The bedroom was a graveyard of memories.
Mael stepped inside like a man walking into a tomb, his breath tightening with every step. The air was thick with the metallic tang of dried blood and something far worse—an ancient rot that clawed at his lungs. The silence inside was unnatural, not peaceful, but haunted. Each creak beneath his boots sounded like a scream held in too long.
The bed was overturned. The drawers broken. But what brought him to his knees was the body crumpled near the foot of the bed
His mother.
She lay with one arm outstretched toward the door, blood dried along her fingers. Her nails were cracked, as if she'd tried to crawl. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, stared into nothing. Mael couldn't look away. The terror frozen on her face would haunt him forever. There was no peace in her death—only pain, panic, and betrayal.
He knelt beside her, shaking, reaching out to touch her hand—but stopped short. His fingers hovered in the air. He couldn't bring himself to touch her. Not with these hands. Not after what they'd done.
A groan tore through the silence. Wet. Guttural. Not quite human.
Mael spun toward the corner of the room, adrenaline surging.
Another figure. Bloodied. Moving.
His father.
Half-concealed by shadow, the man lay slumped against the wall. His breathing was uneven—each inhale a shallow gasp. One leg was twisted unnaturally beneath him. Blood had soaked through his shirt. His limbs jerked as if something inside was trying to force its way out. Veins pulsed black and swollen beneath his skin. His jaw twitched. A growl formed low in his throat.
Mael's eyes widened. "No," he whispered, crawling toward him. "Not you too…"
He reached his father, grabbed his shoulders. "Dad, please... stay with me."
The man was barely conscious, his body already beginning to shift. Muscles bulged, fingers curled into claws. The transformation had begun, and Mael recognized the signs all too well.
His father was turning into the same monster he had once become.
And then—like glass shattering in his mind—Mael remembered.
---
The blood moon. That cursed night.
He had been alone in the forest when the change came—bones breaking, skin tearing, his mind swallowed by rage and hunger. The beast had no name, no conscience. Only instincts.
And it had led him home.
He remembered the sounds—his claws tearing into the front gate, the door splitting open like paper. The compound had become a hunting ground. He stormed through it, blind with fury. And then he reached their room.
His mother had screamed his name. "Mael! Please—it's us!"
But there was no Mael. Only the creature.
He had slashed through her with ease. Her blood had soaked the floor. Her cries still echoed in his skull. His father had fought back with a blade, shouting, "You're stronger than this!"
But the beast didn't listen.
He bit, tore, ripped—and left them both broken.
And then… darkness.
---
Now, back in the present, Mael stared at the man before him. His father's face twisted in pain. His hands trembled, teeth clenching unnaturally. The change was crawling beneath his skin like fire.
"No. No, I'm not letting it happen again."
Mael pulled him up with urgency, cradling his weight despite the strain. His father groaned as his limbs jerked violently. Mael dragged him out of the room, away from the blood, away from the eyes of the dead woman they both loved.
The hallway groaned under his footsteps. Portraits hung crooked on blood-splattered walls. Broken memories stared down at him from shattered frames.
He kept moving—through the cracked garden, past the burnt hedges, into the eastern wing of the compound. The place no one visited anymore.
Behind a rotting bookcase and a wall of old dust was a door. Heavy. Iron. Hidden from the rest of the world.
The silver room.
Forged generations ago by the hunters of old, it was meant to contain what couldn't be killed. Lined from floor to ceiling with scorched silver, it radiated a burning aura that no creature of the moon could withstand for long.
Mael pounded the keypad. The lock hissed open.
He dragged his father inside.
The moment they crossed the threshold, Mael felt it—the sting of silver in his blood, the ache in his bones. It was like standing inside a furnace of purity, and every inch of him felt exposed.
His father writhed, body reacting violently to the silver.
Mael gently laid him down, crouching beside him. "Dad... I don't know if you can hear me… but I remember everything now. What I did. What I became. I couldn't save her."
His voice broke.
"I won't lose you too."
He reached out and touched his father's face. A face that once smiled when Mael came home from school. A face that held pride and kindness.
That face was now becoming something else.
Mael's hand trembled. He pulled back slowly, eyes burning.
"I can't let you roam free," he whispered, pain rising in his chest. "You're not just dangerous to me. If this curse consumes you, you'll be like I was… worse, maybe. You'll hunt. Feed. Even on the innocent. Even humans."
His breath caught in his throat.
"The world doesn't know what you are yet. But it will. And I… I can't let that happen."
He stood slowly.
"This isn't punishment. It's protection. For you. For them. For everyone who doesn't understand the horror we've seen."
He backed toward the door, one last look at the trembling, half-conscious man before him.
"I love you," he whispered. "This is the only way."
The door creaked as it closed. The air hissed.
CLANG.
The lock snapped shut.
---
Mael stood motionless in the hallway.
His reflection stared back at him in the silver-polished door—blood smeared across his face, the weight of guilt carved into his expression. His body trembled, not from fear… but from the power he felt brewing beneath his skin. The transformation was changing more than his bones now. It was changing his soul.
And then—
A roar shattered the silence.
From deep inside the silver room, a growl rose to a scream—furious, feral, echoing through the walls like thunder.
Mael didn't move.
He stared at the creature his father had become—trapped behind scorched metal, his soul roaring in confusion and rage. Even though Mael was more powerful now than his father ever was—perhaps more than any werewolf that had ever lived—it didn't make the pain easier.
He had sealed away his last living parent.
Not to destroy him.
But to save the world from him.
The wind picked up outside, howling through the broken compound like a chorus of ghosts. Trees creaked. The sky turned a deeper shade of gray, the moon hidden somewhere behind thick, churning clouds.
Mael didn't flinch.
He didn't fear what was behind the door.
What he feared… was what lay ahead.
Because this wasn't the end.
It was only the beginning of what the blood moon had awakened.