The Curse of Icarius

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cluttered surface of the study desk. Papers overflowed from every corner, each one filled with cryptic symbols and faded family records. Eleanor, her brow furrowed in concentration, traced a finger across a worn genealogy chart. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. The Lockwoods shrouded in secrecy for generations, seemed even more determined to keep their past hidden now that she was back.

A creak on the floorboards alerted her. Glancing up, she saw Barnaby, his face etched with worry, standing by the doorway. He hesitated for a moment, then entered the room, his gaze flitting nervously between her and the scattered papers.

"Eleanor," he began, his voice gruff. "May I come in?"

"Of course, Uncle Barn," Eleanor replied, forcing a smile. She gestured towards the cluttered chair opposite her. "Did you want to talk to me?" she asked,

Barnaby cleared his throat and took a seat, his large frame dwarfing the aged armchair. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, he spoke.

"The council called for a meeting today"

"And?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I've been appointed as an Elder in the placement of Arthur." He paused. A brief hesitation in his voice. Then continued, "However, most importantly; they wanted to discuss…" he paused again,

Eleanor closed the book with a sigh, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room. "About what, Uncle?" she asked, turning to face him.

Barnaby shuffled towards the worn armchair by the fireplace, his every step a testament to the years that had passed. "It's about you becoming the Alpha, Eleanor," he said, his gaze flickering around the room before settling on her. "They wish to…" He hesitated, a tremor running through his hands.

Eleanor's brow furrowed. "Wish to do what?" she pressed, a flicker of apprehension igniting within her.

Barnaby took a deep breath, his eyes locking with hers. "They wish for you to stand trial, as is the obligation of any potential Alpha."

The revelation hit Eleanor like a physical blow. Trial. The very word sent a shiver down her spine. Years of running, of hiding, all culminating in this very moment. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, catching Barnaby off guard.

"Trial?" she echoed, a sharp edge to her voice. "Why, want kind of trial?"

Barnaby sighed, a weary tremor in his voice. "The pack needs leadership, Eleanor. After your grandfather's passing…"

"I know," she interrupted, the hurt in her voice raw. "But there are others, surely. Jacob, perhaps."

Barnaby shook his head, a flicker of disapproval crossing his features. "Jacob possesses strength, yes, but he wasn't chosen. We all felt what happened during the transformation, you felt it too. The immense power that was bestowed upon you. No transformation has ever occurred in that manner, your will to fight the urge to transform turned into your strength which is why you didn't fully turn like the rest of us." he paused, a glint of worry in his eyes. "Eleanor, you possess a power far greater than you can imagine"

"But, I am not fit to be an Alpha, why do you want me to become something I'm not, Uncle?" Eleanor said, her words gentle but hesitant. She saw the gaze in Barnaby's eyes, filled with expectations, one she didn't believe she was ready to shoulder.

Barnaby dropped his gaze, his hand leading to his pocket. He brought out a ring and grabbed Eleanor's hand putting the ring on it. "Your grandfather wanted you to have this, he knew this day would come. If there was anybody Arthur had any belief in to lead this pack, it was you. The spirit of your mother dwells in you."

Eleanor remained silent, the weight of his words settling heavily on her shoulders. The truth was, a part of her had known that denying her heritage could only take her so far. Maybe, just maybe, this trial was the key to understanding herself, to finally finding the answers she craved.

As the last rays of sun dipped below the horizon, painting the study in an orange glow, Eleanor sat in silence, the weight of the revelation settling upon her.

Finally, she looked up at Barnaby, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. "I will face the Trial," she declared. "But I do so on one condition."

Barnaby leaned forward, a flicker of worry flashing in his eyes. "What is it, Eleanor?"

"Tell me everything," she said, her voice firm. "I need to know every secret, every hidden truth there is to be known. Only then will I be ready, not just for the Trial, but to lead this family forward."

Barnaby held her gaze for a long, agonizing moment. He saw the steely resolve in her eyes, a reflection of her mother's fierce spirit. He knew then that the truth, however, could no longer be contained.

With a defeated sigh, he rose from the chair. "Come," he said, his voice rough. "Let's go to the attic. There are things... things you need to see."

A flicker of hope ignited in Eleanor's chest. Maybe, just maybe, facing the truth about her heritage was the first step toward finding her true purpose. As she followed Barnaby out of the study, she knew her journey as an Alpha had only just begun.

And so, under the watchful gaze of the ancestral portraits lining the study walls, Eleanor embarked on a new journey. A journey not just to the heart of the Lockwood legacy, but also to the heart of herself, the alpha she was destined to become.

Eleanor followed Barnaby up the creaking attic stairs, the familiar dusty scent enveloping her. This forgotten space, once her childhood haven, held a strange sense of anticipation now. What secrets did Barnaby intend to reveal within these very walls? Did he know, all these years, that this refuge was her sanctuary as a runaway?

