The Wolfless Twin

Mira

The silver pauldron is cool in my hands. I polish it with a soft cloth, watching my own reflection distort in the curve of the metal. Pale face, dark hair, eyes that hold no hint of the wolf. The Full Moon Challenge. The name itself is a stone in my gut. For my twin sister, Lyra, it’s the most important day of the year. For me, it is the most public reminder of what I am not.

“Is it ready?” Lyra’s voice is pure energy, bouncing off the stone walls of her room. She stands in the doorway, already dressed in her leather armor, her silver-blonde hair braided tight. She practically vibrates with anticipation. Her eyes, the color of a winter sky, are alight with the thrill of the fight to come.

“Almost,” I say, my voice a quiet contrast to hers. I give the pauldron one last buff before holding it out. “Perfect. Like you.”

She grins, a flash of white teeth that are just a little too sharp, a beautiful hint of the beast within. “You worry too much. It’s just a formality.” She takes the armor piece and fastens it to her shoulder. It settles into place as if it were forged for her. It was.

Everything is forged for her. The pack’s adoration, our father’s pride, the future. While she spent her youth learning combat, I spent mine learning how to be invisible. I remember my last shifting ceremony, ten years ago. The cold moon, the elders chanting, the pack watching with held breath. And then, nothing. Just me, a shivering girl on a cold rock, while other children tore free of their skin. I can still feel my father’s gaze, not angry, just heavy with a disappointment that has never fully lifted. Only Mira, my old nanny, met my eyes that night. She wrapped a cloak around my shoulders, her touch the only warmth in a world that had turned to ice.

“Darius is on his way,” Lyra says, pulling me from the memory. She adjusts a strap on her vambrace. “He said he had a gift for me. For us.”

My fingers still. “Us?”

“That’s what he said.” She shrugs, a careless motion. “You know how he is. Always proper.”

A horn blast echoes from the courtyard, sharp and clear. Darius has arrived. Lyra’s face lights up, and she grabs my hand, pulling me from the room. Her grip is strong, a warrior’s grip. Mine feels frail in comparison.

We emerge onto the great hall’s balcony, which overlooks the main courtyard. The pack is already gathered, a sea of eager faces turned upward. My father, Alpha Valerius, stands in the center, his expression stern and proud. And beside him, dismounting from a muscular black stallion, is Darius.

Heir to the Stonecrest pack, and Lyra’s fiancé. He is everything an Alpha should be. Tall, broad shouldered, with a handsome face and an easy confidence that borders on arrogance. His eyes scan the crowd and find us on the balcony. A smile touches his lips, but when his gaze meets mine, it feels a fraction colder.

“Lyra, my love,” he calls out, his voice carrying across the entire yard. “And Mira. Come down. I have something for you both, to mark this auspicious day.”

Lyra practically flies down the stairs. I follow at a slower pace, each step a conscious effort. I feel a hundred pairs of eyes on me, the wolfless twin, the Alpha’s shame. Whispers follow me like my own shadow.

When I reach the bottom, Darius is holding Lyra’s hands. He looks at her like she is the moon itself. Then he turns, and the pack quiets. He produces two packages.

“For my future Alpha, my warrior queen,” he says, his voice ringing with performative pride. He hands Lyra a long, slender box. She opens it, and a collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Inside, nestled on black velvet, is a silver dagger. Its hilt is carved like a howling wolf, and the blade gleams with a deadly light. “For the warrior,” Darius proclaims, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Lyra’s breath catches. She draws the blade, its balance perfect. “Darius, it’s magnificent.”

He smiles, then turns to me. He holds out a smaller, flatter package wrapped in simple paper. I take it, my hands feeling clumsy. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant for only a few to hear, but in the silence, it feels like a shout.

“And for the watcher,” he says.

I unwrap the gift. Inside is a shawl. It’s made of fine silk, a pale gray color, soft and utterly useless. It’s beautiful, I suppose. A decoration. My cheeks burn with a heat that has nothing to do with warmth. The message is as clear as the blade in my sister’s hand.

One is a weapon. The other is an accessory.

“To keep you warm while you observe,” he adds, his smile never wavering. He is charming. He is handsome. And he is cruel. He built a cage of my own inadequacy and locked the door in front of the entire world. I force a smile, my lips feeling stiff.

“Thank you, Darius. It’s… thoughtful.”

He claps his hands together. “Now! To the Challenge!”

The crowd roars. I fade back into the edges of the throng as Lyra and three other young warriors enter the large dueling circle. The silk shawl is still in my hands, feeling heavier than any blade. I see my father watch Lyra, his chest puffed with pride. He doesn’t look at me once.

The fight is brutal and fast. Lyra is a tempest of silver fur and flashing claws. She moves with an effortless grace that is both terrifying and beautiful. One by one, her opponents are thrown from the circle, defeated but unharmed. It’s over in minutes.

She stands alone in the center of the ring, her silver wolf form shimmering under the high sun. She throws her head back and lets out a howl of victory. The entire pack howls with her, a symphony of power and belonging that I can never join.

Darius vaults into the ring, shifting mid-air into his own powerful gray wolf. He nuzzles Lyra, the perfect couple, the future of two packs entwined. Everyone surges forward to celebrate, to touch their future Alpha. I am pushed to the side, an afterthought. I stand alone, clutching a silk shawl, a ghost at my own sister’s triumph.