The night clung to Seren like a second skin, heavy and unrelenting. The forest loomed outside her window, its shadows restless under the pale light of the moon. Despite the warmth of the forge, an icy unease had settled deep in her bones.
She sat at the workbench, her tools scattered before her, though her hands lay still. The blade she had used against the wolf rested there too, its edge nicked and dull from the fight. Her eyes drifted to it often, her thoughts spiraling into fragments she couldn't piece together.
The scratch on her arm pulsed beneath the bandage, a steady thrum that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat. She'd tried to dismiss it as nothing more than a wound, but her body told a different story. Her hearing was sharper, picking up sounds from beyond the forge. The scent of iron in the air was overwhelming, almost suffocating.
And then there was the dream—or whatever it had been. The forest, the voice, the feeling of something ancient staring back at her from the darkness.
"You can't run from what you are."
The words echoed in her mind, refusing to fade.
A knock at the door startled her, the sound cutting through the stillness like a blade. She stood, her movements tense, and grabbed the knife she'd been sharpening.
"Who's there?" she called.
"It's me," came the familiar, gruff voice of Ferris.
Seren sighed in relief and opened the door. Ferris stood there, his face as stern as ever, though his eyes carried a hint of worry.
"You've been quiet all evening," he said, stepping inside. "Thought I'd make sure you hadn't dropped dead."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Ferris."
His gaze dropped to her arm, and his frown deepened. "That doesn't look fine."
"It's nothing," Seren lied. "Just a scratch."
"Don't play me for a fool, girl. I've seen scratches, and I've seen what happens when they fester." He gestured to the chair beside the hearth. "Sit."
Reluctantly, she obeyed, letting him unwrap the makeshift bandage. The wound was worse than she'd thought—red and inflamed, with faint, dark tendrils spreading outward like roots beneath her skin.
Ferris cursed under his breath. "Damn wolves. This isn't normal."
"What do you mean?" Seren asked, her pulse quickening.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of clear liquid from the shelf and poured it over the wound. The sting was immediate, sharp enough to make her gasp.
"Ferris—"
"You've been marked," he said grimly, cutting her off.
The words sent a chill down her spine. "Marked?"
"Wolves don't scratch like this unless they mean to," he said. "It's a claim—a sign they're watching you."
"I didn't do anything to them," she protested.
"Doesn't matter. You stepped into their world, and now they've got their eyes on you." He leaned back, his expression dark. "You need to stay away from them, Seren. Don't give them a reason to come after you again."
She wanted to argue, to push back against his cryptic warning, but the words caught in her throat. The wound throbbed, the heat spreading up her arm and into her chest.
Ferris must have noticed her discomfort. "Rest," he said. "I'll take the early shift tomorrow. You need time to heal."
Seren nodded, too exhausted to fight him. As he left, she glanced at her reflection in the window. Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed with fatigue.
But there was something else—something she couldn't quite place.
Her reflection blinked, just a fraction of a second too late.
---
The dream returned that night, vivid and suffocating.
She stood in the forest, the trees towering above her like silent sentinels. The moon hung low in the sky, impossibly large, its light bathing everything in a silvery glow.
A figure stepped out of the shadows, their form indistinct but undeniably powerful. Their voice was the same as before, low and resonant, filling the air like a song.
"You've taken your first step, Seren Blake."
She tried to speak, to demand answers, but her voice failed her.
The figure tilted their head, as if studying her. "You fear what you don't understand. But the truth will find you, no matter how far you run."
"What truth?" she finally managed to ask.
They didn't answer. Instead, they raised a hand, and the world shifted.
Seren gasped as pain tore through her body. Her skin burned, her bones ached, and her heartbeat roared in her ears. She fell to her knees, clutching her chest as the transformation began.
When she woke, drenched in sweat, the pain lingered. She pulled back her sleeve, and her breath hitched. The wound was gone, replaced by a faint scar that gleamed silver in the moonlight streaming through her window.
And for the first time, she could hear it—the dis
tant howling of wolves.
Only, it didn't feel distant at all.
It felt like a call.