"He carries the curse of the White Wolf.But when the medallion shatters, the forest awakens…and something older than demons answers the call."
Chapter 1:
The altar burned without flames. Runes carved into the stone glowed like embers, scorching Luciano Kerens's skin with wounds that never healed. The stench of sulfur thickened the air, every breath a punishment.
Luciano knelt. He did not pray. He did not beg. He only gasped, the weight of the pact etched into his bones.
A crack. A branch snapping in the forest.Footsteps, steady as funeral bells.
"Luciano…"
His name was spoken like a verdict.
From the shadows, golden eyes blazed—liquid fire in the dark. Black claws glimmered beneath the moon, curved and merciless.
Luciano recognized the curse before the face."Sanathiel."
The young man stepped into the clearing, chest marked with fresh scars, breath ragged as if fire tore through his lungs. Around his neck hung the medallion—a silver wolf howling at the moon. The same one Luciano had given him.
"Did you come to pray?" Sanathiel growled. "Or to beg forgiveness?"
Luciano's voice faltered."You are still the child I pulled from the flames."
A growl rumbled from deep within the wolf's chest."The flames you lit."
White fur erupted from his skin like shards of ice. His human form shattered in a blink. Claws. Fangs. Rage.
Luciano stumbled back, spine pressed to the altar."Stop! You don't know what you're unleashing—"
Sanathiel's eyes turned into pools of light, ancient wheels spinning in their depths. The Ritual of the Three Suns. A vision of destiny itself.
Luciano's voice cracked."It was the only way to save you!"
The wolf's claws closed around his throat. Death glared back at him.
A flash cut through the night. An obsidian blade pierced Sanathiel's side, sizzling against his lunar fur.
A voice followed, mocking, sharp as fang:"How fast will the curtain fall, friends?"
Noah stepped out of the dark, twisted smile exposing fangs drenched in tar."The Master wants his tragedy in three acts."
Sanathiel roared, hurling Luciano against a pine. The medallion struck stone and shattered, scattering into fragments. The silver wolf rolled across the snow.
Time froze.
Cracks spread across the medallion, glowing like forbidden constellations, mapping a sky only the Kerens could read.
The forest answered.
A guttural howl rose, older than demons, hungrier than death, shaking the earth itself.
Sanathiel lifted his head, howling not at the moon, but at the broken medallion.
And in the depths of the forest, something awoke.
Something that should never have been freed.