak into her garden at night.
But when the creature stepped fully into the open, her breath caught.
The wolf was enormous, its pale fur shining under Luna’s glow like brushed frost. Its eyes were steady and intelligent in a way no child’s could ever be. And clasped delicately in its jaws was her lantern.
A soft, incredulous laugh escaped her. “So that’s where you wandered off to,” she said, rising. The grass whispered beneath her bare feet as she moved closer. “Clever thing.”
The wolf watched her without blinking, ears forward, head tilting with a thoughtfulness too precise to be instinct alone. Something unspoken hummed in the space between them.
“Thank you,” she whispered, reaching out. Her fingers trembled. The wolf lowered its head, letting the lantern slip neatly into her hand, and its nose brushed her wrist with a gentleness that surprised her. The metal was warm from its breath.
When her fingertips grazed its muzzle, she let out a soft laugh. “You’re softer than you look.” Its fur was thick and downy, warm like early fog. Nothing like Jungkook’s coat, which was so black it swallowed light, starless and sharp. A few wolves in Foxglove carried lighter coats, but she rarely saw them long enough to tell them apart. She saw none often enough.
The wolf nudged her palm again, insistently, asking for more.
“You’re spoiled,” she said, rubbing along its snout. “I’m amazed they let you slip away during such a celebratory night.”
The wolf dropped its gaze and gave a sheepish huff.
“Oh, don’t tell me,” she teased. “You snuck out, did you? Bad wolf.” She wagged a finger at him, though she could not help smiling. “What would your alphas say?”
The wolf released a stifled chuff, amusement unmistakable. His shoulders even trembled in a silent laugh before he flopped onto his back in the grass, legs in the air, a great creature suddenly reduced to childish bliss.
“Mr. Park would be very disappointed in you, pup,” she said, trying for sternness but failing miserably. Her smile only widened.
The wolf rumbled happily, tail thumping the earth in steady, delighted strokes.
“That is hardly fair,” she muttered as she crouched beside him, her hand instinctively finding his chest. Her voice softened. “He is easier to be around than Ahn, anyway.”
The wolf’s head snapped up so fast she blinked.
“I mean,” she stammered, cheeks warming, “that is to say he’s very professional.” She cleared her throat, pretending she had not said anything at all as she scratched behind his ear.
The wolf melted instantly, wriggling with pure contentment. His tongue lolled out, and one hind leg kicked when she found the right spot. The reaction pulled an unguarded laugh from her, a light and startled sound she barely recognized.
“Look at you,” she murmured, fingers sinking into the thick fluff of his coat. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing.” The wolf sighed, eyes half lidded, blissful.
From the great oak near the window came Shiloh’s low hoot, a rolling and resonant warning. Dawn edged close; the chain would stir soon.
Y/N exhaled, regret softening the shape of her breath. “I have to go inside now,” she said, glancing at the paling rim of the horizon.
The wolf’s ears flattened. A soft, plaintive whine slipped from him as he pressed his huge head into her lap.
She stroked his fur gently. “It’s my duty, little wolf. Even I have rules I can’t bend.”
For a moment he stayed close, unmoving, as if trying to will her to remain. But devotion ran deep in those touched by divine magic, wolves and witches and gods alike. Slowly and reluctantly, he stepped back, lowering his head.
Y/N stood, brushing grass from her knees. The wolf padded after her to the porch, towering above her slight frame. Her lantern slipped from her hand and reattached itself to its hook with a soft click. She flicked her fingers and the abandoned cup rose from the railing, drifting back through the kitchen window to settle gently into the sink.
She turned to him again, one hand on her hip. “It’s time to go, friend,” she said, trying to sound firm and failing just as quickly.
He ignored the attempt and nudged his head into her chest one last time. The soft laugh it drew from her was tinged with something tender, something she did not dare assign a name. She rubbed behind his ears, fingertips making slow, affectionate circles.
“Go on,” she whispered, giving his muzzle a gentle push. “Before someone notices you’re missing. Mr. Park starts his rounds soon.”
The wolf paused at the name, eyes brightening with mischief or perhaps recognition. Then he brushed her hand with his nose, turned, and bounded into the trees. His pale coat flashed once like white lightning before the darkness folded around him.
The clearing stilled.
Y/N lingered in the doorway, one hand drifting unconsciously to the place where his warmth had rested against her. A quiet ache bloomed beneath her ribs, ridiculous in its intensity, she scolded herself. He was a stranger. A child of the Moon. His life would outpace hers by centuries.
She stepped inside and shut the door.
That was when she heard it. The chain slid across the floor like something alive, the whisper of metal against stone deliberate and sure. Y/N did not flinch. She simply watched as it coiled around her bare ankle and fastened itself with a soft, final snap. Magic sank into her skin like cold water, the bond renewed.
She sighed, a low and weary sound.
She performed her nightly ritual, lighting a single white candle and whispering a prayer to gods who never answered, then extinguishing the flame. Her room was small and quiet and familiar. She slipped into her bed, the blankets cool against her skin.
Sleep found her quickly, curling around her like smoke.
And in her dreams, there were warm brown eyes watching from the dark, the feel of soft fur beneath her hands, and the faint scent of smoke that did not belong to her hearth.
✧˖°── .✦────☼༺☆༻☾────✦.── °˖✧
When Y/N woke, dawn had already slipped its pale fingers across the walls of her cottage. Soft morning light filtered through the warped windowpanes, and the sight that greeted her was nothing short of ruin. Her workshop, which she prided on keeping orderly even in her busiest seasons, had transformed into a battlefield overnight. The wooden table was buried beneath bottles in every shape and size, some sealed, some half filled with liquids of improbable color, some still steaming faintly as though trying to cling to life. Sacks of dried herbs were stacked precariously against the wall, ready to topple. Scraps of parchment littered the floor like shed feathers.
It looked as if a storm had passed through her, one made of magic and exhaustion.
She sat up slowly, rubbing both hands over her face. Her shoulders were stiff, her eyes sore, and her mind felt sluggish, as though still stuck somewhere between sleep and memory. She stared at the chaos and exhaled a low groan. “Luna’s mercy,” she muttered. “What did I do to deserve Hoseok at his most enthusiastic?”
His latest request had been ambitious, even for him. Healing salves. Fever medicines. Ceremonial paints. Charms for battle. Charms for sleep. Enough supplies to keep two hundred wolves comfortably stocked through a brutal winter. For any other witch, it would have been a month of work. For Y/N, four days. Because she had been foolish enough to promise it.
That foolishness hit her now with perfect clarity.
She slipped from her narrow bed, the floorboards creaking under her bare feet, and tied her hair back with a ribbon still dusted in ash. Then she set to work. Her hands moved automatically, measuring tinctures, grinding roots, labeling vials in neat looping script. The scent of crushed mint and wild sage filled the air, layered with the sharp bite of ironwort and the heavy perfume of silverleaf resin, the rarest ingredient and the one she always saved for last.
By midmorning her head throbbed, her hands trembled, and the repetition, seal then label then stir then pour, felt like a slow unraveling. The cauldron hummed with heat while her knife scraped rhythmically across a cutting board.
Then, with one careless slip, the blade nicked her skin.
“Ah, damn it!” She dropped it immediately. A thin red line bloomed across her fingertip, bright as a gemstone. She stared at it, sighed, and pressed it to her lips. “Enough.”
Setting the knife aside, she crossed to the window and rested her forehead against the cool glass. Beyond the treetops, the sky shimmered with early mist. Birds called to one another, a small and comforting chorus untouched by divine bargains.
She needed a break.
Her stores were running low anyway, so she pursed her lips and whistled. Shiloh arrived minutes later, gliding from the oak and landing on the sill with a mildly offended hoot.
“You’re off to Yoongi’s,” Y/N said, tying a small satchel to her leg. “Tell him I need more hellebore, copper leaves, and powdered moonroot. And make sure he knows I’m not trading pearls. I’m nearly out.”
Shiloh blinked at her, unimpressed but obedient. She brushed a wing against Y/N’s cheek before taking off, cutting through the morning fog.
Alone again, Y/N scanned the unfinished work with a sinking heart. Hoseok’s order demanded nearly everything she had, and then a little more. Namjoon’s list had been simple, basic medicinal supplies that were practical and predictable. But Jimin’s list was something else entirely.
It lay at the edge of her desk, ink still dark. She read it again, and again her brow creased. His requests were meticulous, excessive, and in some places unsettlingly personal, written by someone who understood far too well how her magic worked and was curious enough to push its limits.
A potion for shifting without pain. Portable heat suppressants. And strangest of all, a camouflaging elixir, magic that blurred not only the body but the soul’s reflection.
She had needed to open Aldara’s grimoire for that one.
Her fingers had shaken when she unlatched the clasp. The cover, worn soft by her mentor’s hands, carried the faint scent of old parchment and lavender oil. She had not opened it since Aldara’s death. Today, she had no choice.
The recipe had been brutal. Swamp toads. Crushed moonstone. The breath of dawn captured in dew. Elements that resisted one another fiercely, life fighting mineral fighting light. Only the most skilled witches could coax them into harmony.
She had already sent a message to Thelma’s son, Enver, the impulsive swamp witch who might or might not read her letter before losing it in a bog. For now, she relied on Delinah, the gentle doe who often brought her herbs in exchange for strawberries and apples. Creatures of the forest were predictable; witches rarely were.
Hours passed. The cauldron bubbled with soft pops like distant rainfall. Magic thickened the air, making it shimmer faintly. She murmured spells under her breath, the words worn and familiar. Her eyes burned, but she did not stop.
Then she heard it, a song she recognized instantly.
Shiloh’s clear and fluting call echoed through the window. Relief washed through her. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to meet her.
The owl landed heavily on the cluttered table, feathers puffed in irritation, a small sack dangling from her talons. A folded letter was tied beside it, the parchment smudged and smelling faintly of smoke.
“From Yoongi?” Y/N asked, untying the twine.
Shiloh dipped her head once.
“Who else?” the owl replied, her tone dry enough to match the desert.
“No need to be rude,” Y/N huffed. “You’re impossible in the mornings.”
She unfolded the letter. The handwriting, slanted and looping and oddly elegant, belonged to Yoongi without question.
Y/N,
Several of your items were unavailable. The sea witch coven bought most of the hellebore and moonroot for their summer rites. You will have to barter with them yourself. Tell them I sent you. They owe me a favor or two.
Best,
Yoongi
Y/N groaned. “Of course they did. When do they not?”
She glanced at Shiloh, who blinked back at her, expectant and entirely unimpressed.
“Alright, Lolo,” Y/N sighed, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Let’s make you useful again.”
The owl tilted her head sharply. “What now?”
“You’re going to Jin’s,” Y/N said, already jotting a new list across a scrap of parchment.
“Seokjin?”
“Yes, Seokjin. Do you know any other Jin?”
Shiloh released a disgruntled hoot, feathers fluffing into the shape of a very small and very offended storm cloud.
“I know, I know,” Y/N said with a soft laugh as she tied the list around the owl’s leg. “You don’t like his dog. But I need his herbs. And Jimin’s order is not going to finish itself.”
Shiloh groaned, long and theatrical, the kind of sound meant to convey deep suffering.
“Tell you what,” Y/N said, gentling her tone. “If you go now, I’ll let you take off for the night. You can have the marsh all to yourself.”
There was a brief, sulking pause. Then a resigned chirp.
“There’s my girl.”
When the owl finally spread her wings and swept into the daylight, Y/N watched her cut through the treetops before turning back to her work. Her hands felt steadier now. The exhaustion weighing on her spine dulled into something like determination.
She murmured an organizing charm, and the finished vials rose from the cluttered table in a gentle shimmer, floating into tidy rows inside woven bags that tied themselves shut. The sight soothed her, small pockets of order carved out of chaos.
Then she returned to the cauldron. She reignited the blue fire beneath it and began the deliberate, patient stirring needed to coax the camouflage potion into existence.
Steam rose in ribbons, shifting colors, green and gold and blue, each hue fading into the next like breath on winter glass. The scent was strange and alive, sweet and sour in turns, as though the forest itself were leaning close to observe.
Outside, sunlight unfurled across the world in warm gold. Inside, Y/N Bridd worked alone in a shimmering half light, hands steady over the cauldron, heart burning quietly with effort and purpose.
The afternoon light slanted through the windows in thin gilded bars, painting her workroom in a forgiving glow. Dust motes drifted lazily through the beams, rising and falling like tiny spirits caught in slow motion. The heavy scent of herbs, lavender and mint and a metallic note from the silverleaf resin, hung in the warm air. Beyond the cottage walls, the forest murmured, its branches whispering under the weight of early summer heat.
Y/N stood over the cauldron, one hand pressed to her brow. Strands of hair clung damply to her temples. The potion had reached its most treacherous stage, not quite stable, not quite ruined, balanced on the thin line between brilliance and disaster. Her jaw tightened. She hated this part, the moment when hours of work could unravel with nothing more than a poorly timed stir or a half hearted breath.
From outside came the muted thud of hooves.
“Finally,” she sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. She pushed the door open just in time to see Delinah step from between the trees, a graceful shape of tawny fur and soft brown eyes, sunlight rippling across her back like shifting water. The doe approached with her usual measured dignity, her mouth gripping a small glass jar. Inside, three plump swamp toads gazed out gloomily, pressed against the glass as if questioning every life choice they had ever made.
“Ah, my little savior,” Y/N said warmly. “Come in, come in.”
Delinah crossed the threshold delicately, her hooves tapping lightly against the wooden floorboards. She set the jar down, and Y/N bent to retrieve it, relief loosening her shoulders. “Stir that, please,” she said, gesturing toward the cauldron.
The doe nodded once. She trotted forward, grasped the wooden spoon between her teeth, and began to stir in slow, steady circles. The scent of moss rose from the cauldron, mingling with the faint musk of fur and the earthy sweetness clinging to Delinah’s coat.
