Mark of the Hunt

That night began like any other-

**************************************

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves outside, carrying the crisp scent of rain-soaked earth.

Inside, the house was warm; the quiet hum of television came murmuring from downstairs.

A small seven-year-old boy lay curled in his bed, breathing slow and steady.

In the suffocating darkness, a pair of golden yellow eyes burnt like embers.

Ethan jolted awake as a low, guttural growl vibrated through the floorboards.

He clutched his blanket tighter, his breath quick and shallow.

The air hung heavy with the stench of wet fur and copper.

"Mom...?" Ethan whispered, his voice unsteady.

Silence.

He held his breath, still half-expecting his mother's voice.

The bedroom door creaked open, a shadow stretched across the floor- long, unnatural.

Then, something massive- and far more terrifying -emerged.

Its fangs gleamed in the moonlight as it tilted its massive head, its golden eyes locking onto him.

The air thickened instantly, locking Ethan in place.

Then-

"CRASH!" A violent sound echoed through the house, followed by his mother's urgent voice.

"Robert, upstairs-quickly!" She shouted, already rushing toward the stairs.

The beast lunged-sensing something unseen. But before it could reach him, his mother burst into the room moving at an unnatural speed, the mark beneath her sleeve pulsing with a faint glow."

"Get away from my son!" Her silver blade flashed, intercepting the beast mid-air.

The creature howled in pain as her blade tore through its flank, its blood hissing and smoking upon contact with the silver-tainted with her blood.

The beast twisted-swiftly. Its claws cutting deeply through her waist, her blood tainting the polished walls.

His mother staggered but held her ground, standing as a shield between the beast and her son.

"You won't lay your claws on my son," she said, her voice steady despite the blood seeping through her nightgown.

The beast's eyes glowed vigorously as it ran towards her undeterred by its wounds.

"Mom!" Ethan cried, fear rising in his chest. His mother met the beast once more, her movements swift and blurred.

They crashed into the hallway wall, the impact shaking the framed pictures loose. Diana twisted, driving her blade deep into the beast's shoulder. It roared, its fangs snapping wildly, just inches from her throat. She shoved it back with a grunt, her boots skidding on the wooden floor as the creature lunged again, its claws cutting through the air.

"Ethan, run!" she shouted, using her strength to hold the beast at bay.

Without notice, a gunshot thundered from below making the beast flinch. Its eyes snapped toward the stairs, where Ethan's father appeared, holding an ancient revolver with strange, engraved markings.

"Diana!" his father shouted, sprinting up the stairs with unnatural speed.

Cornered between two hunters, the beast made its move. With a savage twist, it clamped its jaws around Diana's arm, dragging her toward the window.

Multiple shots were heard, Ethan scarcely processing a bullet that narrowly grazed the creature's head.

The beast crashed through the window, dragging Ethan's mother into the night.

No!" Robert's scream was heard as he rushed towards the window, firing into the night.

Ethan ran to the window, his small heart pounding.

Below, in the moonlit yard, his mother struggled with the beast.

She stabbed her blade deep into its eye, making it howl in pain as it released her.

For a moment, Diana swayed but stood firm, determination flickering in her eyes.

Then, without warning, she went limp and collapsed.

Robert leaped through the window, shouting to Ethan, "Stay back!"

Ignoring his father's frantic warning, Ethan rushed downstairs. Outside, Robert cradled Diana's body, his hands trembling as they pressed uselessly against her wound. His tears falling onto her blood-streaked gown, mixing with the crimson stains. "Stay with me," he choked out, his voice cracking as he pressed his head against hers.

"Robert," Diana whispered, her voice faintly audible as Ethan approached.

"Why... why would they come for us"? Her eyes looked confused and frightened.

"Diana, don't talk," Robert pleaded. "It's going to be okay", while still pressing his hands against her wounds. But even Ethan could see it was too late."

"Please… take care of him," Diana whispered, her eyes locking onto Ethan with a mix of fear and love. "I don't understand... but promise me you'll protect him."

Her hand reached for Ethan. Trembling, he grasped her bloodied fingers. She squeezed once-weak but certain. A faint smile touched her lips as a tear slipped down her cheek."

''Listen to your father Ethan."

Before Ethan could respond, her arm fell. Her mark flickered beneath her torn sleeve, then faded.

Ethan watched as the light escaped his mother's eyes.

His chest tightened-an unbearable weight pressing against his ribs, like the world had suddenly become too sharp, too real.

