The First Hybrid | H.Mikaelson

I

●1102●

Harsh, unforgiving landscapes–dense forests, rugged mountains, and isolated villages–is where Astrid's journey took her.

From the moment her darker side emerged, Astrid had one singular goal: to find and vanquish those responsible for slaughtering her pack.

The pain of their loss, the unbearable guilt of not being able to protect them while she was trapped in ice, had shattered her mind into two distinct personas. Valkyrie, the side of her that remained tethered to her humanity, pleaded for mercy, for restraint. But Astrid, the warrior forged in grief and rage, was relentless, and she had no intention of showing mercy to anyone who might have been involved.

Every night, Valkyrie's voice echoed in Astrid's mind, trying to reach the part of her that still cared, the part that hadn't been consumed by vengeance.

"Please, Astrid," Valkyrie whispered, her voice soft and pleading. "Not everyone is guilty. Do not hurt those who had no part in what happened to us. It was their predecessors who wronged us, not them."

But Astrid was deaf to Valkyrie's pleas, no matter how loud or long they endured. Her mind was a storm of anger and determination, her heart hardened by the pain she refused to acknowledge.

"You're too soft, like these humans," Astrid would always reply coldly, pushing Valkyrie's voice deeper into the recesses of their shared mind. "They may not have held the weapons, but they stood by and let it happen. They tell the story of our packs' slaughter with pride. They're all guilty, and they'll all pay."

Astrid's hunt led her through forests and across mountain ranges, following the faintest whispers of information, stories told by descendants—those who had survived the massacre and had passed down tales of the humans who had betrayed their kind. The tales were fragmented, passed down through generations like campfire stories, each one offering a clue, a direction to follow.

She visited isolated villages where the locals spoke in hushed tones of the night the skies turned red, and the ghost of wolves howled in mourning. They told of men who had come with fire and steel, driven by a hatred they didn't fully understand. Astrid listened intently, her sharp eyes pierced through the lies and half-truths, searching for the pieces that would lead her to her quarry.

Every lead brought her closer, and with each step, Valkyrie's protests grew weaker. Astrid was relentless, her need for vengeance overpowering any sense of compassion that might have lingered within her. The lines between the guilty and the innocent blurred in her mind, until everyone who had even heard or spoken of the slaughter became a potential target.

It was in a small, secluded village, nestled deep within a valley, that Astrid's hunt took an unexpected turn. The villagers were wary of her, their eyes filled with fear as she walked among them, her presence like a storm cloud darkening the sky. They sensed the danger she carried with her, the fury that simmered just beneath the surface of a grinning face.

Astrid cornered an old man, his face lined with the wisdom of age, and demanded answers because he had run from her. "Tell me," she grinned wickedly, her eyes glowing with a supernatural glow. "Tell me who betrayed my people?"

The old man trembled under her gaze, his lips quivering as he tried to form a coherent response. But before he could speak, something strange happened. Astrid felt a sudden surge of power, a force she hadn't intended to use. Her eyes locked onto his, and she spoke again, her voice taunting and commanding.

"Tell me everything you know."

To her astonishment, the old man's eyes glazed over, his resistance crumbling as if an invisible hand had reached into his mind and bent his will to hers. He began to speak, his voice monotone, recounting everything he knew about the night of the massacre and the men who had their names written down as brave warriors.