The air pressed in around him like wet smoke, thick with dread. Mael's scream was no longer human—it tore through the trees, rattling the silence like a storm with no end. Bone shifted, skin cracked, and when it was over, he wasn't sure where he began and the beast ended. The Blood Moon pulsed above, not as a witness, but as a curse that rewrote his very breath.
Something inside him had changed—more than flesh, more than instinct. As his claws dug into the earth, a strange ache stirred in his chest. Guilt? Regret? But regret for what? He couldn't remember clearly. Only flashes of red… a doorframe… a scream that didn't seem to belong to this forest. Or maybe it did. His thoughts were fragments—broken mirrors reflecting something he wasn't ready to see.
What have I done?
Mael touched his chest and felt it pounding—wild, uncertain. Not just from the curse, but from something deeper. Like he'd crossed a terrible line… only he couldn't remember when or where. That feeling grew stronger each time the beast inside him went quiet, and Mael—just Mael—came back. Still human, but never whole.
From the shadows, figures emerged. Three werewolves—silver-eyed, fur glistening like fresh iron. They circled him slowly, but not like prey. They stopped. Sniffed. Then bowed. One of them spoke, voice gravel and frost:
"You're not one of us. Not anymore."
Mael's voice rasped. "Then what am I?"
"Something older," it said. "Something forgotten."
The words dropped into him like stones into a well. He tried to feel fear, but all he felt was distance. Like he was floating somewhere between nightmare and memory. But then—he smelled it. Blood. Human. Nearby. And not just blood… fear. Real, desperate fear.
The other wolves turned toward the scent, hunger rising in their throats. But Mael's body moved first. He stepped forward, placing himself between them and the sound. His voice cracked but stood mm firm:
"If you touch them… I'll end you."
The wolves froze. They saw something in his eyes—not threat, not rage… will. Mercy sharpened into defiance.
He didn't know why he did it. The beast inside him wanted blood. But something else—something smaller and quieter—still lived inside. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was grief. Or maybe it was the last thing left of Mael that hadn't been claimed by the curse.
He turned toward the human scream, not to run—but to protect. His steps were heavy, haunted.Maybe I can't undo what I've done, he thought. But I won't let it happen again. Not to someone else.
Above him, the Blood Moon flickered like a sick eye. Its whisper clawed at the back of his mind. But Mael ignored it—for now. He was still himself. Still fighting. Even if survival meant battling his own skin every night.
Far behind him, cloaked in silver and shadow, the silent figure watched.
And the forest whispered:
Let's see
how long your humanity lasts.