The compound stood in eerie silence. No more screams. No more struggle. Only the thick scent of blood, and the trembling heartbeat of a boy who had come too late.
Mael stood at the edge of the yard, his boots pressing into the soaked dirt. The bodies of his attackers lay still, the evidence of his uncontrollable power splattered around him. Yet none of that mattered now. His eyes were locked on the house—the one place he had prayed would be untouched.
But even from the distance, he sensed it. Something was wrong.
He pushed open the gate with a slow, deliberate force, as if bracing for what waited inside. The metallic hinges creaked like whispers warning him to turn back, but he didn't. He had come this far. He had to know.
As he stepped into the house, darkness embraced him. The walls seemed colder than before, like they, too, mourned. There was no sound. Not even the comforting hum of the wind slipping through the broken windowpanes. His breathing echoed off the walls, shallow and unsteady.
"Mom?" he called, barely above a whisper. "Dad...?"
No answer.
He passed through the living room—the couch ripped apart, claw marks gouged into the walls. Blood painted the floor in strokes too violent to describe. It wasn't until he reached the hallway that his vision began to blur. Not from the dim light, but from something deeper—his soul recoiling from the truth it was about to face.
The bedroom door was ajar.
Mael's fingers trembled as he pushed it open, revealing a scene he would carry for the rest of his life. His mother lay crumpled on the bed, her lifeless eyes staring into nothing. His father—barely alive—was slumped against the wall, partially transformed. A twisted mixture of man and beast. Fur covered patches of his skin, and his bones bent in unnatural ways. His breathing was shallow, ragged.
Mael stumbled back, the realization sinking in like blades through his chest.
He had done this.
The memories came in fragments—flashes of claws, snarls, blood, and a roar that didn't feel like his own. He hadn't been in control. The beast had.
"No... no," he muttered, falling to his knees beside his father. "This can't be…"
His father's eyes fluttered open for a moment. "Mael… run," he croaked, before slipping into unconsciousness.
"No! Don't say that!" Mael shook him gently. "I won't leave you. Not now."
But he knew time was slipping.
With shaking arms, Mael hoisted his father over his shoulder, struggling under the weight. He didn't know where he was going—only that he couldn't leave him here. Not with what had happened. Not with the guilt suffocating his every thought.
He carried him deep into the forest, far beyond the village where no one dared wander. There, hidden among the ruins of an old stone chapel, Mael laid his father down on a worn altar, wrapping him in his own cloak.
The transformation had stopped—his father's body now still, caught between human and monster. He was breathing, but barely. Mael could only wait. And pray.
Sitting in the cold dirt, Mael looked at his blood-stained hands, then at the night sky. The blood moon had vanished, but its curse remained. Its hunger had turned him into something even he feared.
"I couldn't save them," he whispered. "I thought I could... but I was too late."
The wind rustled the trees above him, whispering like ghosts in mourning. His thoughts spiraled—what if he'd stayed home? What if he'd never left to search for the truth about his curse? Would they still be alive?
He clenched his fists. This curse was no longer just a burden. It was a warning. A weapon.
He couldn't allow it to happen again.
Not to anyone else.
From behind the broken altar, Selona appeared, her silver cloak catching the pale moonlight. She had followed him silently, waiting for the right moment.
"You were never meant to carry this alone," she said, her voice soft but steady.
Mael didn't answer. He stared at his father's faint breathing, then back at her.
"What am I becoming?" he asked. "I lost control. I killed my own mother…"
"You're becoming what the blood moon created," Selona said gently. "But it's not too late to shape what that means. You are not fully lost. You are not like the others. Something in you resists."
Mael looked away. "And if I lose that too?"
"Then I'll be there to pull you back," she promised, kneeling beside him. "But you have to be ready, Mael. Ready to face more than just what's inside you."
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a scroll—worn, ancient, marked with the sigil of the Kingdom of Kael.
"They're watching. Preparing. They know what you are. And they fear what you could become."
Mael took the scroll with a reluctant hand, eyes narrowing.
"I'll find them," he said. "And I'll end this."
Selona stood. "We will meet again. Maybe even by the next moonrise. But until then… stay hidden. Heal. Prepare."
She vanished into the trees as quietly as she had arrived, leaving Mael in the cold silence once more. The night was long. The burden heavy. But within that p
ain, something had awakened.
Not just the beast.
But the will to fight it.