Varkai: Blood of the Last Howl

Chapter 3

The Crimson Eyes

The forest was still.

Too still.

Even the wind, which had howled like a beast in mourning the night before, had gone mute—like it, too, feared what stirred beneath the shadows. A heavy fog crawled between the trees, blanketing the earth in a ghostly gray as dawn tried to pierce through with reluctant light.

Seraphina stirred from her sleep inside the stone chamber. The makeshift cot beneath her was rough, but exhaustion had claimed her quickly after the ritual. Her dreams had been chaotic—flashes of fire, wolves running beneath a blood-red sky, and something far worse lurking just beyond her line of sight.

She sat up, heart pounding. That same word pulsed behind her eyes: Awakening.

Across the chamber, Elyrian was sharpening his claws on the edge of his sword—an ancient blade that shimmered with a pale green hue. Its hilt bore the crest of the old tribes: a wolf howling beneath a shattered moon.

“You felt it too,” she said, her voice dry from sleep.

He didn’t answer at first. His glowing eyes were fixed on the wall, as if he could see through it and into the heart of the forest.

“It’s not just the seal that responded to you,” he finally said. “Something... answered.”

Seraphina swallowed hard. “Answered?”

“There are powers that slumber until stirred by something—someone—familiar. Your presence... your blood... it’s like a call.”

She stood, the weight of her destiny settling heavier on her shoulders. “And whatever I called... it’s coming?”

“It already has,” he murmured.

Suddenly, a loud crack echoed from deep within the trees outside, followed by the screech of something unnatural—metallic, almost human, but far too broken. Elyrian snapped to his feet. In one fluid motion, he handed her a curved dagger etched with obsidian lines.

“Stay behind me.”

They ascended the stone steps and emerged into the forest clearing. The fog seemed thicker now, as though alive, curling around their legs, whispering secrets in tongues that made Seraphina’s skin crawl.

Then they saw it.

Not a beast, not a man—but something in-between. It crouched at the edge of the trees, eyes glowing crimson like two burning coals. Its flesh was patchy—fur and scale, bone and shadow. It smiled when it saw them, revealing a maw too wide and filled with too many teeth.

“You summoned me,” it crooned in a voice layered with echoes.

Seraphina’s grip on the dagger tightened. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did,” it grinned. “And now the game begins.”

The creature rose to its full height—seven feet or more—and stepped into the clearing with slow, deliberate strides. Its joints cracked like brittle branches, and its presence distorted the air, as if reality itself recoiled from it.

Elyrian stepped forward, sword raised, eyes glowing brighter. “You are not of the forest. What are you?”

The creature tilted its head, an unsettling gesture. “I am the first to wake... the first to remember the old blood. The first to feel her call.” It pointed a clawed finger at Seraphina.

She took a step back.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, heart thundering.

“Only to witness your rise, Bloodmarked,” it rasped. “The others will come soon. Some to worship. Some to destroy. I come to warn.”

“Warn?” Elyrian barked, his voice sharp.

“Yes... You’ve roused the remnants. The Elders. The Banished. The Veiled Clans. They know the seal has weakened. They know... the Last Howl draws near.”

Seraphina shook her head, struggling to piece the creature’s words together. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” it whispered. “The Varkai blood within you is old—older than this land. And it is thirsty. If you do not master it... it will master you.”

A gust of wind blew through the clearing, parting the fog briefly, and when it did—the creature was gone. No footsteps. No trace. Only silence.

Elyrian turned sharply, eyes scanning every direction. “That thing wasn’t a dream. It was a Fused.”

“A Fused?”

“Half-beast. Half-shadow. A spirit that latched onto flesh when the Veil thinned during the last Blood Eclipse. They were wiped out—or so we thought.”

Seraphina wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady her breath. “Why didn’t you tell me I was Varkai?”

Elyrian’s jaw tensed. “Because you weren’t supposed to be.”

They returned to the chamber before noon, and Elyrian summoned the Elders by fire sigil. One by one, figures cloaked in fur and feathers appeared inside the circle—each face worn with wisdom and suspicion. They listened as Elyrian explained the creature’s arrival, Seraphina’s reaction to the seal, and the words spoken by the Fused.

One of the Elders, a hunched woman with storm-colored eyes, stared long at Seraphina. “The prophecy was not wrong. The flame did not die—it was merely hidden. The girl is the key.”

“To what?” Seraphina asked.

The Elder’s lips curled into a grim line. “To everything. To the final war. To the rebirth... or the end.”

The chamber fell into a suffocating silence. Seraphina’s skin crawled under the scrutiny of the Elders. Their stares weren’t hostile—just... heavy, as though they saw something in her she couldn’t yet see in herself.

Elyrian moved to her side, standing between her and the circle of furred wisdom. “She’s not ready,” he said firmly. “Don’t weigh her down with riddles and doom.”

“She must be,” the hunched Elder replied. “The blood within her has already spoken. The moment she touched the seal, the Veil trembled. That is no coincidence.”

“What happens now?” Seraphina asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You train,” Elyrian said. “Starting tomorrow. At dawn.”

“To do what exactly? Grow fangs? Howl at the moon?” she asked, half-mocking, half-terrified.

Elyrian didn’t smile. “To survive. And to choose.”

“Choose?”

He nodded slowly. “What kind of Varkai you’ll be.”

The Elders faded one by one, returning to their distant sanctuaries. As their presence lifted, so did the weight in the air. Seraphina exhaled for the first time in minutes. Elyrian led her down a narrow path into the heart of the mountain—a place few ever walked.

Lit only by the flicker of blue-flame lanterns, they passed beneath ancient carvings and murals of wolves with wings, men with blood-red eyes, and a great dark beast that towered over mountains. They came to a heavy stone door covered in runes that pulsed at Seraphina’s presence.

“This,” Elyrian said as he placed his palm on the stone, “is the Chamber of Calling. Only Varkai of pure blood can enter.”

The door shuddered... then opened.

Inside, the walls gleamed with obsidian and iron, and in the center lay a shallow pool of silver liquid, glowing softly. Its surface shifted like it was breathing.

“Step in,” Elyrian instructed. “Let the Echoes of the Past reveal what was forgotten... and what’s been waiting.”

Seraphina hesitated, then stepped barefoot into the liquid. It was cold—then scalding—then strangely numb. Images burst behind her eyes. A forest on fire. A boy with crimson eyes and a familiar smirk. A woman screaming in childbirth. A man torn apart by claws... hers.

She screamed, falling to her knees in the pool.

Elyrian rushed in, catching her. “What did you see?”

Seraphina looked up, her eyes shimmering gold and red. “I saw the beginning... and the end.”

He froze. “Then the howl has begun.”