Y/N slipped on her worn gloves, the leather soft from years of use. She studied the toads inside the jar. Their round eyes blinked up at her, resigned.
“I know,” she whispered, almost apologetic. “I’ve tried everything else. Snails, mushrooms, powdered lotus, nothing works like you do. I’m sorry.”
They, of course, remained silent.
She murmured a soft sleep spell, tracing slow circles on the glass. The toads stilled, their breathing deepening. One by one, she lifted them out and lowered them into the cauldron. The potion hissed faintly, sending pale green steam curling toward the ceiling.
The air shifted, thickening and humming, alive in a way that only true magic ever was. Even Delinah slowed her stirring, her dark eyes widening.
Y/N took the spoon gently from her friend’s mouth and continued, her strokes deliberate and rhythmic. She whispered the chant Aldara had taught her, ancient words that tasted like silver and smoke. The potion responded, colors deepening and brightening, until the murky green shimmered like polished emerald.
“Come on,” she urged quietly. “Just a little more.”
The green began to change, brightening and clarifying, then fading toward something purer. It lightened past gold and yellow until the brew was almost invisible. The surface shimmered like water bending sunlight into soft rainbows.
Y/N froze, the spoon hovering above the cauldron.
Then, with a breathless laugh, she exclaimed, “It worked!”
Delinah jumped at the sudden noise but settled quickly when Y/N threw her arms around her neck in sheer, giddy relief. “It worked, Dee! It finally worked!” She laughed against the doe’s warm fur, joy spilling out of her in a way that felt almost childlike.
The doe snorted softly and, in her calm and whispered voice, said, “Good job, Y/N.”
Y/N’s smile brightened into something radiant. “Thank you, Dee. Truly. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Still beaming, she pulled open a woven sack in the corner. Inside lay fresh cabbages, crisp and slightly cool. She offered them to Delinah, who peeked inside and flicked her tail in pleased approval.
“Your payment,” Y/N said. “I will have apples next time.”
Delinah lifted the sack carefully between her teeth. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Y/N scratched gently behind her ear. “Safe travels, beautiful.”
The doe’s eyes softened before she turned and stepped into the dappled sunlight. The soft thud of her hooves faded into the forest’s hush, leaving Y/N in the doorway with the warm wind brushing her cheek.
When she stepped back inside, the room felt different. It was still cluttered, still chaotic, but no longer hostile. It looked like the aftermath of creation rather than a disaster. The clear potion shimmered quietly in the cauldron, catching the angled sunlight in soft, shifting colors. It seemed almost alive, pulsing gently with magic and a bright, citrus sharp scent that filled the space like a promise.
Y/N slipped off her gloves, the fingers stiff with dried residue, and flexed her aching hands. Firelight glowed faintly along her skin, and traces of magic still clung to her fingertips like a dusting of stars. “Finally,” she whispered into the quiet cottage, half prayer and half disbelief. “Finally, something goes right.”
The words seemed to settle into the air, warm and fragile, like the breath she had not realized she had been holding.
The potion was as clear as glass, gleaming with its own faint inner light. A small miracle in a world that so often made her work twice as hard for half the reward. She smiled, a tired and private curl of her mouth, and reached for her ladle. Exhaustion and exhilaration pulsed through her in equal measure as she ladled the shimmering liquid into narrow bottles. Each one caught the lamplight like a captured moonbeam. She corked them carefully, sealing each with resin that carried a scent of pine and lavender.
Patience was essential now. Triumph could turn on her in the span of a heartbeat.
She cast a wary glance toward the rafters, half expecting some spell to misfire and undo everything, then let out a soft laugh. “No explosions this time.”
Overhead, Shiloh gave a skeptical hoot. The sound carried the weight of long held grievances.
“Oh, don’t you start,” Y/N said, smiling despite herself. “You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you?”
The owl blinked slowly, unimpressed. They both remembered the day a mismeasured catalyst had filled the cottage with glitter smoke and turned Shiloh a ghostly gray for weeks. The memory still pricked at Y/N, equal parts embarrassment and amusement.
“Fine,” she said with exaggerated dignity, picking up the next bottle. “I’ll test this one myself. You can relax your feathers.”
Her smile softened as she moved around the room. She found comfort in these hours, the low fire, the quiet hum of the forest through the windows, the gentle clink of glass as she worked. The cottage breathed around her. It always had.
The table was a small museum of her fixations. Neat rows of jars and bottles gleamed like gemstones, each labeled with careful script. Between them lay an assortment of treasures she had gathered over the years, smooth bones, pale bits of quartz, bottle caps worn down by time and riverwater. Aldara had once teased her for it. A crow’s heart, she had said fondly, always stealing what the world left behind.
Y/N felt a tug of warmth at the memory. Aldara’s laughter had once curled through this same room, sharp and melodic. The collecting, the crafting, it had always been Y/N’s way of weaving meaning into the silence, of anchoring herself in a life that did not truly belong to her.
She reached for her bone handled knife, the one she reserved for cutting ribbon, and drew it along a strip of silver twine. The ribbon sprang into delicate spirals that gleamed like spun mercury. She tied it neatly around a finished box and leaned back to admire her work.
“Beautiful,” she murmured, as though the cottage might nod its agreement.
Something in the room seemed to hum with quiet approval.
Her magic took over the tedious parts. Boxes lifted themselves from the table, gliding through the air with graceful precision. Each sealed with a soft puff of golden light as ribbons tied themselves into perfect bows. Y/N’s sigil, a small bird mid flight, appeared on each lid in crisp black ink. Along the sides, she painted the Aquila constellation in a sweep of silver strokes, the stars shimmering faintly as though drawing breath.
The lamplight softened into amber, warm and honeyed as it washed across the wooden table. Her fingers moved with sure and familiar grace, shaped by reverence more than routine. The cottage filled with the scents of candle wax, crushed mint, rain soaked parchment, and the faint metallic thread of old spells lingering in the beams.
Each parcel she assembled felt like a quiet benediction. She slipped folded cards inside, her handwriting looping and precise, the ink still glistening. For healing and renewal. Brewed beneath the blessing of Luna Sol. Simple words, but written with the care one used when touching something fragile.
Next came the enchanted slips, thin as flower petals and weightless as cobweb strands. A single touch triggered the charm, guiding the bearer to her doorstep no matter how far they roamed. For those she could not tend to herself, the magic redirected them to Yoongi’s cottage deep in the woods. Her gentle ally. The one who simmered soups that never cooled and kept herbs that soothed wounds even spells struggled with. She pictured him now, humming over his stove, lamplight flickering across his thoughtful eyes. It eased something tight in her chest to think she was not entirely alone in her healing.
It was a tidy system. Reliable. And it made the solitude feel a little less like a sentence. Knowing her work reached beyond her threshold and into lives she might never see was the closest she came to freedom.
Only one stack of parcels remained. They sat at the far corner of the table, distant from the rest, cloaked in a quiet that felt deliberate. These were Jimin’s.
She stopped. Her hands went still, suspended midair. The light caught the plain brown paper in muted tones. No ribbons, no silver paint, no sigils. Only the constellation she had drawn by hand across the lid, Aquila, the soaring bird. Her mark. Her lineage.
His, somehow.
Y/N reached out and brushed her thumb over the painted stars. Her pulse tightened, betraying her. The ink felt cool, but her skin warmed beneath it as though something responded to her touch.
For reasons she refused to examine too closely, she could not bring herself to decorate Jimin’s parcels. Anything beyond the plain paper felt dishonest, too soft, too intimate, too suggestive of something she had no business entertaining. Plain was safer. Plain kept the boundary where it belonged.
And yet the moment she looked at the boxes, her mind betrayed her.
She thought of the way his eyes caught light, dark and sharp and unreadable. The slow and deliberate cadence of his voice. How his words seemed to linger in the air long after he had gone, echoing in the corners of her thoughts like a spell she had not meant to cast.
It mattered more than she would ever admit.
Y/N swallowed, her thumb still hovering over the inked constellation. “Plain is best,” she murmured, her tone firmer than her certainty. “Simple. Professional.”
A soft chirp broke the quiet above her, light and mocking and unmistakably amused.
“Oh, hush,” she said, glancing toward the rafters.
Shiloh perched on the beam, head cocked, feathers catching the lamplight in pale gold. The owl blinked slowly, her eyes bright with mischief.
“You would tease Aldara herself if she were here,” Y/N muttered.
Shiloh responded with an exaggerated ruffle of feathers and turned away, making a show of indifference.
Y/N shook her head, a small and weary smile slipping free. The cottage always felt warmer when Shiloh was in it. Her familiar’s moods filled the quiet the way laughter once had when her aunt still lived.
“Did you go to Jin’s?” she asked, straightening a stack of boxes.
Shiloh’s head snapped back toward her, the answer immediate and imperious. “No. I refuse.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You refuse? Then where exactly did you run off to?”
Instead of speaking, the owl turned toward the open window, feathers puffed in pointed defiance.
“I ate a mouse and came back,” she said at last, her tone prim. “I needed to rest my stomach. It was a large meal.”
Y/N folded her arms. “Would you like to sleep outside, then?”
Shiloh let out an offended huff, beating her wings sharply enough to scatter a few loose feathers across the room. Then, without another word, she swept through the window into the sunlight and was gone.
The silence she left behind was soft and deep, humming with unspoken things.
Y/N exhaled and braced herself against the table, her palms pressing into the cool wood. Outside, the forest breathed around the cottage, the steady rustle of leaves, the distant croak of frogs, the wind whispering across the clearing like a living thing.
Her gaze drifted back to the plain parcels set aside for Jimin. Under the lamplight, the silver ink of Aquila glimmered faintly, as if winking at her.
“Plain’s best,” she repeated, but even she could hear the lie in it.
Still, she left them untouched.
The hours slipped onward, the day dimming into a soft gray drift of clouds. Outside, the forest’s colors shifted, the bright greens fading into deep blues, shadows pooling at the roots of the trees. The breeze carried the smell of moss and distant rain. It was not even midday, but the gloom had already swallowed the sunlight she had been savoring.
For a moment she simply stood there, letting the quiet settle around her. Her hands ached. Her eyes burned. But her heart hummed with a familiar fullness. Order gave her that, an old, stubborn sense of grounding. She had always been meticulous, like the Bridds before her. Aldara used to insist she was messy, while Griselda would probably have fainted at her idea of organization.
Y/N smirked at the thought and pushed it aside. She was the Bridd now. The others were off cavorting with the gods in whatever bright and holy afterlife awaited them. If they cared so much about her tidiness, they could come back and clean the place themselves.
The bell above the cottage door chimed, bright and delicate and impossible to ignore.
She halted instantly. The ribbon slid from her fingers as the soft ringing echoed through the workshop. A moment later came the weight of confident footsteps, sinking into the creaking floorboards.
She did not need to look up to know it was Jung Hoseok. His presence filled the space the way sunlight filled a clearing, warm and steady and impossible to mistake.
“Good afternoon, Hoseok,” she called, brushing flour like dust from her apron and turning toward the worktable. Her voice stayed calm, her movements steady, but her heart hammered against her ribs like something caged. “You’re early. The orders aren’t finished yet. Mr. Park’s requests are particular.”
She lifted a hand, and the half sealed bottles on the table shivered before fastening their corks with obedient precision. “Once my familiar returns with the herbs, I’ll have everything ready,” she said, her tone brisk as the air filled with soft rustling parchment and faint hums of magic.
Ribbons stirred at her command, wrapping parcels in seamless spirals. Paper folded itself into neat boxes. The room might have looked frantic to the untrained eye, but Hoseok knew her rhythm well. He stepped inside with an easy smile, surrounded by the scent of sage, ink, and the faint metallic edge of old spells.
“I apologize for the strain I’ve caused you,” came a voice from behind him, low and melodic and so controlled it was nearly still.
The room seemed to inhale. The ribbons dropped. The floating boxes fell with soft thuds. Even the cauldron’s flame sputtered out, dimming to a whisper.
Y/N’s heart skipped, then jolted painfully. She turned slowly, dread curling tight in her stomach. Her eyes widened. She bowed so quickly her hair fell forward like a veil, nearly brushing the floor.
“My deepest apologies, sir,” she said, her voice thin and trembling. “I hadn’t realized who had entered.”
Hoseok’s laughter filled the cottage, bright and delighted. He clapped his hands together, amused by her panic. “Don’t look so frightened, Bridd. He won’t bite.”
Y/N dared to lift her head. Her breath snagged in her throat.
Park Jimin stood beside Hoseok, still and composed and impossibly striking. His silver hair was braided back with immaculate precision. His clothing was simple and unadorned, yet it only made the controlled power in his posture more apparent.
“Mr. Park,” she whispered.
He inclined his head by the smallest margin, a gesture barely there. His eyes met hers for a single heartbeat. Then he looked past her, taking in the clutter of the room with cool curiosity.
“You’ve been busy, Bridd,” Hoseok said, brushing dust from a shelf with one broad sweep of his hand. “The gods would forgive you for missing a delivery.”
“Perhaps,” she murmured, steadying her breath. “But I’d rather not test their patience.”
Jimin said nothing, but his silence filled the cottage like a held breath.
“Hm.” Hoseok leaned against a counter, watching her with mild amusement. “How much longer will your owl be?”
Y/N pretended not to feel Jimin’s gaze on her. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “She’s fetching supplies from the Solar witch’s cottage. It could be an hour. Maybe two. If I am lucky, one. She hates staying there longer than she must.”
Hoseok smirked. “Are your kind not supposed to be infallible?”
She let out a small, tired laugh. “That would have been my mentor, Mr. Jung. Compared to her, I’m deeply dysfunctional.”
Their shared laugh warmed the room, but Jimin’s subtle shift in posture made Y/N’s stomach tighten. His eyes flicked her way, sharp and contemplative, as if weighing something in her words.
