Mael collapsed to his knees, every bone in his body rebelling against itself. His spine cracked and arched, his fingers twisting grotesquely into claws. A guttural, beastly scream ripped from his throat, echoing through the jungle like a warning from something no longer human. The earth beneath him smoked where his palms hit it, the leaves curling and shriveling as a wave of heat burst outward. Pain roared through him—wild, ancient, and untamable.
The jungle grew still. The air turned thick, as if the very trees were holding their breath. Not a single bird called. Even the insects, once buzzing in the dark, had fallen into silence. All that remained was the sound of Mael's heavy breathing and the relentless pounding of his heart, each beat like a war drum in the middle of nowhere. His vision sharpened unnaturally—he could see in the dark now, and hear things no man should hear. Something deep inside him had changed… and it was not done.
Then came the voices. Low, slow chants that seemed to melt out of the darkness like smoke. Shapes moved through the trees—hooded figures, torches glowing with eerie blue fire. Their steps were calm, synchronized, like they had done this many times before. They didn't creep or stalk—they approached as if the jungle itself had invited them.
At the center of the group walked a girl. She was barefoot, stepping over roots and rocks without pause. Her long black hair trailed behind her like a veil, and the moonlight glinted off her golden eyes. There was something unnervingly quiet about her—something regal. Even the jungle seemed to part before her as if recognizing someone it could not harm. She was young, but the way she walked… she carried centuries in her posture.
Mael growled, lowering himself as if preparing to pounce. The beast within him—confused, agitated—twitched under his skin. His claws dug into the dirt, heart thudding harder as instincts fought for control. Yet despite the rage rising inside, something about the girl made him hesitate. She wasn't prey. She wasn't afraid.
She lifted her hand, and the robed figures stopped instantly. The jungle fell quieter still. Her voice was steady when she spoke—low, almost gentle. "You feel it, don't you? The hunger. The strength. The ache in your bones. It's not pain. It's becoming."
Mael's lips curled, a low growl rumbling in his throat. His muscles tensed, and for a moment, it looked like he might leap. "I don't know you," he hissed through his teeth. "And I don't want to."
"You should," she said. Her eyes didn't leave his. "Because I carry your name."
His breath caught. The words slid into him like a blade, freezing everything. For the first time, the beast inside him paused—curious. "What… did you say?"
The girl took a step closer. Her voice was still calm, still unwavering. "Mael, son of Kenan. Blood of the last Seer. Descendant of the Moonborn Line. You weren't meant to rot in that prison. You were meant to awaken."
The name Kenan struck him like lightning. Memories he had buried—or never understood—rose like mist. His father's haunted eyes. The strange symbols carved into the prison wall. The whispered warnings. "One day, the night will call you." He hadn't understood it then. He did now.
"What do you want from me?" Mael rasped, his voice thick and broken.
"To live," she replied. "To know what you are before the curse becomes your master. Right now, you're teetering between two worlds. Come with us… or be lost forever to the thing inside you."
The cloaked ones formed a circle. The torches blazed higher, and the ground seemed to breathe under their feet. Vines slithered quietly beneath the soil. The girl extended her hand—steady, not forceful. She didn't plead. She offered.
Mael stared at it. He didn't trust her. He didn't even trust himself. But the fire in his veins had begun to burn too hot. His mind was slipping. And somehow, this girl's presence brought… stillness. Not safety, but focus. A tether he hadn't realized he needed.
He reached out.
Her fingers were warm. And the moment they touched, the beast inside him stopped thrashing. The fire didn't die—but it bent. For the first time, it listened.
She didn't smile like someone who had won. She smiled like someone who had waited.
"We don't have much time," she said, turning back toward the trees. "The others will be looking for you."
Mael took one shaky step forward. "What others?"
She didn't answer.
Behind them, the jungle stirred—deep, slow, and dangerous. Something older than the curse had woken. Something that had been watching all along.
And it was hungry.