The air in Veyruin was thick with dread.
Kael returned to the village just as dawn broke over the treetops. Smoke curled from the morning cookfires, and the echo of laughter and howls signaled another successful hunt. No one noticed him slip in through the outer ring of huts. No one cared.
They never did.
But Kael didn't care anymore either.
Last night had changed something. He had faced death—and something ancient within him had risen to meet it. The glowing mark on his chest still faintly pulsed under his shirt, as if it were alive. He couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it—but it felt powerful. Heavy. It terrified him.
He needed answers.
He made his way to the one person who might help: Elder Marrek, the village lorekeeper. The old man had once walked with the Moon Priests, they said, before the spirits vanished and the temples burned.
Kael found him at the edge of the cliffside shrine, feeding ravens. The old man turned slowly, his eyes clouded but alert. He studied Kael with quiet intensity.
"You've seen it," Marrek said before Kael could speak. "The mark."
Kael's breath caught. "You… you know what it is?"
Marrek nodded, gesturing for him to sit. "You were born with a curse. Or a gift, depending on who you ask. That symbol is not of this age—it belongs to the Moonborn."
Kael frowned. "What's a Moonborn?"
Marrek looked out over the forest, his voice soft with memory. "Before the packs fractured, before the alphas waged blood-wars for dominance… there were the First. Beasts of the old world. Born of moonlight and storm. Among them was the Primordial Alpha—Varok, the Moonborn King. He bore that mark. His blood was strength, fury, and unyielding spirit."
Kael shook his head, disbelieving. "That's legend."
"Legend… until it wakes," Marrek said, staring at Kael's chest.
Kael's mind spun. If what Marrek said was true, then everything he knew about himself—his weakness, his shame—it had all been a lie. The blood in his veins was not broken.
It was just dormant.
"Your power will draw the wrong eyes," Marrek warned. "Especially now. Tonight is the Blood Moon."
Kael had forgotten. The blood moon came once every twenty years. The packs performed rituals to honor their ancestors. But there were whispers—rumors of ancient powers and corrupted rites. The kind of power dark alphas lusted after.
"You must leave," Marrek urged. "Before it's too late."
But it was already too late.
A scream tore through the village.
Kael sprang to his feet as black-cloaked figures exploded from the treeline, wolves twisted and monstrous at their sides. Their fur was diseased, their eyes glowing crimson. Not normal wolves. Not even Ravagers.
These were Bloodmarked—wolves corrupted by forbidden rituals.
Chaos erupted.
Fires blazed. Children ran. Warriors shifted mid-step only to be ripped apart. Kael saw his people—the same ones who mocked him—slaughtered like cattle.
He raced toward his home, heart hammering. The blood moon hung above like an open wound, casting everything in crimson light.
His hut was already in ruins.
"No—Lila!"
Kael found her trapped beneath the rubble, blood staining her dress. Her eyes fluttered open.
"Kael…" she whispered weakly. "I waited… for you…"
His throat closed. He lifted her gently, cradling her broken body. But it was too late. Her pulse faded in his arms, her small fingers going still.
Kael screamed.
The sound tore from him like a beast. His eyes burned, his vision turned white—and the mark on his chest ignited with searing silver light.
Time slowed.
He dropped to his knees—and the world exploded.
---
The next thing he knew, Kael stood in a field of corpses.
His skin was steaming. His fingers, now clawed and bloody. Around him, dozens of the invaders lay in ruin—torn limb from limb. The earth itself had cracked. The air buzzed with energy. Whatever had happened, it wasn't natural.
Kael looked down at his hands. His reflection in a pool of blood showed glowing silver irises and streaks of black fur along his arms. Not a full shift—but something… different.
Something ancient.
The power he had tasted in the forest had returned. But this time, it had answered his pain. His rage. His loss.
The pack was dead. The village destroyed. And the girl who had believed in him was gone.
He fell to his knees in the blood and ashes, clutching the moon pendant from Lila's neck. It was the only thing he had left.
That night, Kael buried his sister beneath the shrine stone. Alone.
As he stood over her grave, the wind whispered something—no, someone—in the darkness.
"You are not alone, Kael."
He turned, but no one was there. Only shadows.
But he felt it.
He was being watched.
And hunted.