The whispers of the Village of Echoes still cling to Mael as he leaves the ruins behind. But not all shadows are memories. In the quiet of the night, another presence moves against him — one born not of the curse, but of vengeance. Her name is Dravenya, and her arrows do not miss their mark.
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The air was colder beyond the village, as though the mourning voices of the dead had drained what warmth was left in the night. Mael walked in silence, his boots crunching against brittle leaves, the weight of guilt pressing heavy on his shoulders. He could still hear them—the sorrowful cries of the villagers' spirit, their whispered warnings haunting him like chains he could not break. Yet, another sound stirred beyond those phantom echoes, sharper, more deliberate. It was the sound of a bowstring tightening.
He froze. Every nerve screamed danger. The forest was still, but his senses sharpened. This was not the crawling presence of a beast. It was something colder, more precise. A hunter.
A silver-tipped arrow sliced through the air and hissed past his head, grazing his shoulder before embedding itself into the tree behind him. Pain seared through his flesh, the burn unmistakable—silver. Mael staggered, clutching his arm, his breathing heavy. Whoever stalked him did not miss by accident. That shot had been a warning.
From the shadows of the trees, a figure emerged. Cloaked in black, lean yet unyielding, she moved with the deadly grace of someone who had hunted for years. Her hood shifted as moonlight struck her face: a scar traced across her cheek, and her eyes, sharp as obsidian, locked on him with unflinching hatred. In her hand gleamed a bow strung with a second silver arrow.
"Monster," she spat, her voice low and edged with venom. "You walk on two feet, but your kind has painted these lands red. Don't think for a moment I can't see what you are."
Mael's lips parted, his claws twitching under his skin though he willed them back. "I am not your enemy. I did not slaughter the people of that village. That was Kael."
Her eyes narrowed. "Kael. All of you wear different names, but you are the same. Wolves cursed by the blood moon. Murderers."
Her fingers released. The second arrow flew, aimed at his heart. Mael swerved, claws ripping from his hands as instinct overwhelmed restraint. The arrow skimmed his ribs, burning through cloth and flesh. A growl tore from his throat.
He lunged forward, the beast in him clawing to surface, but she was already moving, silver daggers flashing in each hand. Their clash was sudden and brutal—claws against steel, sparks flying in the night. Her strikes were relentless, honed by years of training, and each blade carried the sting of silver. Mael's blood hissed where her weapons touched him, but still he pressed back, refusing to yield.
With a snarl, he caught her wrist, pinning her against the trunk of a tree. Her breath fanned against his face, steady despite the struggle. But even trapped, she was not beaten. In her free hand, the dagger hovered at his throat, ready to slice deep.
"Do it," Mael growled, eyes burning with the curse's glow. "If you believe I'm no different from Kael, then finish it. But know this—I fight against him. I've killed his wolves to protect the innocent. Can you not see the difference?"
Her eyes flickered, a storm of doubt cutting through her fury. For the first time, her hand trembled. "Kael…" she whispered, bitterness thick on her tongue. "He destroyed my family. His wolves tore through my village, left me with nothing but scars and graves. Since that night, I swore every cursed beast would meet my blade."
Mael eased, just enough for her to see his restraint. His voice softened, though his chest still heaved with battle's rage. "Then we share grief. He took my family too. But killing me will not bring them back, nor will it stop him."
Dravenya's dagger pressed harder against his throat, yet hesitation anchored her. Her eyes studied him—the glow, the scars, the way he held himself. There was rage in him, yes, but also something different. Something controlled. Something that unsettled her vengeance.
Finally, with a sharp breath, she lowered the blade and shoved him back. "You're not like the others," she admitted, her voice still harsh, though tinged with reluctant acknowledgment. "But don't mistake that for trust. If you lose control, if you bare your fangs against the innocent—I will end you."
Mael wiped the blood from his ribs, wincing at the burn. "Then keep your blade sharp, hunter. You may yet need it."
For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the rustle of leaves and their ragged breaths. Then Dravenya's gaze hardened, her tone shifting from personal hatred to grim warning. "Kael is moving. His forces grow bolder. He gathers wolves not just for slaughter, but for war. Villages are falling one by one, and soon he will strike where it hurts most. You're already marked, Mael. He knows of you. He fears you."
Mael stiffened, the villagers' whispers from earlier echoing in her words. "Then let him come."
Her lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. "Brave words. But bravery won't be enough." She sheathed her blades with deliberate care, her presence still as sharp as her steel. "Cross my path again, and whether you stand against Kael or not, you may not walk away a second time."
Before Mael could reply, she was gone, vanishing into the black embrace of the forest. Only the faint rustle of her cloak remained, a whisper against the night.
Alone once more, Mael leaned against a tree, his wounds burning, his chest heavy. Dravenya. A hunter scarred by loss, driven by vengeance, yet tethered to a strange, unwilling recognition of him. He should have hated her. He should have killed her. Yet something about her fire, her eyes, her voice refusing to bow to grief—it lingered within him as much as the sting of silver.
The night closed around him, heavier now with more than sorrow. Kael's shadow grew nearer, and the hunter's warning carved itself into his thoughts like a fresh wound. Whatever path lay ahead, it would not be walked alone. Whether as enemy or something far
more dangerous, Dravenya had stepped onto it.