Darkness. A cold, suffocating void swallowed Fenrik whole. His body was weightless, drifting in the abyss between life and death. Then, a flicker of something-green light. Dim at first, but pulsing like the heartbeat of the earth itself.
His eyelids fluttered, his vision blurred. A shadowy figure loomed over him, a soft murmur lulling him back into unconsciousness before he could grasp reality. He thought he saw a hand-motherly and steady-move above his chest, tracing something unseen. The warmth that spread through his body was unnatural, foreign, but he had no strength to resist.
Darkness swallowed him again.
A voice. Low and rough, tinged with something close to pity. Another voice, softer but firm, responding in hushed tones. Fenrik's ears twitched, catching fragments of conversation.
"...found him half-dead..."
"...pitiful fate, expected of one like him..."
"...his clan never accepted him... an inferior breed..."
His fingers twitched. He wanted to move, to demand answers, but the effort was too great. The pull of unconsciousness was relentless.
He surrendered once more.
"...you must be more drunk than I am," the old man's voice was gruff, exasperated. "What do you mean he's supposed to be strong?"
A pause. Then, the old woman's voice, steady and unwavering. "Everyone knows his bloodline is weak among the royalty because of that blood from hundreds of years ago."
A scoff. "Exactly! That bloodline was tainted hundreds of years ago. The runt among warriors. A lesser of a lupian. It's a wonder they didn't toss him aside sooner."
The woman hummed thoughtfully. "And yet... that same blood was supposed to make him stronger than his peers-perhaps a once-in-500-years talent."
Silence.
"I noticed it when healing him. His essence and physique was..well..unique... it's unprecedented but the longer I healed him I felt something- a wall blocking his potential. I managed to reduce some of its effects and his regeneration skyrocketed but the core of it still resides within him"
A sharp laugh, the sound of someone taking a long swig of something strong. "Bah! So you're telling me what was supposed to make him weak was supposed to make him strong? And people call me the drunkard."
A sigh. "You're insufferable."
Darkness claimed him again.
Warmth. The smell of burning wood and something... herbal. Fenrik's body felt foreign to him, wrapped in stiffness and dull aches. He forced his eyes open, his vision adjusting to the dim light of a small fire.
A woman sat nearby, her hands methodically moving as she prepared tea. Her hair was streaked with silver, her features sharp but not unkind. She barely glanced at him before speaking.
"Good, you're awake."
Fenrik didn't hesitate. His body screamed in protest, but he pushed himself up, ignoring the dizziness that threatened to pull him under. With a burst of instinct, he lunged, twisting his body midair to kick her.
She didn't move.
With a casual flick of her wrist, she redirected his attack, sending him tumbling back onto the bedding.
"Tea?" she offered, as though he hadn't just tried to attack her.
Fenrik glared at her, his breathing uneven. "Who are you?"
She poured the steaming liquid into a cup, the fragrant aroma filling the space. "You don't need to be wary of me, boy. I didn't save you. You should thank the old man outside."
He hesitated, then muttered, "Thank you."
A small smile. "Not me, boy. Him."
Fenrik's gaze flickered toward the entrance. With one last glance at the woman, he pushed himself to his feet and stepped outside.
The crisp mountain air stung his skin. The snow-covered landscape stretched before him, but his attention was drawn to the figure sitting cross-legged on a rock. The old man, Eric, was drinking from a bottle while his other hand rested on his knee in what appeared to be meditation.
Fenrik approached cautiously. "Alcohol dulls the senses," he said, eyeing the bottle.
Eric cracked an eye open, smirking. "And yet, I see more than most."
Fenrik frowned. "It's useless."
The old man chuckled. "Boy, you know nothing of the world. Alcohol is more useful than you think."
"Right. Because getting drunk makes you wise."
Eric laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "Maybe."
Fenrik crossed his arms. "What do you want from me?"
Eric studied him for a long moment before replying. "You've been unconscious for a week."
A week. His stomach twisted. How much time had he lost?
The old man gestured toward the clearing and put his feet to the snowy ground. "You were dying when I found you. A bit scrawny, aren't you? You barely reach my hip."
Fenrik scowled. "I'm not short."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "Three feet and a half. You're practically a pup."
Fenrik's expression darkened further, but he said nothing.
Eric took another sip before gesturing lazily at Fenrik's hands. "Your claws-look more like glorified fingernails. For a lupian, that's a damn shame."
Fenrik clenched his fists. "I'm an outcast. Weaker than the rest."
Eric's gaze sharpened. "And your essence... less than a human's."
Silence stretched between them.
Fenrik's nails dug into his palms. "That won't stop me."
Eric tilted his head. "Stop you from what?"
Fenrik's green eyes burned with quiet rage. "From making those who hunted me-and those who killed my mother-bleed."
Eric sighed. "Revenge is a double-headed cobra, boy. One head to poison your enemies, the other to poison you."
Fenrik's jaw tightened. "I don't care."
The old man studied him for a moment before exhaling. "Essence flows in nature, in all living things. It's not just power-it's life itself. But wielding it without understanding is no different from walking blind into a battlefield."
Fenrik remained silent, but his fingers twitched.
Eric downed another gulp of alcohol before setting the bottle aside. "I won't let you go on a suicide mission." He stood, his movements slow but purposeful. "You'll train. Learn to control your essence. Learn to fight. Learn to survive."
Fenrik narrowed his eyes. "And if I refuse?"
Eric smirked. "You won't."
Fenrik's fists tightened, his mind racing. He didn't trust this man. But he had no other path. Not yet.
Eric stretched, cracking his neck. "We start at the crack of dawn."
Fenrik exhaled. His journey was far from over.
But for the first time in a long while, he wasn't running.