Dawn unfolded across the forest like a whispered promise. Hazy rays of golden light filtered through the trees, catching on dewdrops and illuminating the clearing where Kael still stood, unmoving. His hand rested against the ancient altar, the stone now cool beneath his fingertips. The carvings, so vibrant in the moonlight, had dimmed with the rising sun—but the warmth they had awakened within him remained.
The wolf was gone.
Only its pawprints remained in the soft earth, a trail leading into the deeper, darker reaches of the forest. Kael stared after them, unwilling to break the silence that hung over the glade like a sacred shroud. His breath came slow and steady, though his heart thundered with the weight of what had occurred.
He looked down at his palm. The mark burned there—faint, yet undeniable. A series of intertwined runes shimmered just beneath the skin, like a flame glimpsed through fog. When he moved his fingers, the lines shifted with them, not ink, but energy made flesh. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, resonating with the same primal rhythm he had felt in the wolf's howl.
Kael's world had changed. And he couldn't turn back.
He began the walk back to Eldoria as the sun climbed higher, though the forest no longer felt like the one he had always known. Every tree seemed older, every shadow deeper. Creatures scurried out of his way—not with fear, but a strange wariness, as if they recognized something in him.
The wind carried whispers again—words he still could not understand—but they no longer frightened him. Instead, they comforted him, the way a forgotten lullaby might stir vague memories of childhood.
He reached the edge of the forest by midday. Eldoria sat nestled between the trees and the hills beyond, quiet in the warm light. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the scent of baking bread drifted on the breeze. The village bustled as it always had—stable boys tending horses, children running barefoot, merchants calling out prices.
But for Kael, everything felt different. He was different.
He pulled his cloak tight around him and slipped through the gate, unnoticed amid the daily noise. Yet every voice seemed distant, every smile a fragile illusion. What place did he have here, now? Could he even call it home anymore?
He didn't stop. He didn't speak to anyone. Instead, he made his way toward the only person who might understand—the village seer.
Maelin's cottage squatted at the edge of the square, half-swallowed by twisting vines and flowering herbs. The air buzzed with bees, and the wind chimes above the door sang a song older than the village itself. Most people avoided her unless desperate, whispering of curses and strange dreams.
But Kael had seen her eyes before—clear and sharp beneath her years. She knew things, and if anyone could make sense of what had happened, it was her.
He knocked, then stepped inside.
The smell hit him first—sage and smoke and something darker, almost metallic. Crystals dangled from the rafters, refracting the light into strange patterns that danced along the walls. Shelves overflowed with dried herbs, skulls of birds and beasts, and jars filled with things best left unexamined.
Maelin sat before a bowl of steaming water, her head bent low. She did not look up.
"I was wondering how long it would take you," she said.
Kael blinked. "You… knew I was coming?"
She turned, her eyes finding his. Despite her age, they were bright and piercing, like stars in a stormy sky. "I dreamed of the howl three nights ago. The forest is speaking again. And you, boy, have finally begun to listen."
Kael stepped forward, his voice shaking. "Something happened to me. In the forest. I saw… a wolf. Not just a wolf. It was—"
"Not a beast," Maelin interrupted. "A guide. A guardian. Perhaps something more." She reached out a thin hand. "Show me."
He hesitated, then opened his palm.
Maelin gasped, softly but unmistakably. Her fingers hovered over the mark, not quite touching. "It's real, then. The Blood of the Wild." She looked up. "You carry the legacy of the Moonbound."
Kael frowned. "Moonbound?"
"A bloodline nearly wiped out centuries ago," she murmured. "Shapeshifters. Beings tied to the rhythm of the earth and the moon. Warriors. Healers. Protectors. They were once guardians of the balance between the wild and the human world—until the Church branded them abominations and hunted them to near extinction."
Kael staggered back. "You're saying… I'm one of them?"
"You could be," Maelin said carefully. "The mark means your blood carries the ancient spark. But whether it awakens fully depends on what you choose now."
Kael paced the room, his thoughts racing. "Why me? My parents were ordinary. Farmers."
Maelin watched him. "Do you remember your mother?"
He stopped. "No. She died when I was a baby. My father never spoke of her."
Maelin's gaze sharpened. "Perhaps because he feared what you would become."
A heavy silence settled between them. Then Maelin spoke again, her voice lower. "You've already begun to change, haven't you? Strength. Awareness. Dreams."
Kael nodded slowly. "I hear things. The forest speaks to me. And when the wolf looked at me… it was like it knew me."
She nodded gravely. "That's how it begins."
That night, Kael left the village again.
The mark on his palm tingled, and his senses felt heightened. He could hear the rustle of bats in the trees above, smell the damp earth beneath his boots. The moon had not yet risen, but he felt its presence tugging at him.
He followed the path not with sight, but instinct. His feet moved with purpose. He didn't know where he was going, only that he was being drawn.
Soon, he reached a high hill overlooking Eldoria. The village lights twinkled below, safe and distant. But it wasn't safety Kael sought.
He sat at the crest and tilted his head skyward. Stars wheeled above, distant and eternal.
Then—just as before—a howl pierced the night.
This time, Kael closed his eyes. He didn't shy from it. He listened.
It was a song—not of sorrow, but of invitation. He felt it in his bones, in his blood. A call to remember. To awaken. To join something far older and wilder than himself.
A voice stirred in the back of his mind again. The same one from the glade.
"The world sleeps, Kael. But you… you are beginning to wake."
When he opened his eyes, he saw them—glowing shapes in the treeline below. Not just one wolf, but three. Watching. Waiting.
Kael stood, the wind tugging at his cloak. The mark on his palm flared once more, and with it came a rush of clarity.
He was not alone. And his journey was only beginning.