PROLOGUE:The Night The Chain Break
991 Words
*Prologue:
The Night The Chain Broke*
*Hyd, New York. Five years ago. October 31st. 11:59 PM. Full Blood Moon.*
Hyd wasn’t on most maps. You had to want to get lost to find it. One road in through the Catskills, trees so thick they swallowed headlights. Main Street was four blocks long: Dottie’s Diner with a flickering neon pie, a gas station that closed at 6, a sheriff’s office with one cell, and a church whose steeple had been struck by lightning in ‘87 and never fixed.
The houses were old. Paint peeled. Porches sagged. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone knew when you were bleeding.
*Michelle Williams* knew he was going to die tonight.
He was 17, 6’0”, skin the same deep brown as his sister’s. His locs were shorter then, tied back. He wore a black leather jacket that was too big — his dad’s — and a black chain around his neck. Not silver. Not gold. _Black_. The metal drank light. It was cold even in summer.
He ran.
Behind him: the woods. In front of him: the old quarry at the edge of town. The full blood moon turned everything red. The water in the quarry looked like blood. The trees looked like they were bleeding. The air smelled like copper, pine, and _fear_.
His lungs were on fire. His ankle was wrong — he’d landed bad jumping the fence. But he didn’t stop. Because if he stopped, _she_ died.
*Alexsander*, 14, was hidden in the storm drain under Main Street. He’d shoved her in there an hour ago. “Don’t come out. Don’t make a sound. Not until the sun’s up. Promise me, Lex.”
She’d promised.
The howl came from his left. Not a wolf. Not a dog. _Wrong_. Too deep. Too human.
*Jax Hollow* stepped out from the trees. 20 years old. Shaved head. Tattoo of broken chains on his neck. Shirtless despite the 38-degree night. His ribs showed. His eyes were amber, glowing, not reflecting moonlight but making their own. His canines were 3 inches long. Blood dripped from his chin. Not his.
“Michelle,” Jax said. His voice was gravel and glass. “You ran fast for a pup.”
Michelle didn’t answer. He backed up until his heels hit the edge of the quarry. 60-foot drop to black water.
“I don’t want to kill you,” Jax lied. “I just want the chain.”
The black chain. It pulsed against Michelle’s chest. Like a heartbeat. Like it _knew_.
“It’s not yours,” Michelle said. His voice shook. Not from fear. From rage. “It was my father’s. And his father’s. We’re _Wardens_, Hollow. We don’t give it to dogs like you.”
Jax laughed. The sound made crows explode from the trees. “Wardens? You’re children playing with gods. The chain doesn’t want a _boy_. It wants a _wolf_.”
He moved.
No human could see it. One second he was 20 feet away. The next, his claws were in Michelle’s stomach.
Michelle didn’t scream. He _roared_.
The sound wasn’t human. It wasn’t wolf. It was something older. The chain _burned_. White-hot. The black metal went translucent, and for one second, Jax reeled back, hissing.
That second was enough.
Michelle ripped the chain off. Blood poured from his stomach, black in the moonlight. He threw the chain — not at Jax, but _past_ him. Into the woods. Toward Main Street. Toward the storm drain.
“RUN, LEX!” he screamed.
Then Jax was on him.
Teeth. Claws. The sound of ribs breaking. The sound of a boy refusing to stop fighting even while he died.
60 feet away, in a concrete tube that smelled like mold and old water, *Alex* heard her brother scream her name. She was 14, all knees and elbows, wearing a too-big NYPD hoodie she’d stolen from a laundry line. Her hair was short then. Her fists were already scarred from punching the oak tree behind their house.
She didn’t run.
She crawled out of the drain.
Main Street was empty. Red. The blood moon made the cracked asphalt look like dried blood. The church steeple was a black knife against the sky.
And then something hit her chest.
The chain.
It was cold. Then hot. Then _inside her_. Not around her neck — _in her blood_. She fell to her knees on Main Street and _screamed_.
In the quarry, Jax heard it. He lifted his head from Michelle’s throat. Amber eyes went wide.
“No,” he whispered.
Michelle was dead. His eyes were open. His hand was still reaching toward Main Street. Toward his sister.
Jax stood. His chest was bare, covered in blood. He looked at the town. At the storm drain.
And he smiled.
“Hello, little Warden.”
*Hyd, New York. Present Day. September 8th. 12:01 AM.*
Sheriff Cal Dunne found the body at the quarry.
It wasn’t Michelle. Michelle’s body was never found.
This one was fresh. *Bobby Klein*, 18. Football captain. Throat torn out. Eyes missing.
Carved into the dirt next to him, in letters 2 feet tall:
_THE CHAIN IS AWAKE_
Cal Dunne threw up in the weeds. Then he called the one person he trusted.
“Ruth? It’s starting again.”
On the other end, *Elder Ruth Williams*, 60s, white locs, blind in one eye, sat in her kitchen in Hyd. A shotgun was on the table. A photo of Michelle and a 14-year-old Alex was in her hand.
She touched the black chain around her own neck — a smaller one, a copy.
“Then she’s in danger,” Ruth said. “My granddaughter. The chain chose her.”
120 miles south, in a dorm room at Hudson University, *Alexsander Williams* woke up choking.
Her black chain was ice cold.
And for the first time in 5 years, she heard her brother’s voice.
_“Run, Lex.”_
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*Prologue End.*
- Writer