All Bridd were chosen. Not born. Not trained. Chosen. Their gifts were planted before breath or thought, divine seeds tucked into their bones. Aldara’s gift had been clean, elegant magic, silver and shadow. She spoke to owls, the moon’s ancient messengers, and through them glimpsed futures not yet woven. Wolves had bowed when she entered a room. They felt her connection to the divine the way prey felt a storm approaching.
Y/N’s gift was rougher and wilder, magic with dirt under its nails. She could speak to any living creature, from beetles hiding beneath bark to stags heavy with antlers. But the deeper gift, the one she wished the gods had skipped over, was the ability to speak with the dead.
Aldara had called it a gift of the worthy.
Y/N had never felt worthy of it.
The first time it happened, she had been no older than seven. She remembered the cold first, the sudden plunge of temperature, the frost blooming under her skin, her lips going numb as the spirit slid into her. Then she remembered nothing at all. Hours later the forest found her wandering barefoot, murmuring with a voice that did not belong to her. When she woke, she was surrounded by frightened faces, Aldara crying silently, her cheeks streaked with salt.
After that, she learned to fear sleep. Dreams opened doors. And she had discovered the hard way how easily those doors could swing wide.
Even now, years later, the spirits found her. Sometimes they whispered through roots. Sometimes they appeared in the strange hush before a storm. She ignored them whenever she could. She had learned to breathe through hauntings the way others breathed through nightmares.
Yet when Jimin looked at her, when he really looked at her, she sometimes forgot where she belonged. There was something in his gaze that stirred the same tremor she felt when the veil thinned. Not fear, not magic, not exactly. Something else. Something she did not want to name.
She did not allow herself to think of him often. It was childish to want someone like Park Jimin, a warrior whispered about across villages, adored by many, claimed by no one. And yet, whenever her mind slipped, it always drifted back to him. To that first night. The Yule festival.
That night the world had been soft with snow. Not the kind that crushed roofs or swallowed footprints, just slow, lazy flakes that settled gently and turned everything gentle around the edges. Y/N had struggled to haul the evergreen through Auntie’s narrow doorway, needles scratching her arms, sap sticking to her hair.
Inside, the cottage had been loud with warmth, Auntie’s gravelly bellow, Jin’s anxious muttering, Yoona’s bright laughter dancing over it all.
“Almost there,” Yoona had called, giggling as Y/N shoved the tree’s stubborn trunk inside. Auntie barked orders from her chair like a general. “Mind the table, girl. And if you break that lamp, you’re trimming branches for the next fifty winters.”
Jin, rigid as a broom, clutched his end of the tree and muttered darkly about splinters and unjust labor. The tree scraped loudly against the doorframe, shedding needles in protest. Finally, they wrangled it upright, leaning slightly, crooked in a charming way.
“Perfect,” Auntie declared, nodding once as if she had crafted the tree herself.
And then the ritual began.
Boxes of ornaments opened. Garlands uncoiled. Laughter blended with the crackle of the fire. Yule had always been Y/N’s favorite season. Everything smelled of orange and pine, cinnamon and rosemary. Holly berries brightened the mantle. The world felt purposeful. Sacred.
Auntie brewed the wassail and swore, as she did every year, that this batch would beat the last. Yoona hummed winter hymns as she tied bundles of cedar. Taejin and Yoongi chopped firewood outside. Hoji hovered over the stove, sleeves rolled high, patience fraying by the minute.
Y/N sat cross-legged on the rug, surrounded by ornaments, her fingers sticky with glue and glitter.
“Twitch,” Yoona had called, using the childhood nickname born of her inability to sit still. “Did you make something new this year?”
Y/N held up her newest creation, a pinecone hedgehog with cranberry eyes and a crooked bow. “Of course.”
Yoona gasped. “It’s adorable. You’ve always been the best at Yule.”
“Isn’t she?” Hoji called from the kitchen, laughter bubbling warm and bright.
Auntie grunted, which for her was high praise. “If she doesn’t set the cottage on fire this time, I might even let her keep it.”
Y/N grinned, unbothered. The warmth in the room felt like a blanket pulled over her shoulders.
“Finish up, Bibbles,” Auntie said suddenly, straightening her smudge sticks. “Cori’s coming soon.”
Cordelia, Cori, head of Wendy’s coven. A woman whose footsteps alone could hush an entire hall. Y/N had learned long ago not to ask Auntie too many questions about her. Some truths stayed wrapped in fog for a reason.
They kept working, voices weaving together as comfortably as old threads.
Yoona wondered aloud if Thelma would come this year. Hoji doubted it. “She just had a baby.”
“She found a baby,” Auntie corrected sharply.
“What’s the difference?” Yoona asked, and Auntie only laughed, a low crackle like burning logs.
Outside, the snow had begun to fall in thicker curtains, soft and steady, muffling the world in white. Later, when they lit the bonfire, it would burn for twelve nights straight, its smoke curling into the arms of the stars like an offering. Tonight’s feast would spill across every surface, root pies seasoned with winter herbs, roasted vegetables shining with oil, loaves brushed with honey until their crusts gleamed. Wendy and her women would arrive soon enough, their laughter bright and wild, the kind that made the air feel as if it was sprinkled with light.
Y/N had paused mid brushstroke, her wooden star half painted in gold. “Auntie?”
“Yes, Bibbles?”
“What’s a Santa Claus?”
Auntie snorted so hard she nearly put out her rosemary bundle. “A nicer, less real version of Krampus. Why?”
“I don’t understand,” Y/N said, her brow furrowing. “Do they not believe in the Goddess?”
“They do,” Auntie replied, grinning.
“Then why don’t they celebrate her?”
Taejin’s voice drifted from the far side of the room, gentle as always. “Some do, some don’t. Everyone has their own way, Crow.”
Jin shouted from the kitchen, scandalized. “Celebrate nothing? How?”
Taejin chuckled. “They just do.”
“Stupid tradition,” Yoongi muttered from his corner, trying to fix a wooden fox whose tail kept falling off.
“Min Yoongi,” Yoona scolded. “You had better make up for that attitude tonight.”
“Yes, Mom,” he said automatically, smirking as he dodged her swat.
“Honestly,” she huffed, “why can’t you be more like Twitch? She loves Yule.”
Color rose in Y/N’s cheeks. She refocused on her star, letting a whisper of magic carry it upward toward the top of the tree.
She had collected far too many nicknames over the years. Twitch, for the restless spark in her limbs. Crow, for her sharp curiosity. Bibbles, for reasons no one remembered but everyone still used. They clung to her like old ribbons, frayed but beloved.
But Yoongi always used her real name.
He said it quietly, without flourish, as if it came to him as naturally as breathing. Yet every time he said it, something inside her chest tightened and softened all at once. It was not love, at least not something she could name or pin down. It felt more like the moment before a fire catches, the breath before laughter, the way a bird opens its wings just slightly to test the air.
She never told Auntie. She could barely admit it to herself. Yoongi was her friend, her best friend besides Jin. Wendy liked Yoongi. Wendy liked a lot of people. Y/N was not Wendy, and she knew it.
Why would he ever like her?
He had joined her on the floor then, as if sensing her unease the way animals sense storms. Silently, intuitively, drawn by some ripple only he could feel. Big gatherings overwhelmed him the same way they overwhelmed her. He preferred quiet kitchens or deep forest paths where the world did not crowd him. But that night, he sat beside her without hesitation. Close. Steady. Warm.
He had taken her hand, rough fingertips, gentle grip, and together they admired the slightly lopsided tree. The scent of pine filled the cottage, clean and sharp, as if the forest itself had stepped inside to celebrate.
For a perfect heartbeat, everything fit. Laughter spilled from the kitchen, light flickered across the walls, and Yoongi’s fingers rested against hers like an anchor she did not know she needed. Yule had always been her favorite, but moments like this made it feel sacred.
“Did you make anything this year?” she asked quietly, instinctively softening her voice as if to protect the fragile peace around them.
“Yeah,” he said, a shy spark lighting his eyes. “Did you?”
“I always do.” She grinned. “What did you make?”
Tradition shaped the night. Auntie crafted altar tools, wood, bone, and polished stone. Taejin and Hoji rolled beeswax candles and tied sage bundles. Wendy’s coven would arrive with salts bright as snowfall and crystal water carried from distant lakes. Jin alternated between pastries, charm, and chaos depending on his mood.
Yoongi’s work was gentler, preserves made with his grandmother on frosted mornings. Sweetness tucked into jars. Summer saved for winter.
“I made three kinds,” he said, voice low but full of pride. “Apple, orange, and cranberry.”
“Three?” She stared, impressed. “Look at you branching out.”
He shrugged, trying and failing to hide his excitement. “Gran says I should experiment more.”
“I made anklets this time,” she told him. “For the coven.”
Yoongi smirked. “Wendy’s family is weird.”
Y/N snorted. “So are we.”
His laugh, rare, warm, honest, bloomed in her chest.
From the kitchen came the mouthwatering smell of turkey glaze, and Yoongi’s attention snapped toward the oven like a wolf catching scent. Yoona pulled a steaming bird free with practiced motion, and Yoongi immediately honed in on the ham, eyes bright with hunger.
Auntie, as always, would stick to wassail and sweets. She had insisted for years that meat made her sluggish, and a sluggish witch was a dead witch. Griselda disagreed loudly, but Griselda was not there to argue.
Y/N herself loved the feast, juicy turkey, buttery rolls, vegetables roasted until caramelized. Jin caught her glance from across the room and raised a brow, sharing her anticipation. Feast night was sacred.
Outside, Shiloh chattered among the branches, her bird-self tucked into the winter wind as if it were a nest made just for her. She had chosen to spend Yule feathered and free, laughing with the other birds as if she belonged to them as much as to the world of spirits. Y/N had always envied her for that, how Shiloh moved between realms without ever seeming torn between them.
It must be nice, she thought, to exist fully in two places at once. When Shiloh finally earned the reincarnation she longed for, and Y/N had no doubt she would, she hoped the universe gave her a life just as vivid and wonderful as the strange, magical one they had shared in their small cottage.
As night thickened around the windows, the bonfire outside came alive with a sharp crackle, flames rising in tall, eager tongues that licked at the sky. Inside, Auntie’s laughter rose above the bustle, bright, unrestrained, warm enough to drive shadows from corners. She was Yule itself, her humor and stubborn will binding everyone together like ribbon around a gift box.
Y/N remembered standing in the middle of that cramped cottage, looking around at the chaos and feeling the warmth settle deep in her bones. The tree shimmered like its own little constellation in the corner. Yoongi’s hand was still wrapped around hers, steady, warm, present. Everything hummed with familiarity and belonging, bodies and magic and laughter all woven together into something ancient and cherished.
“I see Cori and the others,” Taejin called from the window, excitement blooming in his voice like sudden firelight.
Jin and Taejin scrambled to scrub the kitchen into respectability. Auntie stacked presents with frantic efficiency. Hoji and Yoona struggled through the living room with the Yule log, nearly dropping it twice. Yoongi arranged plates with the focus of a man performing surgery. Everyone moved like bees startled from a hive, frantic, buzzing, alive.
Y/N whispered a blessing to Lilith under her breath, asking for warmth, safety, and a winter kind enough not to bite too deep. Auntie trusted her with the small rituals, and Y/N took the responsibility seriously. She was finishing the last line when a heavy knock rattled the door, strong enough to make every candle flicker.
The party had arrived.
Thelma did not come that year, and Y/N let out a quiet breath of relief. Her son was a whirlwind of sticky fingers and unpredictability, and Y/N had no patience for chasing him through the cottage. Delivering his gifts the next day would be far easier.
Wendy’s coven swept inside in a rush of snow, perfume, and bright chatter, their arms heaped with dishes vibrant enough to make Auntie whistle. Pies, roasted vegetables, caramel-glazed cakes, jars of honey. Their Yule log was, unhelpfully, a cake decorated with burning candles, a fire hazard that made Auntie mutter darkly until she tasted it and decided forgiveness was only fair.
“What time’s the bonfire?” a blonde witch asked, practically vibrating with energy.
“After dinner and gifts,” Y/N replied, scanning the crowd for Auntie.
“Oh! I got you and Yoongi something!” the girl beamed.
“And Jin?” Y/N asked, deadpan.
The blonde wrinkled her nose dramatically. “He is not my favorite, but I made him a necklace.”
Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing. Wendy’s crush on Yoongi was no secret. Neither was Jin’s hopeless devotion to Wendy. It was a tragic little loop, and Y/N knew better, Auntie had warned her, to interfere.
Wendy tugged her aside a few minutes later, her eyes wide with worry. “Do you think Yoongi will like it?”
“What is it?” Y/N whispered back.
“A pot,” Wendy said earnestly. “For cooking.”
Y/N smiled; she couldn’t help it. “He’ll use it,” she said, because he would. Maybe not swoon. But use? Absolutely.
Wendy brightened instantly.
Across the room, Jin was glaring at Wendy with the melodramatic fury of a man scorned. Y/N rolled her eyes. Some traditions simply refused to break.
The sun dipped lower. Y/N gathered the wrapped gifts. Auntie clapped her hands so loudly the coven jumped, corralling everyone into the too-small living room. Somehow, despite its size, the cottage swallowed them all without complaint. Yule always did that, made the space feel bigger simply because the joy was.
The gift exchange played out like a familiar dance.
Yoongi’s apple butter made her grin. Jin gave her a sweater and immediately tried to trade because he liked her color better. She gifted Yoongi a necklace of healing stones, Jin one of pressed white flowers. Wendy loved her anklet so much she made every coven sister inspect it. Yoongi accepted Wendy’s pot with polite gratitude, no swooning, no secret smile. Wendy hid her disappointment behind honeyed politeness.
