Chapter 7 – Trust Through Fear

【Lyana PoV】

My name is Lyana Frosttail, and until a few weeks ago, I lived in a small hut by the edge of my village—a village of wolf people. I never thought my home was anything special. Just a collection of humble wooden houses built close enough that neighbors could share a meal or a laugh without walking too far. It was the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else. Warm fires, soft chatter, and the constant hum of belonging.

But that was before the Otherworlder came. He was tall, with eyes that seemed to shimmer in unnatural colors—like magic gone wrong. The day he arrived, he did so in a burst of light and arrogance, preaching about how the “demons” needed to be eradicated. We are not demons. We never have been. Yet in his eyes, our ears and fur made us something to be hunted.

I still remember the way he looked at my parents, the sneer curling across his lips. One moment, my family was alive, comforting me as I hid behind our rickety door. The next, they were gone—taken by a single swing of the Otherworlder’s blade. The reason? He simply hated us. He hated that we existed, that we were different, and in his mind, difference meant evil.

Since that day, fear has clung to me like a second skin. Everywhere I go, I see shadows in the corners of my vision, imagining another Otherworlder stepping out to finish what the first one started. People talk about the horrors of these new arrivals—how their powers can corrupt them over the smallest slights. The stories are terrifying enough to keep me awake, night after night.

Eventually, I ended up living with a distant relative in another part of the village, far from the charred remains of my old home. But even here, the sense of unease never left me. Day by day, it felt like our entire community was shrinking into itself—too many had lost loved ones, and too many, like me, wore the scars of betrayal in our eyes.

Then word came that a human official was on his way, claiming he wanted to help us rebuild. Help. From humans. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. My parents always taught me that not all humans are bad, but how could I ever believe that again after seeing one of their “heroes” tear through my world like a raging storm?

I was there, peeking from behind a half-collapsed wall, when he arrived—Brendon Vlad. He was tall, solemn-faced, and wore a long cloak that half-dragged on the ground. The moment he walked into the village, the air shifted; you could feel everyone’s tension rise, as if we were all balancing on a knife’s edge. No one said a word. No one dared.

I don’t know what came over me, but before I realized it, my feet were moving forward. Something about the quiet determination in his eyes drew me closer, even as my instincts screamed at me to run the other way. Every story I’d ever heard about Otherworlders, or about humans exploiting wolf-people, hammered through my mind. But he was neither flamboyant nor hostile—just…quiet. That made him more unsettling in some ways.

So I asked the one thing that burned in my throat like hot coals. My voice was shaking so badly, I barely recognized it.
“Sir… would you kill me?”

The words echoed in my own ears, harsh and strange. My heart pounded so loud I was sure everyone else could hear it. Part of me expected him to smirk with cold indifference or maybe raise his sword. That’s what the Otherworlder had done—he’d looked at us like we were insects. But Brendon—this human—he didn’t. Instead, he knelt down, meeting me at eye-level.

His reply was quiet but steady, like a calm voice guiding you through a storm:
“No… little one, I won’t…”

I wanted to believe him, but how could I? My mind replayed the memory of my parents’ final moments. My body trembled with the weight of it. Fear and distrust tangled up inside me like a snare of briars. I mumbled something incoherent—“Y… bye…”—and darted back a few steps. I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of him hurting me or of actually trusting him.

Still, a part of me couldn’t tear my gaze away. He continued to speak, not to me alone, but to everyone. Talking about rebuilding, about standing against hatred, about forging a future. Words are cheap, I thought, but there was an undercurrent in his voice that felt… genuine. It was like he carried the world’s sorrow on his shoulders, but refused to buckle under it.

I watched him with wary eyes, creeping closer as he explained how he intended to help. Each time he spoke, he didn’t just demand or command—he offered empathy. An understanding of the devastation that clung to our village like a low-hanging fog. For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than cold dread in my chest. Maybe it was the faintest flicker of hope.

He soon moved around the square, talking to the elders, examining the rubble of what used to be our homes, planning how to rebuild. I stayed in the background, still uncertain. But each time he caught a glimpse of me, he’d give a small nod, as if to remind me that I was safe, that his promise still stood.

Gradually, word spread of his intentions—supplies, assistance, a shield against any further assaults by Otherworlders or hostile humans. Suspicion didn’t vanish overnight, but you could see small signs that people were warming up to him: a few brave souls offering him water, others clearing debris to open space for his team. Bit by bit, the cracks in our trust began to mend.

And me? I started to watch Brendon from a distance, how he handled each small crisis with calm authority. How he never once raised his voice, how he never glared at us like we were lesser creatures. Most importantly, how he treated my people’s fears as legitimate, not dismissing them with the usual condescension I’d seen in other humans.

Something changed inside me—my clenched fists loosened, and the knot in my chest softened. For the first time since that dreadful day, I felt a surge of cautious relief. If he truly meant what he said—if he truly saw us not as vermin but as a people worth protecting—perhaps my parents’ memory wouldn’t end in total darkness. Perhaps there was a future for us after all.

I’m still scared, of course. The shadows of my past still linger every time I shut my eyes. But now, when I see Brendon walk by with that silent determination, I don’t just see another human. I see someone who wants to break the cycle of hatred. Slowly, I find myself stepping forward instead of recoiling.

It’s only a beginning, but maybe beginnings are enough for now. Maybe healing doesn’t come all at once—it comes in small moments of bravery, in the simple act of asking someone, “Will you kill me?” and hearing, “No,” in return.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I find myself daring to hope. Hope that not every person from another world, or even this one, is here to destroy us. Hope that maybe, just maybe, the cycle of hate can be broken—and that I, Lyana Frosttail, won’t have to live the rest of my life in constant fear.