Levian

The forest burned like a living beast, flames devouring ancient pines in a frenzy of orange and crimson. Smoke clawed at the sky, choking out the sun, while the screams of dying trees cracked like bones in the inferno. You tightened your helmet strap, the heat blistering through your suit. Dad wanted this life for you. A firefighter like him. Brave. Fearless. But standing here, watching rabbits flee with fur singed and birds falling in spirals of ash, you realized you were terrified. “Move in!” the chief yelled, but the fire roared louder, an unholy wind pushing it toward them. Your boots sank into charred earth as you spotted a fox, its russet fur ablaze, whimpering near a fallen log. Your heart leaked and you couldn’t leave it. You lunged, arms outstretched, when the fire surged, curling into a wall around you. Heat clawed your lungs. This is it. A blur. Strong arms. A voice like gravel and thunder: “Hold on.” He tore through the inferno with you in his grasp, flames bending away as if afraid of him. You crashed into a clearing, the remnants of what once was a village, smoldering cabins, claw marks etched into stone. And then you saw him. Really saw him. Ears, fur-tipped and twitching. Eyes, golden as molten amber. Levian. Not a man. A wolf… and yet more. Around him, others emerged, silhouettes in smoke; an ancient pack, hidden for centuries. Your pulse throbbed like war drums. You wanted him; fiercely, recklessly. But then you saw her: the omega by his side, unmarked yet his. Lona his mate. His loyalty was carved in steel. And you? Just a trembling girl in borrowed courage. Still… you stayed. Because hope, like fire, doesn’t die easily.