"May the gods bless the faithful!"
As dusk settled over the city, the young monk offered a heartfelt blessing to the middle-aged couple at the door before turning to leave.
"May the gods bless the faithful!" the couple echoed, watching the monk depart. They closed the door, handing the sacred bread he'd given them to their nephew Adam and daughter Lina. "I'll start dinner," the woman said. "We've got some cured meat tonight."
"That's awesome, Aunt Maggie!" Adam's grin was infectious, lighting up the room and lifting everyone's spirits.
As his aunt and uncle busied themselves in the kitchen, Adam popped the sacred bread into his mouth, wincing at the burning sensation it left behind.
"I've got to find a way out of Sanctum," he muttered to himself, forcing down the rest of the bread despite the pain.
The sacred bread, baked by the monks of the Sanctum Church with holy water and wheat flour, was nothing special on its own. But the holy water, blessed by the church, carried a faint divine power said to ward off evil.
And Adam? He was exactly the kind of "evil" it was meant to purge.
His real name wasn't Adam Bokku, nor was it his former alias, Nesser Riggs. His true name belonged to another world entirely—a world he'd left behind thirteen years ago.
"Thirteen years in this place," Adam thought, a flicker of nostalgia crossing his mind.
He'd been an ordinary guy in his old life, until a freak accident—crashing his car into a mysterious black void—sent him hurtling into this world of divine magic, arcane spells, and strange creatures.
Unfortunately, he'd been reborn as one of those creatures: a werewolf, a species reviled by most human factions.
Werewolves weren't all that different from humans, save for a few key traits. On the night of a full moon, most transformed into feral, upright wolves, their minds clouded by bloodlust, hunting anything in their path. But Adam was one of the lucky few. He could control his transformations and keep his wits about him, resisting the urge to kill.
This was thanks to his unique heritage. Werewolves came in two varieties: purebreds, born to werewolf parents, and those turned through curses, infections, or magic. Adam was a half-purebred, his father a werewolf, which gave him just enough control to pass as human in Roya, a border city of Sanctum.
Sanctum was a theocratic nation, crawling with church monks. For reasons Adam didn't fully understand, every church in the land saw his kind as enemies. They had specialized teams dedicated to hunting down "abominations" like him. If the church caught him, he'd face a grim fate: burned at the stake, hanged, or locked away until death.
There was only one outcome for his kind in Sanctum—death.
That's why Adam's goal was clear: cross the Roya city walls and escape to the neighboring Lokken Kingdom.
For now, he lived with the Bokku family, posing as the nephew of the household's patriarch, Alis Bokku. In truth, he had no blood relation to them.
The real Adam had died at the hands of bandits—a naive boy who'd come to Roya seeking his uncle after his parents succumbed to illness. Adam had met the boy once, learning his story without even trying. The second time they crossed paths, the poor kid was a corpse, victim of a bandit's blade.
Witnessing it all, Adam saw an opportunity. He needed an identity. So he avenged the boy, silenced the bandits, and assumed his name, arriving in Roya as Adam Bokku.
"Big brother Adam!" a small voice called, snapping him out of his thoughts. A seven-year-old girl came bounding over, wrapping her arms around his legs and gazing up at him with sparkling eyes. "Did you finish your sacred bread?"
Lina Bokku, Alis's daughter and Adam's so-called little sister, had grown attached to him in just two weeks.
"All gone," Adam said with a chuckle, ruffling her hair into a messy tangle before neatly braiding it again. "Next time, I'll save some for you, okay?"
He didn't care for the tasteless bread—it burned going down—but he had to keep up appearances to avoid suspicion.
As Lina scampered off to her mother, proudly showing off her new braid, Adam turned and headed upstairs. From the second-floor window, he gazed out at Roya's twilight skyline.
"I need to get out of here. Soon."
---
The next morning, Adam hit the streets, hawking the Bokku family's homemade pickled flatbreads. He greeted neighbors with a practiced smile, blending in seamlessly.
The locals had warmed to him. They'd heard the story: Alis Bokku's nephew, orphaned by illness, had come to Roya for a fresh start. A few weeks ago, his face had been swollen from a venomous wasp sting, but now that it had healed, they couldn't help but notice what a handsome young man he was.
Adam sold his wares while subtly gathering information. His disguise was holding up. He didn't resemble the real Adam at all, and though Alis hadn't seen his nephew in years, he still had some memory of the boy. A complete stranger might've raised suspicions, so Adam had deliberately swollen his face to buy time. As the swelling faded over weeks, he'd built enough trust to erase any doubts.
While calling out to customers, he stole glances at a distant manor—his real target.
Sanctum and Lokken were at odds, their borders tightly controlled. Crossing Roya's fortified walls required noble connections, as many of the city's aristocrats dabbled in smuggling. For a commoner like Adam, earning a noble's trust was nearly impossible. Servants were typically born into their roles, their families serving the same lords for generations. An outsider, no matter how loyal, was rarely welcomed.
But Adam had a lead.
"Those bandits worked for Baron Mansla," he recalled, piecing together what he'd pried from their lips before silencing them. He memorized the manor's layout and moved on, still calling out his wares.
He had preparations to make. A young werewolf like him was no match for the city's nobles or the church's hunters—not yet.
Back at the Bokku house, Alis and Maggie were still out. The family wasn't wealthy, barely scraping by, especially with Adam's added strain.
"It's time," Adam thought, ruffling Lina's hair as she ran to greet him. To avoid suspicion, he'd kept a low profile, speaking little and working hard. But now, settled into his role, he could act—carefully—to ease the family's burdens without exposing himself.
"Using knowledge from my old world would stand out too much," he mused. "This place is different. Some of that stuff might not even work. And if it does, it could get me labeled a demon or a thief who stole noble secrets and land me on a pyre."
His eyes fell on a book in the modest home, its cover adorned with a simple painting.
"Maybe I could try being an artist."
In this world, painting was a respectable trade, especially for religious works. And as it happened, Adam knew a thing or two about that.