CHAPTER 99: 99 - THIS WORLD

99

~Lisa’s POV

They came for his body at sunrise.

I didn’t even hear the knock. The sound of footsteps and the soft creak of the floorboards woke me, but for a moment, I thought it was him. I thought I’d open my eyes and see Papa standing there, telling me I’d slept in too late, his voice warm and teasing. But when I blinked into the dim, grey light of morning, the truth hit me again, heavy and sharp.

It wasn’t him.

The door opened, and two werewolves stepped inside. They were from the pack, both tall, with the same cold look in their eyes, the kind that slid over me like I was barely worth noticing. One of them carried a folded piece of shimmering cloth, silver threads catching the light. The other had a small bundle of herbs tied with string.

They didn’t say anything to me at first. Just looked at my father’s body, then at each other. Finally, the older one spoke.

"It’s time."

My voice came out hoarse. "Time for what?"

The younger one answered, his tone flat. "We’ll take him to prepare for the rites."

I stood quickly, my heart pounding. "I can help..."

"No." The older one cut me off sharply, his eyes narrowing. "It’s not for humans to do."

The words stung like a slap. I froze where I was, my hands curling into fists at my sides. My chest burned with the urge to shout at him, to tell him I was his daughter and had more right than anyone to be part of this. But the words got stuck in my throat. My voice simply... wouldn’t come out.

They moved to him, lifting his body with a strange kind of gentleness, careful, but detached, like they were handling something sacred but not personal. My hands trembled as I watched them carry him to the small table near the window. They washed him with water infused with herbs, the smell sharp and bitter, burning my nose.

I stepped forward when they turned his face toward the light. I just wanted to touch him one last time. To brush his hair back. To smooth the lines on his forehead.

But before my fingers could reach him, the older one blocked me with a hard stare. "I told you... it’s not for humans to do."

My lips parted, but nothing came out. I stepped back slowly, my throat aching. I stood there like a shadow while they prepared him for the final journey, every movement precise and practiced.

When they wrapped him in the silver-threaded cloth, I wanted to scream at them to stop. The cloth swallowed him, covering the man who had been my father, my protector, my only family. They treated it like a ritual. I saw it as them taking him further away from me. But still, I stayed silent.

By the time they finished, the sun had fully risen. They carried him out, and I followed. The air outside was cold, the kind of cold that creeps into your bones.

The funeral ground was on a hill at the edge of the pack’s territory. I’d been there before, but only once, for mom’s rites. Tall trees surrounded the space, their branches swaying and creaking in the wind. The ground was bare in the center, a wide circle of packed earth.

They laid him on a wooden pyre built from thick logs, herbs tucked under his head and feet. The scent of the herbs was stronger now, bitter and almost metallic. Smoke from the small fire pits around the circle curled into the sky.

One of the elders stood at the front. He spoke in a deep voice, his words formal.

"We gather to honor a member of our pack, a wolf who served with loyalty and carried his duties with strength."

That was it. No mention of his laugh, of the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, of how he’d work until his hands blistered just to make sure I had food on the table. Nothing about the man I knew,the man who had raised me, loved me, protected me. His speech was short and hollow, like it could’ve been about anyone.

I stood a few steps back, my tears running silently now. Nobody stood beside me. Nobody looked my way. The other pack members kept their distance like I carried something contagious. I was the human outcast, his human daughter.

One of the elders stepped forward with a torch, the flames crackling. He lowered it to the base of the pyre, and the dry wood caught quickly. The fire grew, orange and gold, snapping and spitting as it climbed higher.

My chest tightened so much it hurt to breathe.

"Goodbye, Papa," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I hope the Moon Goddess treats you better than this world did."

The heat pushed against my face, but I didn’t move. I watched the flames lick at the silver-threaded cloth, watched the smoke curl into the sky. I tried to imagine it carrying him somewhere peaceful, somewhere warm, but all I could see was the fire eating away at the last of him, the body that had hugged me, carried me, shielded me.

My eyes blurred, but I didn’t look away. I stayed until there was nothing left but ashes and thin trails of smoke.

One by one, the others left. They didn’t speak to me. No one offered a hand, no one met my gaze. They just walked away, their footsteps fading into the distance.

When the last of them was gone, I stood alone in the clearing. The wind whispered through the trees, but it felt like the whole world had gone silent. My knees threatened to give out, but I forced myself to turn and walk back.

The path home felt longer than it ever had before. Every step echoed in my ears, the crunch of leaves under my feet sounding too loud in the emptiness. The houses I passed were quiet, the windows dark. Nobody opened their doors.

When I reached my house, the air inside felt colder than the hill had. His absence filled every corner, heavy and suffocating. I stood in the doorway for a long time, staring at the chair where he used to sit. The worn fabric still held the faint shape of his shoulders.

I closed the door behind me, but the silence didn’t change.

Now there was no one.

I sank to the floor, my back against the wall. My tears came quietly at first, then harder, until I couldn’t breathe between sobs. I pressed my hands to my face, as if that could hold me together. But it didn’t.

The world outside kept moving. The wind kept blowing. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the faint howl of a wolf. But in my small, cold house, everything had stopped.

That was the day the world became too big, and I became too small in it. And there was no one left to make it feel safe again.