Chapter 4
1543 Words
The Hunt Begins
The sunrise painted the peaks of Mount Thorne in molten gold, but Seraphina felt none of its warmth. Her bones still trembled from the visions she’d seen in the Echo Pool. Dreams or memories? She couldn’t say. But one thing was clear—she’d seen herself as something more, something monstrous.
Elyrian stood at the edge of the cliff, his silhouette sharp against the sky. “Sleep well?”
She scoffed. “Does screaming in my sleep count?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re lucky. Some don’t even wake up after their first Echo.”
That didn’t comfort her.
“Come,” he said, tossing her a dark leather tunic stitched with wolf-hide. “We’re going hunting.”
She blinked. “Hunting? For what?”
“Not what,” he corrected. “Who.”
Before she could ask more, he turned and leapt off the cliff.
Her scream caught in her throat—until she saw him land on a lower ledge with inhuman grace. She stared down at the drop, heart pounding.
“You’ll need to trust your instincts,” his voice echoed up to her. “Jump.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr. Agile Wolf Man.”
But something inside her—something primal—urged her forward. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped.
The wind howled past her ears as the world blurred. But she didn’t fall—she soared. Her feet struck the stone ledge cleanly, knees bending into a perfect landing. She looked at her hands, then at Elyrian.
“You knew I could do that.”
“You needed to know you could.”
They traveled through dense forest, each footstep eerily silent. Elyrian moved like a phantom, barely disturbing the fallen leaves. Seraphina struggled to keep up, but gradually, she began to hear things she never noticed before—the flap of wings miles above, the thrum of deer hooves in the distance, the heartbeat of something watching them from the shadows.
“What are we hunting?” she whispered.
Elyrian’s lips tightened. “A rogue.”
She frowned. “Rogue?”
“A Varkai who’s broken the sacred bond. One who’s tasted innocent blood—and craves more.”
The forest darkened around them, and a scent—coppery, metallic, wrong—hit Seraphina’s nose. She froze.
“You smell that?”
He nodded. “Blood. Fresh.”
They reached a clearing, and there, beneath the hanging roots of a shattered tree, lay a man’s torn body. His eyes still open, locked in horror.
Seraphina’s stomach turned.
“Why... why do this?”
Elyrian knelt beside the corpse. “Because once a Varkai loses control, the beast inside doesn’t ask questions. It only feeds.”
Suddenly, a growl split the silence.
From the edge of the clearing, a shadow rose—tall, limber, with glowing amber eyes. Claws glinted in the morning light.
Elyrian stood and whispered, “Stay behind me.”
But the rogue lunged before he could finish.
The rogue Varkai came crashing through the undergrowth like a hurricane of claws and fury. Elyrian stepped forward to meet him, his own transformation swift and brutal—bones cracked, limbs stretched, and fur rippled down his spine in a blink. His snarling maw met the rogue’s lunge midair with a thunderous clash.
Seraphina stumbled back, eyes wide as the two beasts collided. They moved faster than her eyes could follow, a blur of fur and fangs, snarling and snapping. Trees cracked under the weight of their fight. Claws raked across Elyrian’s shoulder, but he barely flinched. His jaws closed around the rogue’s arm and flung him into a tree with a sickening crack.
Blood sprayed across the moss-covered ground. Seraphina gagged.
She backed away, her heart hammering, but then—another growl.
Behind her.
She spun, too slow.
The second rogue was smaller, leaner—but no less deadly. It pounced, and instinct kicked in. Seraphina ducked and rolled to the side, her breath sharp and ragged. Her hand landed on a rock—no, a dagger. Elyrian must have dropped it.
The rogue turned, lips curled into a feral grin. Seraphina’s pulse thundered as she gripped the weapon.
“Back off,” she warned, though her voice trembled.
The creature hissed, circling her. Its glowing eyes locked on hers—and suddenly, something shifted.
The world slowed.
She heard the rogue’s heartbeat, felt its rhythm match her own. Her grip tightened. The dagger in her hand felt alive—no, she felt alive. She wasn’t just prey.
She was a predator.
