Chapter Nineteen: The Blood and the Blade

The moon rode high above the tangle of dead trees, its light sickly and pale. Ethan crouched near the roots of a gnarled oak, sniffing the air. Blood. Not fresh. Days old. Faintly vampiric. But touched by something older.

The pack waited in silence behind him. Rufik had posted sentries along the twisted game trail they had followed, each man alert and tense. The Forest of the Dead had grown colder since their failed quest for the Blade of Severance. Colder, and crueler.

Ethan touched the soil. Black. Brittle. As if something had drained not only life, but time from it. He flexed his fingers, half expecting the ground to whisper.

He didn't fully shift anymore. The beast within him stirred with each breath, but he kept to the edge of transformation,fangs just beneath his gums, claws under skin. The speed and strength of his vampire side blended with the instincts of his wolf. Hybrid. Half-born. No longer either. No longer whole.

"It was here," he muttered.

Rufik stepped up beside him, sword unsheathed. "Where we last saw it?"

Ethan nodded. "The blade was buried in that altar stone. It called to me. Then something else pulled it away."

"A presence," said Marek, one of the scouts. "I smelled it too. Iron and ash."

Ethan rose. "We were not alone then. And we aren't now."

The woods groaned. Far off, something howled,not wolf, not human. The trees swayed against no wind. Ethan turned toward the shadows that stretched unnaturally long, and his eyes flickered red.

"It's moving again," he said. "The blade… someone has taken it."

Suddenly, a tremor rippled through the forest floor. A heartbeat underground. The wolves bristled, weapons drawn. From the mists came a figure.

A man,or what had once been one.

He wore blackened armor, scorched and jagged. His face was a pale ruin, stitched with lines of faded blood sigils. Upon his brow, a rusted crown fused with bone. In his right hand, the Blade of Severance burned faintly, humming with dark resonance.

Ethan stepped forward. "Who are you?"

The figure's voice sounded like earth cracking beneath tombstones. "I am Lord Varek. First of the Forgotten. Bearer of the Severance. Herald to the Crimson King."

The pack spread into a half-circle. Rufik hissed, "Back! Ethan, fall back!"

Ethan didn't move. His heart thudded once, hard. Then again. Slower. He felt time ripple around the general, like the rules of reality had grown soft.

"That blade was meant to slay the Crimson King," Ethan said. "Why do you bear it?"

Varek tilted his head. "Because it is a key. And the king does not fear keys. He breaks them."

He raised the blade. The air shattered like glass. Trees warped inward. A force exploded outward, knocking several wolves off their feet. Ethan remained standing, but blood trickled from his nose.

"You are the Half-Born," Varek said. "You were made to die beneath the first moon of blood."

"Then you should've brought more than a cursed relic."

Ethan charged.

Claws erupted from his hands. His legs launched with inhuman force. Varek swung the blade,the arc of Severance tearing through air with a scream. Ethan ducked beneath, raking the general's chest.

No blood.

Only smoke.

Varek laughed.

Behind Ethan, Marek leapt, sword raised—only to be caught mid-air and flung into a tree, bones cracking. Rufik led a pincer move, three wolves converging with silver blades. Varek moved like shadow—his blade flashed once, and all three collapsed, writhing.

Ethan felt the beast surge. His pupils went narrow. Time bent. Every scent, every crack of leaves, every breath,he knew them.

He spun, caught Varek's wrist as the blade descended. They locked eyes.

"You're not whole either," Ethan growled.

"None of us are," Varek hissed. "That is why we endure."

A shockwave burst between them. Ethan was thrown back, crashing through two trees. He rolled to a stop, coughing blood, vision swimming.

Then a voice echoed in his mind.

Elara.

"Ethan. The war must begin before the Crimson King rises. Thirteen days. Or the wolves will die."

He gasped.

Varek stood at the center of a ring of dying trees. Behind him, shadows gathered. More figures. More generals.

Ethan forced himself up. "Rufik! Call the retreat!"

"We can't outrun him!"

"No. But we can lead him away."

He turned to the wolves. "Scatter! Get word to Helena. To the clans. Tell them the blade is lost. The generals have returned."

Rufik hesitated. Then nodded.

The pack broke into different paths.

Varek did not pursue. He only watched Ethan. The blade rested in his hand like judgment.

"Run, Half-Born. Spill your blood wide. Let it soften the earth for the king's return."

Ethan didn't answer. He vanished into the shadows, every breath a vow.

They would return for the blade.

They would break the generals.

And the Crimson King would not rise without facing him first.