Wendy’s gift for Y/N, a painting of a magindara, stole her breath for a moment. A mermaid with copper hair and blue scales, painted with such tenderness it felt like a blessing. Wild. Beautiful. Unapologetically magical. As though Wendy had glimpsed a part of her she had not yet found words for.
The bonfire called them outside. They stepped into the cold, breath pluming silver. The fire roared to life, orange, gold, radiant, sending sparks up into the dark sky like prayers searching for a home. Auntie excused herself, shifted effortlessly into her bird form, and perched on Hoji’s shoulder, her feathers glowing white in the firelight.
The cold bit at their cheeks, but the unity wrapped around them like a second coat.
Jin stood beside his mother, expression distant. Wendy hovered nearby, waiting for whatever sharp remark might start their nightly bickering. Jin obliged, and they slipped into their familiar exchange of sharp jabs and half-smothered amusement.
A gentle tap at her knee pulled Y/N’s attention. Yoongi leaned in beside her, his face haloed in firelight, part shadow and part warmth. Worry lived in his features the way it always did, quiet and constant, sewn into him like thread.
“You going to be alright?” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the laughter and song rising around them. It was a question meant for her alone.
She nodded, or at least she tried to. Her throat tightened, her pulse fluttering like a trapped moth. He knew why he was asking.
Her mediumship was a doorway she had never wanted, but one she could not close. It made her a lantern in the dark, a beacon for wandering spirits. And tonight, with the moon swollen and bright through the trees, the veil between worlds thinned until she felt every unseen gaze turned toward her.
They were watching. They were close. Her breath hitched.
Yoongi’s hand found hers again, anchoring her. His palm was rough, warm, entirely human in a way that pushed back the cold creeping along her spine. She drew a slow breath. Then another.
“You sure?” he murmured, his thumb brushing her knuckles gently.
“I… don’t know,” she admitted quietly, staring into the fire. The flames leapt in erratic bursts, gold, blue, white, each shift like a heartbeat. “I think I’m okay.”
“If you start feeling off,” he said softly, leaning closer, “tell me. Don’t try to push through it.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
He did not let go.
Their conversation dissolved when Taejin rose to make his yearly toast. Laughter dimmed. The crowd shifted. Taejin’s voice carried over the fire, deep and steady, speaking of unity and ancestors and traditions older than kingdoms. His words wrapped around the gathering like a heavy wool blanket.
Y/N cheered with the rest, but her attention kept sliding back to the fire. The flames moved strangely. As if answering something. As if calling. Her hand trembled.
“Y/N,” breathed a voice. It was not physical, not human. A voice stitched from frost and memory.
Her breath froze in her chest. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head, willing her heartbeat to settle. Can this wait? she pleaded, shaping the thought like a whispered prayer.
The wind stilled. The quiet that followed was not empty; it felt like grace. A small mercy.
When she finally opened her eyes, she managed a weak smile for Yoongi. He let out a shaky breath, part relief and part nerves, and laughed softly, the kind of laugh someone gives when fear has just loosened its grip. His fingers clung to hers as though letting go might undo everything that kept them steady.
Voices rose into the cold, bright and warm, rising toward the treetops like smoke.
“Hark!” they cried. “Hear the children sing!”
Yoongi caught her hand and spun her gently. Her cranberry skirt flared around her ankles, catching sparks of firelight as she twirled. She stumbled into Jin, who barked out a laugh and lifted her clean off the ground before setting her down again with a dramatic flourish.
“He is here this Yuletide time! A-dancing in the home-fire flames!”
Auntie, still an owl, swept above the dancers and circled the bonfire like a drifting star. Firelight turned her feathers gold, each flick of her wings casting tiny spirals of brightness over the snow. Y/N watched in quiet awe, thinking of Patteo, her own closest bird friend, somewhere in the forest with his head tilted, waiting for the night she would join him under the moon.
“Aye, Snatcher!” Cordelia hollered, raising her mug in a half-toast that was half-taunt aimed directly at Y/N.
Y/N burst into laughter. As a child, she had stolen shimmering stones from Cordelia’s garden, convinced they were enchanted relics. Cordelia had paddled her in front of the entire coven, then fed her pastries afterward. Some punishments were complicated like that.
“Yes, Cori?” Y/N called back, weaving between dancers to reach her.
“Could you make more wassail?” Cordelia asked, as though she had not been the one to empty the bowl in the first place.
Behind Y/N, Yoongi groaned. It was a familiar sound. There was never enough wassail, and Cordelia’s coven drank it as if possessed. Yoona rolled her eyes in perfect harmony with him.
Hoji offered to help, but Auntie’s wassail recipe was sacred, and Y/N was the only one trusted to recreate it precisely. Even Yoongi, kitchen witch extraordinaire, knew better than to interfere.
Y/N slipped back inside the cottage, leaving the roar of celebration behind. The warmth wrapped around her instantly. She gathered apples, oranges, and spices, filling the room with a cascade of scents: bright citrus, sweet fruit, cloves sharp as winter air.
Auntie’s cider was already simmering in the cauldron, humming with spices and old magic. Y/N peeled apples in long curls, the skins falling in red ribbons. She sliced oranges and released the fragrance of sunshine trapped in rind and pulp.
That was when it came, the shiver. A cold finger trailing up her spine. She froze, the knife suspended midair. Her breath stilled in her throat.
The presence seeped in around her like a shifting shadow, brushing against her consciousness with a cold, searching touch. She braced herself and closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry…” whispered a voice, thin and faint, distant as something drifting across a frozen lake.
Before she could answer, the world snapped. Her vision twisted. Colors bled into each other, smearing into a spinning whirl of light and dark. The kitchen dissolved around her. A shriek, high and piercing like metal splitting, burst behind her eyes. Pain exploded through her skull.
She staggered. The floor vanished beneath her. Cold ground slammed into her side. Everything dissolved into smoke and shadow. Shapes moved behind fogged glass. The air reeked of burnt wood and blood-soaked metal. Her limbs felt wrong and distant, as if she were wearing a borrowed body two sizes too big.
She cried out, clutching her head.
“What is it?” someone said, a voice warped by distance.
“A girl,” another voice answered, closer now. “Obviously a girl.”
Footsteps approached, hesitant crunches on cold earth. The ringing in her head softened, replaced by muffled murmurs and the crackle of a fire. Her skull throbbed with each heartbeat, sharp and pulsing. Small hands tugged at her arms.
“She needs help!” a girl cried.
“No way,” a boy snapped. “If we tell Mama, she’ll tell Chief Ahn. And you know how he gets about outsiders.”
“She’s not an outsider,” the girl insisted. “She’s hurt!”
Y/N whimpered and curled inward. The world felt heavy, sloshing, too loud and too silent all at once.
“Oh! We can get oppa!” the girl said suddenly.
“Namjoon?” the boy scoffed. “He’ll definitely tell the Chief.”
“Then your oppa!”
A beat of hesitation. Then footsteps running, fading.
“Hyung!” the boy shouted, his voice cracking.
Silence again. The cold pressed in. A tiny hand wrapped around Y/N’s pinky, warm and trembling.
“Don’t worry, miss,” the girl whispered. “Oppa’s getting help.”
Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut. Darkness swept in.
The memory hit her with such brutal vividness that for a moment she was not standing in a warm cottage preparing packages. She was back on the frozen forest floor, trembling so hard her bones ached.
She had woken with a violent jolt, like being slammed back into her body after falling from a great height. The ground beneath her was icy, hard, unforgiving. Mud clung cold to her palms. Every shadow in the trees felt alive, leaning close.
Her arms buckled. Her cheek struck the earth. A sob tore out of her.
She thought of Auntie, of her ridiculous orange turtleneck and the matching embroidered tops they had made together for Yule. Y/N had loved hers, white thread winding through pine-green fabric like branches across a winter sky.
Now that same shirt was soaked in mud, smeared with leaves that clung like cruel decorations. She sobbed harder. She did not want Auntie to see her like this.
A warm pressure nudged the back of her hand. She flinched violently, heart seizing, but the touch was gentle. Soft. Steady. Her blurred vision cleared in slow, stubborn patches.
A massive wolf sat beside her. Silver fur rippled like moonlit water, too bright, too soft, too alive to belong to anything ordinary. It was enormous, half her height even while seated. Its eyes were bottomless and intelligent, watching her without a hint of threat.
Her pulse thundered, copper blooming on her tongue. The wolf did not bare its teeth. It did not lunge. It simply lowered its head and rested its warm nose against the back of her trembling hand, as though anchoring her to the earth with nothing but breath and presence.
Heat radiated from its body. Steady. Comforting. Slowly, so slowly, the panic unclenched its sharp fingers.
She reached out with trembling fingertips and brushed its fur. It was warm, almost impossibly so, and the warmth soaked into her chilled skin like sunlight.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking in the middle.
The wolf leaned closer, shielding her body from the brutal cold. It dwarfed her, but somehow she felt safer than she had moments before. She had never known wolves except through rumor and Auntie’s rants about their politics. They were neighbors, not allies. Stories, not companions.
And now one was saving her life.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “My name is…” She swallowed. “…I’m the Bridd.”
The wolf tilted its head in a slow, deliberate nod that was too measured to be instinct and too thoughtful to be anything purely animal. Something warm and strange pulsed in her chest at the sight of it. Recognition, perhaps. A quiet thread forming between them, fragile and wordless.
She did not understand it then. Not the meaning. Not the bond. Not the way the future hovered, waiting in the dark like held breath. But she felt it all the same.
“I can talk to animals,” she whispered, the words slipping out like a confession. “All of them. But you…” She tried to steady her voice. “You can’t talk back, can you?”
The wolf blinked once, slow and almost regretful.
“Can you turn into a person?” she asked, hope trembling through the question.
The wolf shook its head.
Her heart sank. “Please? I really want to go home.”
Another slow blink, and this time she swore she felt the apology in it. Fear twisted into frustration, hot and prickling and childish in its desperation.
“Fine,” she snapped, pushing herself shakily to her feet. “Fine. I’ll get back on my own.”
The wolf rose too, padding beside her as she stumbled away into the dark. No matter how she tried to hurry or pretend she was not limping, it kept pace effortlessly, a silent guardian shadowing her steps.
“Stop following me,” she grumbled.
It did not.
“Ugh.”
She barely made it three steps before the wolf froze. Its ears pricked. Its whole body went tense, attention locked on something deeper in the trees.
Y/N stopped breathing. “Wolf?” she whispered. “Wolf, what is it?”
The forest seemed to hold itself still. A pale glow pulsed at the edge of her vision. When she turned, her stomach dropped. A perfect ring of white mushrooms glowed between the trees, each cap pale as bone, gleaming like little ghost lanterns.
A fairy circle.
Her pulse thudded painfully. “We shouldn’t be here,” she breathed. “We need to be careful. Fairies walk these woods. If we cross the circle or anger them or—”
“Yeah, I know,” a voice said behind her, maddeningly casual.
She spun so fast her vision blurred.
A boy stood at the tree line. He looked her age, but there was something older in the way he held himself, an easy confidence and the settled weight of someone used to being obeyed. His hair, an impossible shade of silver, caught the moonlight as though it belonged to it. His eyes glowed faintly, feral shadows shifting in their depths.
Recognition tugged at her memory, names Auntie had muttered and wolf hierarchies she had ignored, but none of that mattered. Relief surged through her like a breaking wave.
“Wolf!” she cried, stumbling toward him.
He stiffened, catching her by the shoulders to steady her but making no move to pull her close. His hands were warm through her soaked shirt, but his expression stayed unreadable.
“That’s not my name,” he said flatly.
She sniffed. “Then… what is it?”
“Park Jimin.”
The name fluttered in her mind, familiar but not enough to grasp.
“Is that important?” she asked weakly.
“Not really.” Something in his mouth twitched, almost a smirk. “So… what’re you doing out here?”
“Oh.” Her thoughts scattered. The wassail, the spell, the voice, the cold, the red eyes—
Fear crashed into her so hard her knees wobbled.
“No, no, no, no,” she gasped.
“Hey.” Jimin stepped forward, alarm flickering in his eyes. “Hey. Don’t…don’t start that. Please don’t cry again.”
But she was already crying, shaking so hard the sobs seemed to tear through her.
“I want to go home!” she wailed, the words ripping straight from the softest part of her. “I want Auntie, I want my house, I want—”
Her voice broke into hiccups and raw tears.
Jimin watched her with a quiet stillness that did not belong to boys. Wolves rarely wasted movement. Neither did he. He did not soothe her with false comfort or frantic words. He simply stood, letting her fear crash and fade as if he had weathered storms like this before.
“Can’t you fly home?” he asked at last. “You’re the Bridd, right?
The question cut through her sobs, sharp and sudden.
“I… no,” she hiccuped.
His brows pinched. “But you said you were.”
“Well… I am.” She sniffed, scrubbing tears from her face with the heel of her hand. “Almost.”
Jimin stared at her like she was a puzzle missing too many pieces. “What does that mean?”
A thin, wild laugh escaped her, half humor and half exhaustion. “It’s complicated.”
Everything tonight was complicated, her magic, the voices, the cold, the wolf who was not a wolf, the boy who was not just a boy.
“Let’s just say…” she whispered, voice softer, “I’m next in line.” She drew a breath. “My name’s Y/N.”
Jimin nodded, not with understanding but with acceptance. Confusion still creased his brow, but he let it sit instead of demanding answers she did not have the strength to give.
Something inside her steadied. She was not helpless, not entirely. This was her forest. She had grown up under these branches, learned their twists and moods the way other children learned stories. If she could get her bearings, she could get home.
But the forest was wrong tonight. Too still. Too quiet. Even the insects, those tiny pulses that made up the heartbeat of the woods, had gone silent. It felt as though the whole forest had swallowed its voice.
She sniffed the air. No trace of swamp water. No salty whisper from the distant ocean. Only pine, bark, and a stillness that raised the hairs on her arms. She guessed west. She hoped west.