Barnaby, his gait heavy with the burden of the past, moved towards a seemingly unremarkable corner. Eleanor watched as he reached out and pressed his hand against the rough stone wall. A faint grinding echoed through the attic, followed by a low click. A section of the wall, camouflaged by peeling wallpaper and cobwebs, shifted inwards, revealing a dark passage.

Eleanor gasped. This hidden doorway, a secret she hadn't known existed, sent a shiver down her spine. What lay beyond? A gasp escaped her lips again as Barnaby gestured for her to follow.

Hesitation flickered across her face, but curiosity and a yearning for the truth burned brighter. With a deep breath, she stepped through the opening, the stale, damp air of the passage enveloping her. Barnaby led the way, the heavy oak door swinging shut with a dull thud, plunging them into darkness.

The passage was narrow and low, forcing Eleanor to stoop. The uneven stone floor crunched under their feet, echoing eerily in the confined space. The air felt heavy with a mix of age and something earthy, a musty smell hanging thick in the air.

They walked in silence for what seemed like an eternity. The only source of light was the flambeau Barnaby held in his hand, burning flames through the thick darkness. As they rounded a bend, the passage opened into a large cavern. Inside the cavern were large torches hanging on the hard rocky walls on every corner, Barbany lit a fire on each torch with the flambeau in his hand. The large cavern became illuminated with light, remarkably.

Eleanor's breath hitched. The cavern walls were rough-hewn rock, with ancient carvings engraved on them and claw marks scraped upon the hard walls.

Shock and awe battled for dominance within Eleanor. This hidden chamber, untouched by time, felt sacred, almost... powerful. What purpose did it serve? Why had it been kept secret for so long?

"This," Barnaby said, his voice echoing in the vast cavern, "is the heart of the Lockwood legacy." He gestured towards the altar. "The Welling."

Eleanor's brow furrowed. "The Welling? What is it?"

Barnaby's expression turned grave.

"This is where it all began. The origin of the Lycans. The curse, the transformation, our ancestral legacy, and everything that dates back to the first Lycan." Barnaby said, his voice low and reverent.

He gestured deeper into the cavern. "Our ancestors were nomads. Hunters and gatherers of the land. Centuries ago, they stumbled upon this cave, the Welling. A harbor for shelter and bounty."

Barnaby paused, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "Unbeknownst to them, this cave was built as a prison. Deep within its darkness, entrapped by the monks that once dwelled on these slopes, a monstrous beast was caged. A shapeshifter, a creature of dark magic. A predator of fear that ravaged the land."

He walked a few paces around Eleanor, her expression still in awe. She studied every inch of the rough-hewn walls, the engraved markings, and the symbols of ancient drawings that were sculpted upon the walls. She was truly astonished.

Barnaby continued, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. "Our ancestors, unaware of the darkness that lurked beneath their feet, continued their peaceful existence. Until one fateful night, under the crimson glow of a full moon."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Then, he continued, "The beast, caged in darkness behind the walls of the cavern sensed the vulnerability of the sleeping village. Amongst the nomads, a young boy was lured by the dark magic of the beast, from deep within the darkness where the beast was hidden in its cage. As the boy stumbled upon the cage, the beast's shape shifted into the human form of the young nomad, manipulating him into releasing it from the cage, unknown to the boy; he had released the hound of hell. On getting loose, the beast mangled the boy into pieces. Its roar echoed through the valley, a harbinger of terror. Panic and destruction followed as the creature unleashed its fury upon the unsuspecting nomads."

Eleanor's heart pounded in her chest. The image of a ferocious beast rampaging through their ancestral home was vivid in her mind.

Barnaby opened his eyes, their depths filled with a somber light. "It was then that Icarius, our great ancestor, the nomads' chieftain, a man of courage and unwavering spirit, rose to the challenge. Armed with nothing but his spear and a fierce determination to protect his people, he faced the beast in a battle that shook the very foundations of the Welling."

He paused, letting the weight of the moment settle in. "The fight was long and brutal. But Icarius, fueled by the love for his kin, prevailed. The beast fell, its monstrous form finally stilled."

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the room. Yet, Eleanor sensed there was more to the story.

Barnaby's voice turned grim. "But victory came at a terrible cost. During the battle, Icarius was bitten by the creature. Its curse, unrelenting, seeped into his veins, twisting his very being."

He met Eleanor's gaze, his eyes filled with a profound sadness. "On the night of a full moon, Icarius transformed. He became the first Lycan, forever bound to the cycle of the moon. However, the curse, once dormant, spread to his descendants, weaving its way into our bloodline."

Eleanor stared into the fire, her mind grappling with the revelation. Their nomadic ancestors and their peaceful existence were all shattered by a single night of horror. Icarius, her ancestor, is a hero turned monster. And the chilling truth that she, too, bore the weight of that curse.

Barnaby placed a weathered hand on her shoulder, his touch surprisingly warm. "It's a heavy burden, Eleanor," he said, his voice filled with empathy, "but you are not alone. We are a pack, bound by blood and a shared destiny."

Eleanor looked up at him, a flicker of determination hardening her gaze. The curse may have been thrust upon them, but she wouldn't let it define them.