chapter 3 The Awakening of the wild

The Awakening of the Wild:

Elias's body convulsed, his veins burning as if fire had replaced his blood. He gritted his teeth, his hands clawing at the dirt as a deep, guttural growl ripped from his throat. His senses sharpened—he could hear the frantic heartbeats of the hunters, the rustling of leaves in the distant treetops, the rapid breaths of Lyria as she turned to him in shock.

He wasn't just witnessing the change.

He was experiencing it.

The hunters faltered, their leader cursing under his breath. "What sorcery is this?"

Lyria's golden eyes widened. "Elias… no."

But it was too late.

A wave of raw energy surged through him, twisting his limbs, reshaping his body. His skin prickled, then burned as silver-gray fur burst forth. His nails thickened into claws, his jaw elongating into a snout. Pain lanced through his bones as they stretched, rearranging, reshaping into something both familiar and foreign.

When he lifted his head, he was no longer the man he had been.

He was a wolf.

---

The Pack's Arrival

The hunters recoiled in terror. One of them stumbled backward, dropping his bow.

"What in the name of the gods—"

Their leader's face twisted in rage. "Kill them both!"

But before the first arrow could fly, the wind shifted.

A new presence swept through the clearing—silent yet powerful, commanding in its stillness.

Then, from the darkness, they emerged.

Wolves.

Not just one or two—but an entire pack. They moved like shadows, their eyes glowing like embers, their bodies sleek and powerful. Some were dark as midnight, others as pale as moonlight. But there was no mistaking their leader.

He was massive—larger than any wolf Elias had ever seen, his fur the color of storm clouds. Scars marred his body, evidence of countless battles, but his piercing amber eyes held an authority that silenced even the hunters.

Lyria's breath hitched.

"Fenrir," she whispered.

The great wolf stepped forward, his gaze flicking between Elias and Lyria before settling on the cowering hunters.

"You dare step into our domain?"

The voice did not come from his mouth, yet it rang through the minds of everyone present, just as Lyria's had.

The hunters trembled.

"We—we were only—"

"Enough." Fenrir's voice was like thunder. "You have spilled blood on sacred ground."

The leader of the hunters, though pale with fear, tightened his grip on his bow. "We only hunt monsters."

Fenrir's growl rumbled like an earthquake. "Then you are in the wrong place."

With a single command, the pack lunged.

The clearing exploded into chaos.

---

The Escape

Elias barely had time to process his own transformation before instinct took over. His new body moved with a speed he had never known, his paws thudding against the earth as he leaped at one of the hunters. The man screamed, dropping his weapon as Elias knocked him to the ground.

He had the man pinned. He could end it.

But something inside him hesitated.

He wasn't a killer.

Before he could decide what to do, another hunter turned on him, raising his sword—only for Lyria to tackle him, her fangs flashing.

The hunters had no chance against the pack. Outnumbered, they retreated, fleeing into the darkness with desperate shouts. Their leader, bloodied but alive, locked eyes with Elias one last time before disappearing into the trees.

The wolves did not chase them.

The battle was over.

---

A New Path

As silence returned to the clearing, Elias collapsed onto his side, his breaths ragged. The energy that had surged through him only moments before now left him drained.

Lyria rushed to him, shifting back into her human form. "Elias!" She knelt beside him, her hands hovering over his trembling body. "You changed…"

Elias tried to speak, but all that came was a weak growl.

Then, Fenrir approached.

"You are no ordinary man." His amber eyes burned into Elias's. "You carry our blood."

Lyria's head snapped toward the great wolf. "That's impossible."

Fenrir studied Elias for a long moment before turning to her. "Is it?"

Lyria fell silent.

Elias felt his vision darkening, exhaustion pulling him under. As he slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing he heard was Fenrir's voice—low and knowing.

"The Moon does not choose lightly.