“We’re west, if you were wondering,” Jimin said, his voice sliding into the silence as if he had plucked the thought straight out of her head.
She blinked at him. “How can you possibly tell?”
He shrugged, glancing around with the easy familiarity of something half-wild. “The wind is dry. Moss is thicker on the north sides of the trees. My father made me memorize all of it. I hated it.” A small smirk tugged at his mouth. “But I guess it stuck.”
Too useful, she thought grimly. If they were west, then the Pixie Coves were not far, and pixies were notoriously territorial. She pictured a swarm of glitter-drunk little troublemakers tugging at Jimin’s silver hair like children fighting over a pretty ribbon. She shuddered.
East was worse. Always worse. The fae never reacted well to trespassers. North was manageable. Difficult terrain, but safer. She mapped out the paths in her mind, half memory and half instinct, while Jimin watched her with the patient amusement of someone waiting to see how a puzzle fits together.
“You’re thinking very hard,” he observed.
“Well, yeah,” she muttered. “I don’t want either of us getting hurt.”
“We could go further west and then cut around,” he suggested casually.
She snorted. “Sure. If you want five pixies riding you like a pony by sunrise.”
He blinked. “What does that…?”
“Never mind.”
He hummed, considering the routes as though weighing battlefield options. The trust in his eyes startled her. He fell into step beside her without hesitation, matching her stride as if the forest belonged to both of them.
Warmth pooled unexpectedly in her chest. She did not know him, not really, but something in her core wanted him safe. Needed him safe. She whispered a prayer beneath her breath. Lilith, keep him steady. Keep him close.
The forest thickened around them. Brambles hooked into her sleeves. Branches snagged at her hair. Thin scratches stung across her arms, and she hissed, pushing the branches away. The woods felt alive in a way she did not like, testing her, probing her.
Magic tingled at her fingertips, itching for release.
She hummed softly, rising, and a flame bloomed on her palm. It was gold and lively, like a child chasing a game. It wiggled in her hand, flickering between orange and blue as if choosing its favorite color.
“Whoa,” Jimin murmured, slowing to watch.
She lifted the flame higher, letting it stretch warm light across the clearing. Grass glowed in patches. Roots and stones sharpened back into shape. A faint path emerged, winding ahead.
Her magic had never been elegant like Auntie’s. It was temperamental and curious and easily bored. Tonight it behaved, curling against her skin like a warm animal.
With each step forward, the forest shifted. The soft hoot of an owl echoed in the distance. Branches whispered like busy witches. The wind threaded music through the leaves. She imagined the creatures were steering clear because of Jimin’s scent, and the thought made her smile.
“Jimin,” she said, stepping over a fallen log, “do you ever get lonely in the forest?”
He did not hesitate. “No. It doesn’t feel empty to me. Even without animals.”
“I only asked because…” She lowered her voice. “It must be sad to have the forest run away from you.”
Jimin walked several more steps before answering. When he spoke again, his voice had softened. “I never thought of it that way.”
Branches scraped against him, but he pushed through with steady determination. She watched him, admiring the quiet strength in his movements, how sure he seemed even when the path was barely a path at all.
Another whispered prayer rose on instinct. Luna, keep him steady. Keep him safe.
“Y/N,” he said gently.
She turned, brushing a leaf from her hair and smiling despite the thorns tugging at her sleeves. “Hm?”
He hesitated. A faint flush crept up his cheeks, warm enough to see even in the moonlight.
“What kind of bird are you?” he asked, his voice shy enough to surprise her.
She laughed, a bright, ringing sound that bounced through the trees as if it had been waiting for release. The forest seemed to catch it and toss it back to her in soft echoes.
“I don’t really know,” she said, still smiling. “Maybe a raven. Or a sparrow. Something small. Something quick.” Her smile softened. “My familiar thinks so. Auntie keeps insisting I’ll be a swallow.”
Jimin’s answering smile was crooked, tentative, almost bashful. “Then we have a lot in common.”
Warmth bloomed in her chest again, gentle at first and then bright and steady, like a tiny sun opening inside her ribs.
The night grew thicker around them, shadows folding close. Moonlight slipped between the branches in pale silver drips. She closed her hand, snuffing out the flame on her fingertips. Her palm cooled instantly.
“We don’t shift,” she said, her voice steady in the hush. “Not until the old Bridd passes on.”
“Interesting,” Jimin murmured. “Wolves always shift. But the wolf we truly are, that doesn’t show until the ceremony.”
She did not fully understand, but she heard what he was not saying. His future self. The wolf waiting inside him. What shape it might take.
“Probably a beta,” Jimin said quietly, kicking at the dirt. His silver hair glowed like frost under the moon. “My family has never had an alpha. Or a male omega.”
The last words were so soft they nearly dissolved into the dark.
“I don’t think that is going to change with me.”
He said it with certainty. Someone taught early not to expect much, not from himself and not from the destiny others insisted was set for him.
And Y/N, standing in the forest that had raised her better than any cradle, finally looked at him. He carried himself like a shadow, quiet, careful, soft-spoken. But beneath all that stillness she sensed something else, something wound tight. A spring compressed by years of being underestimated. A spark waiting for the right wind to turn it into fire.
He saw himself as ordinary.
She saw the opposite. She saw possibility humming under his skin like an ember. She had no idea how she knew, maybe magic, maybe instinct, maybe she was just cold and tired and seeing grandeur in boys she should not be imagining anything about. Or maybe the gods whispered truths when they felt like it.
Before she drowned in that thought, she forced her voice into something steady. “Looks like we’re close.”
Ahead, tall pines rose like sentinels. Their trunks bore old sigils carved by hands long gone, glowing faintly where moonlight touched them. Warnings for strangers. Guides for those who knew how to listen. Protection for anyone who belonged to the land.
The air thickened with pine and something warmer, memory. The forest shifted in tone, the wild edges softening into the familiar shape of home.
“We’re near Jin’s house,” she said, exhaling relief.
That meant she could walk this route with her eyes shut. Fifteen minutes, maybe less. Jimin moved closer as though the trees might lunge at him.
“It's alright,” she said softly. “We’re nearly there.”
He swallowed, the sound tight. “Y/N.”
She paused. The uncertainty in his tone made her chest tighten. “Yeah?”
Jimin looked at the leaf-covered ground, his fists curling at his sides. “I don’t think I can go any farther.”
The words trembled, not quite fear, not quite shame, something tangled between them.
“Why not?” she asked, though something heavy had already settled in her stomach.
“Chief Ahn said… he says wolves shouldn’t cross deeper into witch territory. Ever. He says it’s dangerous. For both sides.” Jimin hesitated, then added quietly, “And that we should never go anywhere near the Bridd’s home unless we’re invited.”
She stared at him, then let out a short, incredulous huff. “That is stupid.”
His head jerked up, startled.
“Chief Ahn doesn’t rule these woods,” she said, planting her hands firmly on her hips. “And besides, I’m almost the Bridd. So, this is an invitation. If he has any issues with it, then he can talk to my aunt. She’ll cover for you.”
Jimin blinked, eyes widening slightly as if no one had ever spoken so plainly in his defense. Then, slowly, a shy smile tugged at his mouth. Small, but real.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Lead the way.”
He did not argue again. He did not hesitate. He walked beside her as though the boundary she had just stepped over did not exist at all.
Y/N knew Auntie would lecture her later, something about treaties, ancient boundaries, and how wolves and witches were supposed to keep to their own corners of the world. But she could not bring herself to care. Not tonight. Not after a boy with moonlit hair had walked beside her through the dark as though she mattered.
She wanted him to see the fire. She wanted him to hear the songs. She wanted him, just once, to dance with her. Maybe then she would understand why Wendy always begged Yoongi for dances. Maybe if Jimin enjoyed himself, he would come back. They could be friends.
But even as the thought formed, she felt how childish it was. Wolves never came to the cottage for pleasure. They came for business, messages, treaties, deliverables. Mr. Jung, old and steady with streaks of silver threading through his brown hair, was the one who usually knocked on their door. Sometimes an older woman came in his place, though Y/N had never learned her name.
There would be no reason for Park Jimin to return to her meadow. Tonight would be the last she saw of him for a long time. Maybe forever. And depending on his age, something she had not had the courage to ask, Aldara would be the Bridd presiding over his ascension into adulthood. When that time came, it would not be Y/N greeting him. Whoever took over for Mr. Jung would. Auntie had told her the boy’s name once, starting with an H, but Y/N had not remembered the rest.
The path narrowed, frost-sprinkled branches tapping lightly at their sleeves. The air grew warmer with every step, picking up the scent of pine smoke and cooking spices. Laughter carried through the trees, distant and bright. Someone clinked two mugs together. Someone sang. Firelight flickered between the trunks like gold caught on branches.
They stepped into the clearing.
Auntie’s cottage glowed like the heart of a hearth, windows spilling warm honey-colored light onto the snow. Witches danced in the open field, their shadows leaping and bending with the bonfire. Sparks twirled up into the sky, drifting toward the stars like tiny messengers.
Relief rushed through Y/N so hard it almost knocked her off her feet. Home. Finally, she was home. But then the warmth fractured. A realization slid in cold and quiet.
No one had noticed she was gone. Not Yoongi. Not Seokjin. Not Wendy. They danced and laughed and feasted, unaware she had vanished for hours, unaware she had been cold, terrified, or lost. A tight ache built beneath her ribs.
Only Aldara, the wind whispered.
And as if summoned by the thought, Auntie’s voice cut sharply across the clearing.
“Y/N!”
A flash of white swooped from the treeline, a great snow owl with feathers shining like frostfire and amber eyes bright as twin lanterns. Auntie landed on a low branch, radiating a weight older than the woods themselves.
Y/N ran to her. Soft feathers brushed her cheek. Wings wrapped around her shoulders in a light embrace. Warmth, deep and anchoring, poured through her bones.
“You’re safe,” Auntie murmured, her voice trembling between relief and scolding. “I was so worried, Bibbles.”
“I’m okay,” Y/N whispered back. “I’m home.”
Auntie’s gaze shifted to Jimin, who hovered at the edge of the clearing, frozen between bowing, bolting, and wishing he were invisible.
“Tell him I’m grateful,” Auntie said. Her voice held gentle authority. “Tell him thank you for protecting you.”
Y/N turned toward him, her throat tightening around the words. “She says thank you. Truly.”
Jimin bowed. It was not a polite nod or a stiff dip but a full, deep bow that laid his throat bare. His spine curved in reverence, his silver hair spilled forward like liquid moonlight. It was a gesture rooted in old traditions, respect, loyalty, humility. A quiet kind of bravery.
Auntie, perched on her branch, returned the bow with a solemn dip of her head. Something passed between them, recognition, respect, the shared understanding of duty.
Jimin’s cheeks pinked as he straightened, a soft flush warming his pale skin. He looked startled by his own reaction, like someone had cupped a lantern under his chin.
Y/N wished, with sudden aching ferocity, that he could stay. She wanted him to feel the bonfire’s heat, to warm his cold fingers. She wanted him to taste wassail sweet with spice, to hear witches singing stories into the smoke. She wanted him to dance beside her until they were breathless from laughing.
But the forest had rules. Wolves had rules of their own.
“He needs to go,” Auntie murmured, soft but certain, like snow settling over the world.
Y/N nodded, her heart sinking like a stone into cold water.
She turned to him. “Thank you for helping me.”
His smile came shy and small, as though it was not sure it had permission to exist. “You’re welcome.”
The moon carved him in silver; the fire painted her in gold. Two shapes meeting at the boundary of two worlds.
A soft laugh slipped from her, a fragile thing tinged with sadness. For one wild moment, she wished she could tell him her true name, the one whispered only to gods and familiars and those bound closest to the heart. But the moment passed like melted snow slipping between her fingers.
“Alright,” she said, bracing herself. “This might feel a little strange, but it’ll get you home fast.”
His eyes widened, bright and startled. “You’re using magic again?”
“A little.” She lifted her hands; warmth gathered in her palms. “Stand still.”
He obeyed immediately, feet grounded like a sapling waiting for spring.
Y/N began the spell, her fingers moving in looping patterns, each stroke leaving a faint shimmer in the air. Magic rose up her arms, warm and fluid, humming in her blood. She started to sing, a soft melody that curled through the trees like smoke. The forest hushed, listening. Even the wind stilled.
Light bent, forming a doorway, its edges glowing like sunrise caught in a circle.
Jimin let out a breath. “That’s incredible.”
“Go on,” she whispered.
He took one last look at her, long and steady and thoughtful.
“Happy Yuletide,” he said.
“Happy Yuletide,” she replied.
He stepped into the light. It flared silver around him, then vanished, leaving only the dark forest, distant laughter, and winter wind weaving through the branches.
“He’s a nice boy,” Aldara said softly from behind her. “He looks so much like his mother.”
Y/N had never met Jimin’s mother and had no way of knowing how true that was, but she trusted Auntie’s eye for people. She tried to imagine the woman and immediately abandoned the attempt; picturing someone who looked like Jimin with longer hair felt ridiculous.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Aldara asked, gliding closer through the air. “You seem down, little bird.”
Y/N nodded. “Just a bit cold.”
“Go play with your friends,” her aunt murmured. “Don’t let this spoil your favorite day.”
Y/N nodded again but said nothing. She did not know how to explain that the night felt different now, emptier somehow. She wished she and the wolf boy could have danced, even once. It felt embarrassing to admit, especially to Aldara, who never seemed to want anything outside the circle of friends she already held close. Y/N wished, just for a moment, that she were more like her aunt, steady, self-contained, unfazed by tangled feelings.
Maybe then her emotions about Yoongi would not feel so knotted. Maybe Jin and Wendy would not seem so impossible to understand. And maybe she would not feel this small, unexpected disappointment that she would never see Jimin’s face again.