Something inside him shifted.

Heat flared between his shoulder blades, sudden and searing. The pain struck like a white-hot blade, forcing the breath from his lungs. He gasped, collapsing to his knees beside her.

Robert's eyes widened in surprise "

No.... not yet"!. he screamed.

The burning intensified, spreading throughout his small body like wood to a flame, his mark glowing with an eerie orange-gold light. His screams echoed through the air -then, as if drowning out the pain his ears perked slightly. Capturing the steady rhythm of his father's heartbeat, the sharp scent of blood filled his nose, his mind racing rapidly.

"Dad?" Ethan said weakly, overwhelmed by the flood of sensations.

His father knelt beside him, his voice always steady- now shook.

"This shouldn't be happening. Something's wrong..." he muttered, panic creeping into his tone before-

**************************************

"Beep! Beep!"

My alarm blared, yanking me from the nightmare. My shirt clung to my skin, drenched in sweat, as I struggled to steady my breathing."

My eyes drifted across the room, settling on the frame pictures-a quiet, unmoving reminder of her.

"Ethan! You're going to be late!" my father shouted from downstairs.

I exhaled sharply. The nightmares again.

Why was it always on days like this?

I didn't want to think about it.

I shoved the covers off and silenced my alarm. My room was a mess-college boxes labeled 'CLOTHES' and 'BEDDING' stacked haphazardly across the floor."Next to them lay a tattered book titled "European Folklore and Mythical Creatures", a hunting knife peeked out somewhat beneath my jeans.

I dragged myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face-letting the chill settle the weight on my chest.

Reaching for a towel, my eyes flicked to the mirror-there it was. The mark. A complex whorl of patterns between my shoulders, a silent reminder of who I was.

I flexed my arms, feeling that familiar tingle, the restrained power humming beneath my skin. I had spent years learning to hide it, to keep it under control. Normal people didn't bend metal with their bare hands. They didn't leap fifteen feet like it was nothing. They didn't hear heartbeats from across the room.

But I wasn't normal. Never had been.

Looking at my reflection, I noticed how much I'd grown-now standing around 183 cm, taller than I was a year ago. Dark brown hair, lean muscle showing beneath my soaked T-shirt.

"Today marks the start of a new life," I whispered.

"Ethan!" Dad's voice rang out again. "Coffee's getting cold!"

Thirty minutes later, I descended the stairs with my duffel bag and backpack.

Dad stood in the kitchen, sipping black coffee, looking like he hadn't aged a day. Only the silver streaks at his temples gave away the years, the toll of the past decade

"Sleep, okay?" my father asked, knowing the answer. I didn't want to talk about it

"Fine," I lied. Even though I could still feel the weight pressing against my chest.

My father nodded, accepting the lie. "Got everything? Books? Laptop?"

"Yes."

Your mother would be proud," Dad said quietly, his voice carrying a weight I hadn't heard before. "College… it's a big step."

"Business major, right?"

"Marketing," I corrected.

My father's eyes flickered to the window, scanning the treeline out of habit.

Ten years passed, yet no reason was found for the attack that night. He spent a decade hunting for answers, but none ever came. Nothing but unanswered questions.

He never stopped searching, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that we'd never find it.

"We haven't had any signs of activity in this area for years, But that doesn't mean you shouldn't stay alert.

"Dad, we don't even know who we're looking for. That monster could have been a random rogue... I mean, right?"

His jaws tightened. We've had this argument a hundred times before. Robert Helsing didn't think random attacks happened. He found it hard to believe that anyone would target his family with such accuracy. But I was running out of options to disagree.

He slid a small box across the table. "New phone. My number's already in there. Call if-" He paused. "Just call sometimes."

I knew what he meant, I took it feeling the weight of his concerns.

"Thanks Dad, I will".

"I might be hard to reach sometimes. You know how work gets," he said, his eyes distant. Work. He never says hunting.

"The encrypted messaging app is installed, "Dad added, always planning for the worst

"And I left my P.O. box address in there if digital isn't... reliable."

I nodded.Many communication methods-a hunter's precaution.

"You don't have to worry about me," I said with reassurance. "I'll be fine."

His eyes crinkled at the corners. His sharp senses picked up my quickened heartbeat-the tiny lie in my confidence. "That's my job, kid," he said.

As I headed for the door, his voice sounded, "Ethan? Remember who you are."

A Helsing. A hunter. The descendant of a bloodline that has kept the supernatural world in check for centuries. The very thing I was trying to escape.