The rogue lunged. She sidestepped, slashing upward. The blade caught its shoulder. It howled in pain and staggered back. Seraphina pressed forward, surprised by the power behind her strikes.
She fought like she remembered. Like she’d done this before.
Elyrian crashed beside her, panting, his fur slick with blood—not his. The larger rogue lay still behind him, throat torn open. He took one look at her, then at the injured creature.
“You held your ground.”
“He tried to kill me.”
Elyrian nodded. “You’re waking up.”
The smaller rogue whimpered and tried to crawl away.
“Wait,” Seraphina said. “Don’t kill him. Not yet.”
Elyrian raised an eyebrow.
“He was hunting in a pack. They never do that unless…” she paused. “Unless they’re being led.”
Elyrian’s gaze darkened.
“A leader who breaks the old laws…” he whispered. “That would mean—”
“War,” Seraphina said.
A distant howl echoed through the trees—deep, long, commanding.
They both froze.
Elyrian met her gaze. “We need to move. Now.”
And they vanished into the forest, the first true hunt only just beginning.
The storm raged through the forest, chasing them deeper into the ancient woods. Branches snapped overhead, leaves whipped through the air like shrapnel, and the wind howled as if mourning the chaos yet to come.
Elyrian moved swiftly ahead, his heightened senses guiding them through hidden trails. Seraphina ran close behind, the pendant at her throat pulsing faster with every step—as though sensing something ahead. Something powerful. Something awakening.
“We’re not going back to the castle?” she called above the roar of the wind.
“No,” he said. “Ravaryn will draw more of them. We need to reach the Wyrmroot Cavern.”
Seraphina’s brow furrowed. “The what?”
“A place of memory. Of blood. Of answers.”
They pushed through brambles that tore at Seraphina’s cloak and skin, emerging onto a narrow ridge overlooking a gaping fissure in the earth. The entrance to the cavern yawned like the mouth of a sleeping giant, jagged and veiled in shadows. Pale mist spilled from within.
Elyrian leapt down effortlessly. Seraphina followed, landing harder than she’d intended. The moment her boots touched the ground, a low hum vibrated through the rock, rising through her bones.
She staggered. “What is this place?”
He looked at her, solemn. “Where the first Varkai was born. And where the last may be unmade.”
The air inside was damp and cold. Glowing moss coated the walls, bathing everything in a sickly green light. Bones littered the ground—some human, others not. Seraphina stepped carefully, the metallic scent of old blood clinging to her nose.
At the center of the cavern stood a stone altar. Symbols carved deep into its surface pulsed faintly with the same energy as her pendant.
Elyrian’s voice softened. “Place it on the altar.”
Seraphina hesitated, then removed the pendant and laid it down. The moment it touched stone, a blast of wind shot through the cavern. The moss flared bright, revealing murals on the walls—images of battles between wolf and flame, of a woman with Seraphina’s eyes standing beside a silver-furred beast.
Memories surged through her mind. A woman’s scream. A baby wailing. A kiss in the moonlight. A betrayal sealed in blood.
Her knees buckled.
Elyrian caught her. “You saw it?”
She nodded slowly, eyes wide with tears. “My mother… she loved you.”
He looked away. “And she doomed us both.”
The altar pulsed once more—then cracked open.
Inside, wrapped in crimson cloth, was a blade. Ancient. Gleaming. With her name etched into the hilt.
“Destiny isn’t given,” Elyrian whispered. “It’s chosen.”
As the first light of dawn seeped through the broken arches of Ravaryn, Seraphina stood atop the east balcony, her pendant pulsing softly. Below, the earth whispered—a language she was just beginning to understand. Elyrian joined her, his presence quieter now, the beast within calmed.
“They will come again,” he said.
“I know,” she replied.
“But this time,” his gaze found hers, “you won’t be alone.”
The sky burned lavender and gold, a fleeting promise of peace.
Seraphina gripped her blade tighter. Whatever lay ahead—Forsaken, prophecy, or fate itself—she would face it.
Not as a child of fear.
But as the fire of a bloodline reborn.
- Writer