The clearing ahead pulsed with life, warm, loud, messy in all the best ways.
Taejin and Yoona sang loudly and terribly, their voices crashing into one another like drunk geese. Heji wheezed with laughter while Auntie, still in her owl body, balanced on Yoona’s shoulder with wings flared like a dramatic noblewoman insisting the spotlight return to her immediately. Wendy and Seokjin bickered near the fire with the kind of sharp affection only people who had spent too many years annoying each other could manage.
The bonfire roared at the center of it all, flames unfurling into the night, sparks rising like tiny fire spirits escaping into the dark. The scent of pine, roasting meat, and spiced drink wrapped around Y/N like a familiar quilt.
Home.
She stepped forward, boots crunching in the fresh snow. Firelight washed over her coat, warming her cheeks.
A blur streaked past her. Seokjin bolted across the clearing, laughing so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet. Wendy tore after him, hair wild and sandals nowhere to be seen.
“Jin! Give those back!” she shrieked.
He spun mid-run, brandishing her sandals above his head like stolen treasure. “Finders keepers!” he declared. “You know the rules, Wen!”
“I’ll show you the rules!” she hollered, chasing him with the energy of an unleashed storm.
“I swear on the Yule log!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Jin gasped, horrified.
“I’ll call Krampus!”
“I’ll send the Yule Cat first!”
Y/N bent over laughing, the cold draining out of her bones and replaced by the kind of warmth only this absurd, beloved chaos could give her.
A quiet voice spoke at her side. “You okay?”
She turned and found Yoongi beside her, dark hair mussed, scarf crooked, his eyes warm and focused solely on her. His concern was gentle in that steady way he had, the kind that always softened something inside her.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just… confused. Did anyone notice I was gone?”
His gaze drifted toward Aldara, who was now tolerating Heji’s attempts to stack pinecones on her owl head. “Aldara said you were visiting the animals,” Yoongi murmured. “But I didn’t believe it.”
Y/N snorted. “Definitely wasn’t Patto.”
She did not know why she held back the truth of her adventure, why she kept the wolf boy tucked away like a warm secret, but something in her refused to give that moment away.
Yoongi’s mouth curved. “So… what team are you on?”
Warmth flickered in her chest. “Wendy’s,” she declared. “She needs reinforcements.”
His laugh, low and velvety and familiar, dissolved the last of the fear lingering in her bones. She shoved him lightly and bolted toward Jin. Yoongi yelped and lunged after her, tackling her into a heap of fresh snow. She shrieked, laughing until her ribs ached.
“Get off!” she wheezed.
He only laughed harder, hair flopping directly into her mouth. She spat, sputtering, and scrambled upright with snow sticking to every part of her.
“Wendy!” Y/N called. “I’m on your team! Yoongi betrayed us!”
Wendy lit up like a torch. “That scurvy dog!” she shouted, pointing at Yoongi as though leveling a legal accusation.
Yoongi groaned, brushing snow from his coat with the exhaustion of someone long accustomed to their antics. Wendy tore off after Jin again, but Jin was too fast, darting around the firelight like a fox avoiding capture.
“Enough pirate talk, Ningyo!” he hollered.
“You can’t even spell that!” Wendy shrieked, scandalized.
Y/N doubled over laughing, her breath shaping warm clouds in the crisp air. Snow drifted down in soft, lazy flakes. She tipped her head back, letting them melt on her cheeks.
Her heart whispered a small, earnest prayer.
Guide him home, Luna. Keep him safe.
“Happy Solstice, Jimin,” she murmured into the wind.
A sharp yell snapped her back.
“B!” Wendy howled. “Get him!”
Y/N grinned, wild and bright and delighted, and sprinted across the clearing. Jin spotted her at the last possible moment and released a startled shriek that sent a cluster of birds flapping from the nearby trees.
Too late.
She barreled into him, and they tumbled through the snow in a tangled roll of limbs and laughter. They slid to a stop in a heap, their breaths rising in pale silver puffs.
Wendy swooped in triumphantly, snatched her sandals back, and smacked Jin’s arm several times, each tap punctuated with “Don’t. Steal. From. Me.” Her scolding dissolved almost instantly into laughter, bright and unhindered.
Yoongi settled beside Y/N, lowering himself into the snow with a quiet exhale. She leaned against him automatically, letting her head rest on his shoulder. His warmth seeped into her, grounding her more deeply than any fire or charm could.
The four of them sat together, laughing, breathless and content, while the bonfire crackled nearby. Snow drifted down like glitter shaken from the sky, turning the clearing into a warm-lit dreamscape.
New Year’s Day was only eleven days away. She remembered the peace that had wrapped around her then, how safe she had felt between laughter and firelight. The forest’s shadows, the red eyes, the icy dread she had felt earlier… all of it had been cut away by Yuletide joy.
That night, she believed with her whole heart that everything would be alright.
She had not known then that this Yule would become a memory she would cradle like glass, precious and fragile and unbearably bright. She had not known it would be the last time she would ever feel unburdened.
She had not known she was already stepping into the shape of her future.
The memory softened, blurred, and dissolved into the present, her quiet cottage, the lamplight, the scent of herbs drifting warm and thick in the air. And Hoseok’s cheerful voice cutting through it all.
“You should come, Bridd,” Hoseok said, his tone like sunshine wrapped in laughter. “Sol’s birthday celebration will be the talk of the pack. And it’s her choosing day, you know everyone’s buzzing about who the Goddess will pick as her fated.”
Wax pooled in a molten gold ring beneath Y/N’s hands as she sealed another jar. The scent of warm resin curled upward with the cooling charm she whispered, the magic settling over the lid like a soft sigh.
“You wolves and your gossip,” she teased, wiping wax from her fingertips. “The Goddess makes the choices, not your guesses.”
Hoseok wagged a finger at her, grinning wide. “Guessing’s half the fun, Bridd. Don’t ruin this for us.”
She laughed, but her thoughts drifted, pulled toward a place both familiar and distant.
The idea of fate-bound love, souls tied together by divine hand, stirred something deep and unreachable in her. She could make potions for longing and charms for romance, but the real thing, true destined love, felt as far away as the moon she prayed to.
Her gaze slipped toward Jimin before she could stop it. He stood near her shelves, hands clasped neatly behind him as if afraid to touch anything. His posture was stiff with respect, almost too careful. His eyes traced the shelves, the herbs, the jars, but she sensed he was not really looking at them. He was looking through them, mapping her life in quiet details.
She wondered if he had ever truly been inside her cottage before. Not for a blessing. Not for a protocol visit. Just standing there, existing in her space as though he belonged. The thought felt strange, strange in a way that warmed her more than the fire ever could.
Then a memory snapped across her mind, sharp as a struck match.
A ceremony years ago, her first blessing after Namjoon’s ascension. She had been thirteen, her body still learning the weight of divine magic. When the ritual ended, her legs buckled. The world smeared into streaks of light. Her breath hitched.
She fell straight into warm arms. Cedar and smoke. Careful hands. A quiet voice urging her to breathe, to stay awake, knuckles brushing her cheek with a tenderness that could only have belonged to someone terrified of hurting her.
Jimin’s hair had been snow-white even then, just like his father’s before he died. People whispered it was an omen or a blessing or a curse, depending on what they feared that year. But Jimin himself had been none of those things. He had been steady. Calm. Soft-spoken. He carried her away from the ceremonial stones as if she weighed no more than a bundle of herbs.
The memory tightened her throat. She turned quickly, fussing with packages she did not need to fuss with, hiding the sudden sting in her eyes.
“I’m looking forward to the Luna’s blessing ceremony,” she said, forcing her voice into something even and light. “It’ll be nice to do something different for once.”
“I’m sure it will be an experience,” Hoseok said, drifting along her shelves like a child set loose in a library. “How different is it from ours?”
The question brushed up against something tender inside her, something she did not like to touch. The cottage suddenly felt too small.
Her eyes swept the room, over what it had been with Aldara’s hands guiding it, and what it had become under her own. The hearth that once glowed with music and conversation was now nearly swallowed by jars and strings of drying herbs. Where Aldara kept books and polished floors, Y/N kept blades tucked under counters, feathers scattered across the ground, crystals and parchment cluttering every surface. Everything here bore the unmistakable shape of her magic, beautiful and unruly and weighty.
Hoseok’s question hung unanswered until Jimin spoke.
“I’m sure Bridd does not want to answer that.”
His voice was quiet, soft enough to be mistaken for gentleness if not for the steel wrapped beneath it.
Her hands stilled. The ribbon slipped, loosening before she tightened it again with trembling fingers.
He had shielded her. A single sentence, spoken in that steady way of his, had placed him cleanly between her and the discomfort she had not even known was visible. For the briefest heartbeat, the cottage hummed with something she was not brave enough to name.
“It’s alright,” she murmured, letting her voice smooth over the moment. “It’s very different. But I’ll learn quickly. I still have a month.”
Hoseok, cheerful and oblivious and utterly untroubled, poked a marigold bundle. “I wonder who the Chief will be this year.”
“Who knows,” Jimin said, his tone flat and distant, unreadable as frost.
Before she could respond, a shriek ripped the cottage wide open.
The window exploded inward with a bang so loud it shook loose several dried leaves from the rafters. A chaos of feathers shot through the opening, a furious meteor of cream and mud and righteous indignation.
Shiloh crashed onto the worktable with the graceless thud of a creature who had absolutely reached the end of her patience with this cruel and unfair universe.
She looked like a bedraggled spirit of vengeance, puffed up and streaked with dirt, vibrating with outrage. A tiny, filthy owl who had clearly lost a fistfight with the elements and possibly a medium-sized forest.
Her wings flared wide, scattering herbs like startled insects. A burst of crushed rosemary and sage filled the air, hitting Y/N square in the face like an overly enthusiastic blessing.
Shiloh shrieked again, loudly enough that the glass jars rattled on their shelves.
Y/N froze mid-step. Hoseok dropped the marigolds. Jimin blinked once, slowly, as though deciding whether this was actually happening or simply a hallucination brought on by prolonged exposure to witchcraft.
The owl puffed herself up to an impossible size, golden eyes blazing with the indignation of a goddess denied tribute.
"Oh dear," Y/N whispered.
"What," Hoseok said thinly, struggling not to laugh, "happened to...?"
Shiloh cut him off with an ear-splitting screech that reverberated through the entire cottage.
Suppressing a laugh of her own, Y/N hurried to the table. "Shiloh, my stars, what happened to you?"
Shiloh launched straight into her tirade. "That stupid dog! And that even dumber owner! Y/N, the humiliation I’ve suffered is unimaginable!"
Hoseok slapped a hand over his mouth. Jimin's lips twitched imperceptibly, but his expression remained composed.
"You mean Mannix?" Y/N asked, trying not to smile.
The owl gasped as though Y/N had just uttered a forbidden curse. "That monster! That slobbering brute chased me! Nearly took off my tail feathers, my tail feathers, Y/N!"
"Mannix is a puppy," Y/N soothed. "He is barely bigger than you."
"That animal is enormous!" Shiloh hopped indignantly, leaving muddy prints across the table. "Fifty pounds at least and growing like he plans to eat the sun!"
"Oh, Shiloh," Y/N sighed, laughter finally slipping free. "I’m so sorry."
Mannix had been adorable the last time she saw him, an overly fluffy St. Bernard pup with paws the size of small islands. Traders swore those dogs grew large enough to pull a cart or a house or perhaps a modest mountain. Judging by Shiloh's appearance, the legends were not far off.
"And then the bees!" Shiloh wailed, collapsing dramatically with a wing draped over her head. "I had to ask bees for help. Bees, Y/N. I’m the Bridd's familiar. I shouldn’t be begging insects for anything!"
Y/N burst into helpless laughter. Shiloh crumpled but did not protest when she scooped her up.
"I’ll make sure you do not have to go back there," Y/N promised.
"Hmph," Shiloh sniffed. "One would hope."
Y/N carried her down the hall to the cozy room where her nesting box sat by the window, lined with twigs, soft soil, and the old stuffed mouse Shiloh refused to part with. She brushed dirt from the owl's feathers and settled her inside.
"There," she whispered. "Rest, you poor thing."
Shiloh grumbled, "You would be furious too if a dog drooled on your tail..." but her eyes were already drifting shut.
Smiling, Y/N slipped back to the kitchen.
Cool winter air still drifted through the open window. She leaned out into the moonlit garden. "Delinah?"
The young doe lifted her head from a patch of cabbage, ears tilting forward. "Yes?" she chimed, voice bright.
"When you are done, could you ask Nixie from the sea coven if she has a vole to spare? Shiloh has had an… incident."
Delinah giggled. "Of course."
"Thank you," Y/N said warmly.
She closed the window and smoothed her hair, a nervous habit she had never grown out of. Hoseok was still bouncing excitedly between shelves. Jimin stood where she had left him, still as carved stone, watching quietly.
"I’m sorry," Y/N said, brushing her skirt. "My familiar can be dramatic."
Hoseok laughed. "She seems spirited. How’s she usually?"
"Spunky," Y/N said, affection softening her voice.
Jimin did not say a word. But when she glanced over, just once and just briefly, she found his eyes already on her. Not sharp. Not guarded. Just quiet. Thoughtful. Soft in a way she did not have a name for. And that softness was dangerous, because something inside her slipped and tilted and shifted, like snow sliding from a roof and landing with a muted thud in her chest. Embarrassment, maybe. Or something she absolutely was not ready to identify.
To distract herself, she reached for the bundle Seokjin had dropped off earlier. The knots loosened under her fingers, each one giving way like a tiny sigh. A wild, bright scent rose from the leaves, sunflower, mint, and a ghost of sea-salt clinging to the stems. Before she even uncovered the letter, she smiled. His handwriting danced in her memory.