*********************************************

Blackwood's ancient oaks loomed over the pathways, their gnarled branches reaching like outstretched claws. The ivy-clad stone buildings bore the weight of centuries, weathered by time. The campus was beautiful, though it had a hint of foreboding.

Unsure of where to go I stuck with the crowd.

Along the way, parents hugged their children goodbye-normal families with normal concerns.

As we approached Lancaster Hall-my new home- its towering stone walls loomed ahead, ivy creeping over its surface. The stone building stood tall; its ivy-covered walls felt permanent. I felt no unease, just the anticipation. A fresh start. A chance to be normal, not to inherit my family's legacy.

The residence hall buzzed with activity. Students and parents filled the narrow hallways, carrying boxes and suitcases. They shared tearful goodbyes and excited chatter. I took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand as I navigated through the crowded space, eager to get settled in.

Room 307. The door was ajar; my roommate seemed to have already moved in. I pushed it open to find a lanky guy with glasses arranging a set of computer equipment.

"Yo! You must be Ethan," said a lanky guy with glasses as he turned from his computer setup. "I'm Mike—welcome to chaos central," my new roommate extended his hand. I shook it firmly, making sure not to squeeze too hard.

"Nice to meet you," I replied as I placed my bags on the unclaimed bed.

"I took the left side; hope that's cool."

"No problem," I replied. then I started unpacking.

I tucked my father's old journal on supernatural creatures under a stack of textbooks, then stashed my hunter's knife beneath some scattered papers in the desk drawer. My father said silver could burn many supernatural beings on contact-especially if my blood was applied to the blade.

I wasn't sure how reliable that was, since I had never faced one." But considering the things about me and my family, it was safer to believe that it was, I thought.

"There's a campus tour at two if you're interested," Mike said. "I was thinking of going."

Normal college activity. Huh. "Yeah, sounds good," I replied.

**************************************

The tour group assembled at the campus center, a mix of about twenty freshmen led by an overly enthusiastic junior named Brandon.He was tall and lean, with neatly styled blond hair and an easygoing smile that never seemed to waver. Dressed in a Blackwood University hoodie and khaki shorts, he radiated the confidence of someone who had given this tour a hundred times before.

Mike and I drifted to the back.

"Welcome to Blackwood University—founded way back in 1823," Brandon said with a grin, walking backward like he'd done this a hundred times before. "Don't let the old buildings fool you; we're all about modern vibes here."His voice traveled effortlessly over the murmur of students. "Originally an all-male theological seminary, it has since evolved into one of the top liberal arts colleges in the Northeast..." He spread his arms theatrically as if unveiling the campus itself.

I only half-listened as we moved from building to building. The architecture was impressive-towering stone facades, ivy-covered halls-but my focus strayed elsewhere. My eyes traced the windows, noting exit routes, blind spots, and high vantage points.Old habits.

For ten years, ever since that night, my father had taught me how to be a hunter. Now, I was just trying to be normal.

But old habits die hard. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to relax

As we neared the science building, my eyes landed on a girl up front. Her dark hair fell in waves to her shoulders. She looked attentive to the tour guide's words. Something about her presence felt... off. Not in a bad way, but like a puzzle piece that didn't quite. Then she turned, and my breath got caught.

"Dude," Mike whispered, elbowing me, "stop staring."

I blinked, realizing how obvious was. "Sorry."

As we continued to the library, I kept finding my attention drawn to the mysterious girl. She walked gracefully, occasionally jotting notes in a small journal. She seemed particularly interested whenever Brandon mentioned the university's history or architecture, her pen moving swiftly across the page.

Brandon led us toward the library, gesturing grandly as he walked. "The Thorne Library holds over two million volumes," he announced, sweeping a hand toward a towering stone building. "Including rare collections and historical archives in the east wing. Most of you will practically live here during finals week..." He shot the group a knowing grin, earning a few chuckles.

The library was a cathedral of knowledge-soaring ceilings, intricate woodwork, and the warm, familiar scent of old parchment. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden pools across long reading tables.

As we walked through the main hall, the girl I couldn't help but notice, slowed down. She scanned the room with curious eyes. It was not the casual glance of a new student, but the focused assessment of someone searching for something specific.

Brandon gestured toward the sleek monitors lining the walls, "This is where you'll find the digital catalog system", he explained.

As I half-listened, my gaze drifted toward the east wing. A polished brass sign above an arched doorway that read Special Collections.

