The cold air of Veyruin stung like needles, the wind slicing through the thick mist that shrouded the moonlit forest. In the heart of the Shadowfang Pack territory, a bonfire roared at the center of the village square, casting flickering shadows on the furs and fangs of the gathered werewolves.
It was the Night of the Howl—the most sacred rite of passage for any young werewolf.
Kael stood at the edge of the circle, shoulders squared, his heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum. At nineteen, he was supposed to shift tonight for the first time. To feel his bones break and reshape. To hear the wild call of the pack echo in his blood. But deep down, Kael already knew: nothing would happen.
Just like every year before.
Alpha Dorn, a towering brute with eyes like coal and a scar splitting his jaw, paced before the young ones. His voice was gravel and thunder.
"Tonight, you join the bloodline of warriors! Shift, or die ashamed!"
Howls erupted as one by one, the boys and girls shifted, their bodies cracking and stretching into wolves. Some howled with pain. Others with triumph. All except Kael.
He stood frozen.
The flame inside him… was silent.
Laughter rose. Taunts slithered in the air.
"Still no howl, Kael?"
"Maybe you're part human!"
"Should've left him to the crows!"
Kael clenched his fists. He could feel something inside—rage, shame, burning humiliation—but no change. No claws. No fur. Just the same boy with dark hair, lean limbs, and tired amber eyes.
Alpha Dorn approached, his massive form towering.
"You dishonor your mother's name. If your father hadn't vanished like the coward he was, I'd have exiled you years ago."
Kael swallowed the fury rising in his throat. He'd learned the hard way—showing anger only brought beatings. Instead, he bowed his head and said nothing.
"Leave him," Dorn snarled. "He will not hunt. The forest will eat what the weak cannot."
With that, the pack shifted and vanished into the night, leaving Kael behind with only the dying fire and the cold.
---
Kael walked the frozen path alone, past the old shrine where they said the moon spirits once spoke. His fingers brushed the stone altar. Cracks lined its surface—like him, it was broken, forgotten.
But tonight, he couldn't stop thinking of his sister, Lila. Only ten years old, she still believed he'd one day become strong. Her bright eyes and childish grin haunted him.
"Don't let them break you, Kael," she'd said, hugging him tightly before the rite. "You're the strongest person I know."
The words hurt more than the laughter.
He moved deeper into the woods, away from the village, letting the silence swallow him whole. Until—
A low growl.
His ears twitched.
From the treeline emerged a monstrous figure—twice the size of any wolf, its fur matted with blood, eyes glowing with unnatural red light. This was no ordinary wolf. No, this was something darker.
A Ravager.
They were supposed to be myths—twisted werewolves born under cursed moons. But this thing was real, and it was hungry.
Kael ran.
Branches whipped his face. Thorns tore his clothes. The beast pursued, crashing through trees with terrifying speed. Kael stumbled, fell—then rolled as claws raked the dirt inches from his head.
He scrambled to his feet and dashed toward the ridge. One wrong step and he'd fall into the ravine below—but better that than being torn apart.
The Ravager pounced.
Kael turned just in time—and saw it freeze.
Its eyes widened. A glow erupted from Kael's chest—a symbol, burning silver through his shirt, ancient and pulsing. The beast let out a high-pitched scream, staggering back as if struck by invisible fire.
Kael collapsed.
The mark seared into his skin like molten lightning. Pain unlike anything he'd known flooded his veins. His vision blurred, and he swore he saw… a throne made of bone, a crown of silver, a great black wolf watching him from the stars.
Then darkness.
---
When he awoke, it was morning.
The Ravager was gone. The ground around him was scorched. His shirt, shredded at the chest, revealed the now-faded glowing mark. Confused. Terrified. Alive.
He didn't know what it meant.
But something had changed.
Kael walked back to the village, unaware that this was only the beginning—that deep in the blood-soaked history of were
wolves, a prophecy had begun to stir.
And the blood of the forsaken had finally awakened.