Varkai: Blood of the Last Howl

Chapter 7

The Voices Beneath the Earth

The stairs spiraled down for what felt like an eternity, each step echoing with a hollow thud that spoke of long-forgotten footsteps. The air grew colder as Tom descended, and the silver light from the pendant dimmed slightly, becoming more focused—like it knew the way and would allow only enough light to guide him through the shadows.

When he reached the base, the chamber before him opened wide like a cathedral buried in the bowels of the earth. Towering columns of blackstone soared toward an unseen ceiling, etched with the same glowing glyphs from the archway above. At the center, a great circular platform hovered above a chasm, connected by four narrow bridges—each leading in from different directions, as though other trials may have brought others here.

But the platform was not empty.

Ghostly figures stood motionless in a circle, cloaked in ethereal mist. Some looked like warriors; others, like scholars, elders, and children. Each wore the insignia of the Varkai—a mark of the ancient bloodline.

Tom stepped onto the bridge, heart thundering.

As he reached the platform, the ghosts turned their heads in unison. One stepped forward—a tall woman draped in tattered ceremonial armor, her spectral face calm but sharp with wisdom.

“You have reached the heart of your inheritance,” she said, her voice echoing in layers, as if spoken by many mouths. “But before the soul is awakened, the past must be remembered.”

The figures closed their eyes. The platform began to spin.

Flashes of memory not his own flooded Tom’s mind: a mighty wolf sprinting across snowy peaks… a pact sealed in blood under a blood-red moon… betrayal at the hands of kin… a dying cry as the last Varkai was hunted down.

The pain was unbearable.

Tom fell to his knees, clutching his head, screaming silently as visions tore through him. Yet amid the chaos, one voice rang clearer than the rest—his mother’s.

“The howl is not a call to war… it is a call to rise.”

The spinning stopped. The ghosts vanished.

Tom lay gasping on the stone, his pendant now embedded into his skin—no longer a separate object, but a part of him. The glyphs across the temple walls flared in response.

And then, from the darkness ahead, came a deep, distant howl.

But it wasn’t from him.

Someone—or something—was awakening too.

Tom sprang to his feet, heart hammering against his ribs. The howl echoed again—closer this time, deeper and more guttural, like the sound of a thousand wolves merged into one voice. It reverberated through the ancient stone, shaking dust from the ceiling and making the suspended platform tremble beneath his feet.

He wasn’t alone.

A shape emerged from the shadows beyond the columns—massive, lumbering, and shrouded in black mist. Red eyes pierced through the darkness, glowing like coals in the furnace of the abyss. It was a beast, but not like any Tom had seen. Its form shifted as it walked—sometimes wolf, sometimes man, sometimes something altogether inhuman. It bore the markings of the Varkai but twisted, corrupted.

“You’ve awakened the blood,” the creature rasped. “But do you even know what it means?”

Tom didn’t respond. The voice triggered a memory—distant and unclear—of his father standing beside a younger Tom, whispering stories of a traitor, a cursed bloodline, and a guardian who had failed.

The creature stopped a few feet from the platform. “You are his spawn,” it growled. “And I am the debt he left unpaid.”

Without warning, it lunged.

Tom reacted instinctively. His hands burst into light, and a translucent barrier formed between him and the beast’s claws. The impact flung him backward, but the shield held—barely. Power surged through his veins like lightning, raw and untrained.

The pendant embedded in his chest pulsed again, and the glyphs around the chamber flickered—responding to his fear, to his will.

“I’m not here to pay anyone’s debt,” Tom growled, struggling to his feet. “I’m here to take back what was stolen.”

The beast snarled and leapt again—but this time, Tom didn’t defend.

He moved.

Faster than he thought possible, he dashed to the side, a blur of motion. His body burned with energy, his eyes now glowing faintly with a silver hue. The blood of the Varkai had awakened, and it wasn’t just responding to danger—it was hungry for justice.

Tom raised his hand, and the very stones of the chamber trembled. A glyph-laced spear formed from the floor, leaping into his grasp.

He hurled it.

The spear struck the creature in the shoulder, pinning it to the wall with a roar that shook the chamber. Black smoke hissed from the wound.

But the beast only laughed.

“Then come, boy,” it growled. “Come and see what your blood is really worth.”

Tom stood still, his breath uneven and shallow. The beast writhed against the wall, smoke curling from its wounded shoulder as the spear pulsed with ancient power. The chamber seemed to quiet in reverence—though the air still hummed with unseen energy, as if the whole temple were waiting.

The creature’s red eyes narrowed, lips curling into a grin that was more madness than malice. “You fight like him,” it hissed, voice thick with venom. “But you bleed like the rest.”

Tom didn't move. His muscles screamed from the exertion, but he kept his stance firm. The name he refused to speak—the father whose legacy he had tried to outrun—was now becoming his only anchor. Was this what his father had fought against? Had he known that someday Tom would step into this place, hunted by creatures born of ancient betrayal?

The beast pulled against the spear, snarling as dark tendrils oozed from the wound. “This isn’t over, little Varkai. You’ve just scratched the surface.” And with a final jerk, the creature melted into shadow, dissolving into the mist until nothing remained but the echo of its last growl.

Silence returned.

Tom dropped to his knees.

He wasn’t sure if he had won or merely survived. His hands trembled, not just from fatigue, but from something deeper—a fear that this was only the beginning of a storm far greater than he was prepared for.

The chamber lights dimmed, the glyphs returning to their dormant state. The platform beneath him began to lower, slowly descending toward the hidden depths of the sanctuary. Tom looked up as the ceiling grew farther away, the moment of confrontation already beginning to feel like a dream.

But it wasn’t.

He had bled.

He had fought.

And now... he had been marked.

As the platform touched the ground floor below, another set of doors creaked open. Cool air spilled in, carrying the scent of pine and damp stone. A new corridor awaited—lit not by glyphs, but by lanterns that had been recently lit.

Someone was here.

Someone was watching.

Tom stood, straightened his shoulders, and stepped forward.

If the beast was right—if this was only the surface—then he would dig until he found the core. Until he uncovered the truth about the Varkai, his father, and the blood that now sang within his veins.

He wasn’t just a survivor anymore.

He was a legacy.

And the world would remember the howl of the last.