Inside the bundle sat everything she had asked for, and everything Seokjin had decided she needed besides. Two sunflower stems, warm as bottled sunlight. Twelve pale seeds. Three baby’s-breath bundles tied with gold twine. A small honeycomb, still tacky with sweetness. Ten sprigs of vervain, cool and green. And at the bottom, a folded letter dusted with the shimmering powder he insisted on using for dramatic effect.
Wiping her hands, she sat at the counter and opened it.
Y/N,
How splendid of you to drop by. I know Shiloh came in your absence, but I’ll expect you tonight. I’ll brew your favorite tea.
Here are the ingredients you requested. I’ve added a few extras as thanks for the gardening tools you made me this year. I know you go through plenty of mint and sage, so expect an abundance. I’ve also started growing lavender to balance out the sea coven’s demands for Yoongi.
As for the tea, this is the recipe you like, correct?
2–3 cups honeysuckle flowers (whole)
2 cups water
Wild honey to taste
Am I missing anything?
Much love,
Jin
A quiet laugh puffed from her nose, half sigh and half fond exasperation. Of course he had written it like that. She could hear his voice in every line: theatrical, generous, a little dramatic, impossible not to adore.
The final stack of medicine boxes waited on the counter, neatly tied and gleaming in the afternoon light. For the first time that day, she let herself pause. Pulling fresh parchment toward her, she dipped her quill and began her reply.
Jin,
Thank you for the supplies. The mint is lovely, and I’m glad to hear about the lavender. Remember—full sun and well-drained soil are best. Yoongi would be a better source for gardening advice. I don’t get out often enough. Aren’t I funny?
The tools were a gift for being such a wonderful person and friend. Pass my thanks to Mannix. Shiloh returned home in one of her fits again—haven’t I told you to stop teasing her?
Tea sounds lovely, but I prefer the honeysuckle crushed. And no honey—you know my diet.
May the Gods bring you joy,
Y/N
She read it one more time, the corner of her mouth softening, then folded it neatly and sealed it with a drop of red wax.
"Auferetur," she whispered.
The seal shimmered. A delicate flame curled from the edges. The letter glowed, then dissolved into a whisper of ash that drifted upward and vanished.
Hoseok, who had been hovering near the shelves, let out an appreciative whistle. "Sometimes I forget she isn’t a person," he said, leaning his elbows on the counter with a grin.
Y/N laughed quietly, pulling on her gloves. "Technically, she’s a spirit," she said. "But I understand what you mean."
The cauldron's bubbling had softened to a low, steady hum. The mixture inside glowed faintly gold. She dropped in the vervain; it bloomed instantly, releasing a sharp, green scent like fresh rain over earth.
Healing potions were always the most delicate. Too long over heat and they soured. Too little and the magic spoiled in the jar. Each vial needed sealing while the brew still pulsed with its own energy, and an opal, cut clean and even, had to be added before it cooled. That was the secret that kept them potent.
She reached for the bundles of baby's breath when Hoseok spoke again.
"Is everything in your world a spirit?" he asked, tilting his head with exaggerated innocence.
"Hoseok," Jimin said quietly.
The way he said it made her pause. There it was, a subtle thread of protection woven through his tone. So soft she might have imagined it, if not for the strange flutter it stirred low in her stomach.
She hid her smile by turning her face toward the steaming cauldron. "Just about," she said lightly.
With a flick of her wrist, the charmed bottles rose into the air. They drifted into a neat line, hovering at the lip of the cauldron, tilting one after another as the golden brew streamed smoothly into their waiting mouths.
Hoseok let out a noise somewhere between awe and disbelief. "Isn't it difficult to do all that at once?"
Y/N shot him a look, a small smile tugging at her mouth. "Hoseok, I’m the Bridd. Do you truly think so little of me?"
He laughed, bright and unguarded. "Of course not. I’ve just never seen any other witch do it before."
She raised an eyebrow. "Do you spend time with a lot of witches?"
"Only that grumpy one near the pixie coves," he said, scandalized on his own behalf.
"Yoongi?" Y/N asked, amusement blooming across her face. "The kitchen witch?"
"That’s what you call him?" Hoseok's eyes widened. "Could have fooled me. He glared at me for breathing too close to his stove."
Y/N's laugh was low and warm, curling through the cottage like spice. "That sounds like him. He’s unorthodox, but his heart’s in the right place." She lifted the cauldron slightly with a charm and began pouring the shimmering potion into molds that glimmered faintly under her spell. "And he’s the best cook in Lustra, whether he admits it or not."
The vervain's fragrance thickened in the air, sinking into the walls and her hair. Shiloh would complain later. The owl always despised the smell. But to Y/N, it was comforting. It reminded her of childhood nights, of Aldara murmuring blessings over a much smaller cauldron, her hands steady in a way Y/N had tried to mimic her entire life.
"What makes him a kitchen witch?" Hoseok asked, his curiosity softening his grin.
"All witches share the same foundations," Y/N said, her tone shifting into something gently instructive. "But our specialties differ. Yoongi channels magic through food. The ingredients absorb his energy, flavor, scent, warmth. His meals can heal, calm, strengthen."
"So cooking’s magic?"
"It can be," she said, stirring as the potion shimmered from green to gold. "Even the simplest things can be magic, if made with care."
Hoseok's smile softened into something sincere. "That’s actually kind of beautiful."
She returned the smile, though her thoughts had already drifted elsewhere. Backward, slipping through memory like leaves floating along a slow stream.
She could almost hear their laughter again, echoing between tall pines and moss-soft ground. Years ago, Yoongi with his quiet mischief, grumbling whenever anyone breathed too loudly near him yet sneaking her sweets with the stealth of a thief. Seokjin, bright as midsummer, dramatic in every gesture, stealing whole bouquets under the excuse of studying plant anatomy. Wendy, fresh from the sea most days, leaving faint salt rings on their spellbooks wherever she leaned. The four of them, earth, sea, sun, and hearth, bound together not by blood or tradition but by curiosity, by the wild belief that magic should be sung, not feared.
Back then, summers smelled of rosemary and warm rain. Nights tasted like honeyed tea and reckless hope. But time had tugged them apart. Yoongi had folded his warmth beneath dry humor and the quiet skill that made every herb obey him. Seokjin had become the solar witch whose radiance could soothe or scorch. Wendy had returned to the waves that owned her. And Y/N had stayed rooted in the woods, the last Bridd of her line, whispering to roots and ghosts.
She had never regretted her path. Still, there were nights when the forest grew too still and she missed them so sharply it felt like a bruise.
She really should invite them more often. Not all at once. That would be a catastrophe. After Wendy and Seokjin had broken things off, nothing had been the same. Yoongi tolerated each of them individually, but together? Chaos. Jin and Yoongi had avoided each other for years, each too proud or too wounded to bridge the gap. Wendy, terrified of making things worse, visited the forest less and less. It left a hollow ache in Y/N's chest. They had been inseparable once. Then life, in its strange ways, pulled them loose from each other's orbit.
She thought of Aldara, her cool detachment toward love, the way nothing seemed to shake her. A blessing, sometimes. But the world would be dimmer without hearts that could bruise. Less confusing, yes, but less beautiful.
Hoseok hummed to himself as he wandered the shelves, and Jimin stood by the window, silent, still, carved from winter light. The afternoon sun poured through the glass and caught the pale strands of his hair, making them gleam like gold dust. He carried a kind of gravity that filled a room without needing sound, and she felt it even when she tried not to.
Something about him drew her in the way tides are drawn to the moon, quietly and steadily, with a pull she did not dare name. She wondered, not for the first time, if he ever looked at her the way she sometimes found herself looking at him. If he thought her beautiful. If he thought of her at all.
The thought embarrassed her, childish and foolish. She stirred the potion a bit too forcefully, and it hissed in protest. Still, the thought clung to her, persistent as burrs in wool.
She was not sure when her feelings had begun. Maybe at that ceremony years ago, when his wolf surfaced for the first time. The air had seemed to crackle, torches leaning toward him as though even flame recognized him. And when the wolf settled into him, she had felt something deep within herself shift too, as if some older part of her answered in return. It was normal for a presented wolf to react to a nature-bound witch, but reason had not helped. Her heart had taken its own path.
He must have noticed something. Jimin noticed everything. But he had never crossed the line, never hinted, never pushed. He kept his distance with careful politeness. So she admired him in silence, the custos of the Bangtan pack. The one she could never have.
She cleared her throat lightly and forced a teasing tone. "So tell me, how did you and Yoongi ever get close enough for him to let you into his home? He’a not usually one for strangers."
Hoseok's grin appeared instantly, boyish and guilty. "Ah," he said, scratching the back of his neck, "well... that’s a bit of a story."
"I’m sure it is," Y/N replied.
Jimin turned slightly, interest flickering in his normally unreadable gaze.
"It was about two months ago," Hoseok began, leaning against the counter like a man settling in for a dramatic retelling. "I was walking through the woods, sun out, hair down, bare feet. Feeling free. And then, bam. A rock. Not even a respectable rock. A tiny, evil, vindictive little thing. It sliced the bottom of my foot clean open."
Y/N snorted softly. "You’re an alpha who wrestles bears in your spare time. I doubt a pebble laid you low."
"I’m telling you," he insisted, gesturing wildly, "it was jagged. Sharp as sin. I thought I had stepped on a fairy dagger. I was bleeding like the gods themselves had condemned me."
She laughed before she could stop herself. "So what did you do?"
"I yelled," he said solemnly. "Very loudly."
Jimin actually turned fully then, a spark of humor breaking through his usual calm. "You yelled?"
"Oh, I yelled," Hoseok repeated, laughing at himself. "Birds fled. Deer fainted. I was hopping around like a one-footed banshee."
Y/N pressed her lips together to keep her laughter in, but her shoulders shook anyway.
"And apparently," Hoseok went on, "Yoongi was nearby. He was collecting flowers."
"Flowers?" Jimin echoed, sounding more curious than skeptical.
Y/N just smiled. That sounded exactly like Yoongi. He had always loved beautiful things, pressing them between pages until his books swelled and grew heavy with dried petals and leaves. Half his shelves were filled with florals and plants he refused to throw away.
"For tea," Hoseok confirmed. "So there I am, bleeding to death, and suddenly he’s standing over me with this little basket like somebody's offended grandmother. He gives me that look, you know the one, and says, 'What is all this noise? You are scaring the bees.'"
That broke her. Y/N doubled over, laughing until her eyes watered. Even Jimin's composure slipped; a soft, surprised laugh escaped him, warm and quick, like sunlight cracking through clouds.
"Oh no," Y/N gasped, catching her breath. "Please tell me you didn’t yell at him."
"I didn’t yell at him," Hoseok said, scandalized. "I pleaded. I told him I was dying and that the forest was cruel for letting me perish alone."
"And what did he do?"
"He sighed," Hoseok said, throwing his hands up. "The most disappointed sigh I’ve ever heard. Then he said, 'Fine. You are dripping on my plants.'"
Y/N nearly dropped her spoon. "Oh gods," she wheezed, laughing in little bursts.
"So he drags me, literally drags me, back to his cottage," Hoseok continued, grinning. "Muttering about wolves and theatrics the whole way. Makes me sit, cleans my foot like I’m some stray he’s stuck with, then shoves a bowl of soup into my hands. It looked simple enough, smelled incredible. I take one sip and the wound is gone. Perfect skin. Not even a scar."
Y/N blinked at him, delighted and impressed. "He used a healing broth on you."
Hoseok nodded hard. "That’s what he said. I didn’t even know soup could do that."
"That’s Yoongi," Y/N said, and her voice warmed without her meaning it to. "His food fixes more than hunger. You probably got one of his better brews, he uses moonwater sometimes."
"Moonwater?" Hoseok's eyes went round. "From the lunar wells?"
"Only on holy nights," she said.
"No wonder it worked," he muttered. "He’s been pretending to tolerate me ever since. I stop by once or twice a week. He acts like I’m ruining his peace just by breathing, but he always feeds me something."
"That means he likes you," Y/N said. "He helps people he cares about."
"That sounds familiar," Jimin said quietly.
Their eyes met, hers widening and his unreadable, and something warm and fragile seemed to hum between them. She looked away first, pretending to check the cauldron, though the brew did not need it.
Hoseok, oblivious as always, continued cheerfully, “I keep telling him he should open a tavern, but he says he’d rather drown in stew than deal with drunks.”
“That sounds like him,” Y/N murmured. “He’s a quiet sort of kind.”
“I like him,” Hoseok said, his grin softening into something sincere. “He’s very funny.”
“Funniest man I’ve ever met,” Y/N deadpanned, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Calling Yoongi funny was like insisting the sky was green and the grass was blue, objectively false and mildly offensive to anyone with working eyes. Yoongi was not funny; he was snarky. Dry. Sharper than he had any right to be. Y/N far preferred that to actual humor. Jin was the one who tried to be the comedian, but his jokes often landed like wounded birds, sometimes charming, sometimes confusing; sometimes so painfully bad she wondered if he was doing it on purpose. Wendy was probably the funniest of the four of them, but even then, the bar was not high. None of them were exactly known for wit.
Jimin laughed quietly under his breath, a soft warm sound that felt like it had slipped past his usual guard. It brushed against her nerves like a touch she had not expected. She did not look at him, did not dare, but a smile still tugged at her lips as she poured the last of the potion into its mold. Her hands moved with steady confidence, even though her pulse had become anything but steady.
Outside, the light shifted toward evening. The gold softened, turning the world beyond her windows hazy and gentle. The forest took on that quiet glow it wore just before dusk, as if every tree had been lit from within. Dust motes drifted lazily through the cottage, spinning in the slant of sunlight like they had nowhere else to be.
Y/N filled the final mold, watching the liquid settle and catch the light. Her hands moved automatically now, but her thoughts kept circling, around old memories, around worries she could not voice, around things she knew better than to want. For this one hour, though, the day felt kind. The shadows were soft. The light was forgiving. It felt like the sort of moment she would remember later, for reasons she would not entirely understand.