That's where I caught her heading.

The girl moved with quiet purpose, her dark hair shifting as she glanced over her shoulder-just once-before disappearing through the doorway.

Curiosity stirred, nudging aside the caution I had trained in myself for years.

Beside me, Mike followed my gaze. He smirked, arms crossed. "Dude, you're way too eager. It's only the first day."

"It's not what it looks like," I muttered, already stepping back from the group. "Just hold the fort for me."

Mike rolled his eyes but gave a lazy salute. "Alright, alright. I got your back."

I exhaled, then slipped away, weaving through the towering bookshelves toward the east wing.

**************************************

The Special Collections area was quieter, set apart from the hustle of the main library. Glass cases housed ancient manuscripts, their yellowing pages visible through the glass. Shelves of matching leather-bound books lined the walls, their spines cracked with age. I wandered through, feigning interest, my gaze flicking to the dark-haired girl, keeping her just in my peripheral vision.

She moved with deliberate caution, scanning the shelf markers. Now and then, she'd pull a book from the shelves, only to return it with a quiet, frustrated sigh. "Where are you?" she muttered under her breath, her brow furrowing. The pendant around her neck-a silver compass rose-swung forward as she leaned in, its needle spinning aimlessly.

Without warning, I felt a pull-not physical, but an insistent tug on my awareness. My mark flared with heat, not painful but demanding. I turned toward a far corner of the room, almost against my will.

There, on a lower shelf, half-hidden behind a row of larger volumes, sat an unassuming book. Its leather binding was worn, and the spine, once dark, had faded to a dull brown. At first glance, it looked utterly forgettable.

Yet, despite its unremarkable appearance, I couldn't look away. There was something about it, an unshakable pull.

I glanced back, but the girl had moved on to another section. The voices of the tour group drifted faintly from the main room, their chatter now a distant murmur.

I stepped closer to the shelf and knelt, my fingers trembling as I reached for the book.

The moment my fingers brushed the ancient leather, a jolt of recognition shot through me. The cover was unnervingly warm, as though someone had just held it.

I pulled the book free, revealing strange symbols etched into the leather. Some of them matched the carvings I had seen in my father's journals.

With a mix of hesitation and curiosity, I opened it carefully.

I failed to recognize the script that covered the pages, yet somehow I felt I was meant to understand it. Illustrations of creatures- some I recognized from my father's teaching, others completely unfamiliar -filled the margins.

At the center of the book was a diagram-an image of a swirling, mist-like entity, its tendrils reaching for a female figure. The power it exuded was palpable, almost as if it could be felt in the air.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," a voice said, light and teasing. I turned to find a girl standing a few feet away, her dark hair catching the dim library light. She tilted her head, her gaze flicking to the book in my hands.

"Just browsing," I said, trying to sound casual, though the urge to hide the book was strong.

"I'm Lidia," she said, stepping closer with a warm, easy smile. "First-year, right?"

"Yeah. I'm Ethan," I mumbled, still somewhat dazed by the book's pull.

Her eyes flicked to the book in my hands, then back to my face, a glimmer of interest in her gaze. "That book looks ancient."

"Just some folklore stuff," I shrugged, trying to keep my tone casual, though the book pulsed against my fingers, urging me to reveal more.

"I'm into that too," she said, her voice light with excitement. "Mythology, legends, that sort of thing."

Up close, she was even prettier. Her dark eyes held a quiet curiosity, framed by the soft glow of the library's lights. I thought.

"What's your major?" I asked, sliding the book back into place with deliberate ease, hoping she wouldn't notice how reluctant I was to let go of it.

"Anthropology." She smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. "You?"

"Marketing."

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. "Really? You don't seem like the marketing type."

"Oh?" I smirked. "And what type do I seem like?"

Her smile deepened, playful, as if she enjoyed the puzzle of figuring me out. "I'm not sure yet. Maybe I'll figure it out later."

From the main room, Brandon's voice rang out. "Five minutes, then we're heading to the dining hall!"

I exhaled, forcing my attention away from her and the book. "I should get back," I said, though my pulse was still uneven.

"Me too." Lidia hesitated, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Maybe I'll see you around? The library seems like a good place to cross paths.

"Yeah, maybe." As we walked back to the tour group, I couldn't shake the feeling that the book was watching me, its presence a quiet hum in the back of my mind. I glanced over my shoulder once, half-expecting to see it glowing on the shelf. But it was just a book. Wasn't it?