"What kind of witch are you?" Hoseok asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Y/N did not look up from the cooling potion. "A forest witch," she said. Her voice was calm and even, but she was acutely aware of Jimin standing behind her, close enough that she could feel the shape of his silence.
Hoseok nodded, apparently satisfied. He was not one to dig deeper when he did not have to. The question slipped away into the background hum of the room, the soft bubble of glass, the faint flicker of flame, the quiet whisper of magic settling into place.
One by one, she dropped small preservation stones into the jars. Each stone sank slowly, pulsing once with a faint light before disappearing beneath the surface. In a few hours the potion would turn into a soft, pliable gel that smelled like strawberries after rain. In a week, when the stones had fully dissolved, the brew would wake into its true strength.
"Are they ready to be used?"
The voice startled her enough that one of the bottles dipped sideways. She caught it just in time, heart stumbling. Jimin. He rarely spoke if he did not have to, so the sound of his voice always felt a little unexpected.
She glanced at him, just briefly. His expression was calm and curious. His voice, smooth and low, did not have to be loud to fill a room.
"Not yet," she said, forcing her own voice to stay steady. "They need a week. If you open them before the stones dissolve, they’ll spoil."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, attention settling back on her work. It was not a sharp stare, just steady, like he was cataloging the way she moved, the way the magic behaved around her.
"Is everything else ready?" Hoseok asked, leaning over the table with restless energy.
"Yes," she answered quietly.
He nodded, but as always, could not stay still. Within a few heartbeats he was wandering the room again, trailing his fingers across wood and glass and hanging herbs. Y/N did not mind. His curiosity was familiar, harmless. If anything, it made the cottage feel less like a cage and more like a place people wanted to be.
Today, though, even his energy seemed slightly held back. His jokes were gentler, his laughter softer. Maybe it was Jimin's presence. Most wolves, alphas included, were a little more careful with the custos in the room.
Jimin, however, waited with unhurried patience, his stillness anchoring the space. If he was irritated by the pace of her work, he did not show it.
"How do you even make these?" Hoseok asked after a moment, pointing toward the line of knives displayed above the hearth.
Y/N smiled, more to herself than to him, and set her ladle aside. "Bones," she said. "Sandpaper. A decent knife. A lot of time."
Those blades were one of the few things she allowed herself to be proud of. She had carved each one from bone she had found on her walks, old and clean, already given back to the forest. She had spent nights by the fire smoothing them, shaping them, wrapping the handles in leather or vine or braided reeds. They were not pretty in the way metal was, but they felt alive in her hands. Imperfect and hers.
Her eyes drifted to the smallest blade on the far right, her first one. She had made it years ago after Davian died. He had been an old buck by then, gentle and soft-eyed, the kind of creature a child could love without ever thinking to call it love. He had been part of her world the way sunlight and moss were, always there, always kind. When he stopped visiting, she had cried for days, certain she had done something wrong. Aldara had finally taken her searching. They found him in a meadow silvered with moonlight, his body already claimed by stillness. Aldara rested a hand on her small shoulder and said, quietly, "Keep a part of him, and he’ll keep a part of you."
They carved the knife together from his scapula, sanding it smooth until it gleamed like ivory. It became her talisman, her first true creation. After that, bonecraft became her quiet ritual. The cellar walls slowly filled with them, blades of memory, each handle a small shrine. She hoped one day she would pass them to an apprentice, though she had not yet met anyone who loved the forest the way she did.
"They’re beautiful," Jimin said softly.
The words struck her harder than she expected. Jimin did not speak lightly, and he almost never complimented anyone. The sincerity in his voice curled something warm and unsteady low in her chest.
"Thank you," she murmured, barely audible.
Around them, enchanted tools lifted themselves into motion. Feathers, quills, folded paper, all drifting like small obedient birds. They assembled the potion boxes in neat patterns, glass tapping wood in a rhythm that blended with the soft rustle of ribbon and parchment. Y/N picked up her quill again, dipping it in ink as she wrote out the instruction cards by hand. Her penmanship was small and precise. These suppressants were for the Bangtan pack, and the dosage had to be exact, especially for Jimin, whose wolf tended to burn through most remedies before they could take effect. She chose each word carefully, focusing on the page, trying very hard to ignore the warmth of someone tall and silent standing just behind her.
When the last card slid neatly into its box, she said, “You can take them now, if you’d like.”
Jimin approached with those quiet, measured steps of his, and the space between them seemed to pull taut, close without meaning to be, intimate by accident. He felt taller standing this near, or maybe she had simply never allowed herself to stand close enough to realize it.
Most alphas had scents that were cloying and harsh. Hoseok always smelled faintly of burnt citrus, sharp and bright, while Namjoon carried the warm bite of ginger and whiskey, earthy and unmistakable. Jimin was not like them. His scent was subtle, almost shy: cedar, a hint of frost, and something smoky curling underneath. Not smoke from a fire, exactly, but the clean, lingering trace a bonfire left on clothes hours after it died out.
She wondered, because she sometimes did when she was not careful, what that scent would become if he ever let himself love someone. Would it warm the way fire warms wood? Grow fuller, richer, something human and unguarded? Or would it stay like this, soft and restrained, a secret he kept even from himself?
He reached for one of the bottles. Just as her hand withdrew, his fingers brushed hers, a fleeting, accidental touch. But it sent a jolt through her so quick and sharp she gasped inwardly, nearly losing her grip.
She glanced up at him before she could stop herself.
His gaze met hers, steady, soft, knowing. Not embarrassed, not mocking. Just present. Aware. It made her feel suddenly, absurdly bare.
“Thank you, Bridd,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like silk pulled across stone.
“You’re welcome, Jimin,” she managed, though her voice caught in her throat before slipping free.
A faint smile touched his lips, so quick she wondered if she had imagined it. He tucked the bottle into his pack with careful hands, and that thin thread of tension snapped quietly.
“Well. That’s that,” Hoseok announced, clapping his hands and shattering the fragile stillness. “Let’s get these to the pack before Ahn gets a stick up his ass.”
Y/N laughed, stepping aside so they could gather the boxes. She followed them to the door, the hinges creaking as she opened it. Cool forest air rolled in, carrying the scent of moss and distant sunlight.
Hoseok paused on the threshold and shot her a wink. “Don’t be a stranger, Bridd. We like having you around.”
Jimin paused beside him. “Visit us sometime,” he said, quiet but warm. “The pack would be honored even if you can’t speak to us.”
Something gentle fluttered in her chest. “I’ll consider it,” she said, and to her surprise, she meant it. “Safe travels.”
They descended the steps, boots whispering over moss and fallen needles. She watched them move into the trees, Hoseok bright and loose-limbed, Jimin quiet as a shadow at his side, until both figures dissolved into the shifting green. The forest had a way of swallowing people whole, softening their outlines until they became part of the scenery. It happened every time, yet it still left a tug in her chest.
When the last glimpse of them vanished behind the pines, silence settled over the cottage again, warm and familiar, like a shawl draped over weary shoulders. The cauldron still breathed softly behind her, its surface catching the final flickers of gold as the fire dimmed.
Y/N stood there a while longer, listening to the forest exhale. When even the echo of their footsteps faded, she let out a quiet sigh, her lips curving in a way she did not bother trying to name, half longing, half contentment. Another day folded neatly into memory. Another moment she would tuck away somewhere safe.
Shiloh swooped in through the open window, landing on the counter with a flutter of dark wings and a toss of mischief. The last light caught her eyes and turned them into molten gold.
“They’re quite something, aren’t they?” she said, her voice lilting with smug amusement.
Y/N smiled, though her gaze stayed distant, trailing after the path the wolves had taken. “Yes,” she murmured. “Quite something indeed.”
The cottage breathed around her. The little enchantments she kept running hummed softly: tools shuffling themselves into place, herbs swaying from their hooks as if drifting in a gentle breeze, glassware chiming faintly as the cooling air brushed over them. The space felt alive but rested, the same way she felt when she finally sat down after a long day.
She let herself sink onto the old stool beside the counter. Stillness was rare for her, more luxury than habit, but she allowed it now. Her role as the Bridd rarely left room for pauses. Her life had always been stitched together from long stretches of solitude, threaded through with duty and ghosts and memories that did not fade.
But solitude was not the same as loneliness. Not tonight. There were letters to answer. Friends who stopped by unannounced. Familiars who stayed because they wanted to, not because they were bound. The world reached for her in little ways, and she reached back.
When the sun sank behind the black silhouettes of the trees, she finally let her eyes close. Just for a moment, she told herself. A moment turned into sleep. Her dreams drifted without color, feathers and wind and the suggestion of distant wings, and when she woke, dusk had deepened into that coppery hour where everything looked burnished and half on fire.
She had slept through the change of light without a nightmare clawing her awake.
A small mercy. Maybe luck. Maybe pity from the old gods. Either way, she took it.
Y/N stretched slowly, her limbs heavy, shoulders aching from where she had curled. A few strands of straw clung to her hair from the cushion. Outside, a lone bird called, its cry long and hollow. It echoed in a way she did not like.
Shiloh was gone, likely hunting or flirting with the night creatures in the grove. The silence felt weighty now, settling around her with purpose.
“Another day, then,” she whispered, pushing herself to her feet.
In the kitchen, she reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a stack of clean towels. They were old things, thin from washing, stained in hues no scrubbing could remove. Blood never came out fully, no matter what charm she used. But towels were easier to discard than repairing the gouges in the floorboards again. The dark wood bore enough scars already.
She laid the towels on the ground, layer by layer. Each fold exact. Each movement practiced. Then she sat in front of them, legs crossed, hands resting in her lap. She waited.
The first sign was the soft rattle of the silver chain around her ankle, loosening as if exhaling. A warning. A gentle one, for once. She drew a long breath.
The second sign was pain. It burst through her chest like fire trapped under her ribs. Her lungs seized. Bones groaned. She stiffened, breath torn from her as the shifting began. The sound of her ribs bending inward, reshaping, was sharp and sickening. A choked cry slipped from her throat before she could smother it. Her body contorted, muscles spasming, bones cracking like branches under ice.
Blood hit the towels in hot droplets.
Feathers erupted from her shoulders in violent bursts, slicing through skin like dark blossoms forced to bloom too fast. She clawed at the floor, fingers shrinking, joints twisting, arms folding into themselves as wings formed in their place. The room grew enormous as her human body changed into something smaller.
Her face burned, pressure building behind her eyes, her jaw, her nose. Then, with a sensation like glass breaking from within, her beak pushed free. She tried to scream, but the sound that came out was a warped, guttural note, neither woman nor bird.
Aldara had called this a sacred pain, the fire of creation, the echo of divine transformation. “A Bridd feels what the gods felt when they made the world,” she used to say, smiling in that knowing, solemn way of hers.
Y/N had never believed it. Creation should not feel like dying.
If her aunt were alive, she might have told her so now, though the words, if she could have formed them, would have been drowned by the scream tearing itself out of her throat.
The transformation dragged her through its cruel choreography, bone by bone, tendon by tendon, until her human shape was little more than a fading ache. Her body jerked once, violently, as feathers pushed their way down her legs, along her spine, over her ribs. Pain built and built until it crested into something blinding, and then, suddenly, it snapped.
The world returned slowly, in thin, wavering pieces: the metallic tang of blood in the air, the cool draft brushing against new-grown feathers, the distant murmur of the forest settling into night.
She lay there trembling, curled in the shredded remnants of her clothing. Her breaths came quick and shallow, each one a quiver through her small frame. When she finally dared to move, she lifted one wing, then the other, testing. They unfurled in a smooth arc, feathers sleek and dark and gleaming like polished obsidian.
Her claws flexed, sharp, delicate, familiar. Instinct hummed through them, through all of her, a thrumming pulse she could never fully ignore. She gave a shake, scattering scraps of what used to be her tunic across the floorboards. She should have undressed first. She always told herself she would remember next time. She never did.
The ruined clothes could become tea towels, she supposed. A weak consolation, but a consolation nonetheless.
She rose to her feet, light and balanced on talons instead of toes. The last traces of pain slipped from her wings as she stretched them wide. The world sharpened around her, sounds layered atop each other in ways her human ears could never interpret. The hush of wind under the doorframe. The scuttle of a beetle outside. The distant, rhythmic creak of a tree swaying under its own weight.
In this form, she was unburdened. Here, she was not Y/N the Bridd, the last of her line, bound by ancestral duty and divine chains. She was simply bird, feather, shadow, breath. A creature made for silent flight and open sky.
If she could have stayed like this, she would have. But the gods had written their rules before she ever drew breath, and their bindings clung to her still. Even freedom had borders.
She backed up, crouched low, and sprang forward. Her wings caught the air immediately, lifting her with two strong beats as she sailed toward the open window. The night embraced her in cool ribbons of wind. Below her, the forest glittered with moonlight, the treetops shifting like a vast, dark tide.
She climbed higher. In the distance, a lantern’s glow flickered near Morla’s grove. Shiloh would be there, perched proudly beside the elder owl, likely gossiping about the night’s hunt with dramatic flair while feasting on whichever unfortunate creature had met her talons.
Y/N angled her wings and swept toward the cluster of old trees.
For Shiloh’s sake, she would listen, pretend to be invested in the woodland scandals, in the bickering of owls, in the smug recaps of hunts gone well. She would sit beside her familiar on a wide branch and let the sound of another voice, warm and sharp and comforting, fill the hollow places inside her.
A current of wind lifted her higher, and for one brief, weightless moment, she let herself drift.
Just sky. Just moonlight. Just the illusion of belonging to nothing and no one.
Below her, the forest rolled like a living sea of silver and shadow, and in its rhythm, in the wild, wordless thrum of it all, she forgot the ache of her bones and the heaviness of her heart. For that fragile heartbeat of flight, she felt free.