Cling. The chains clattered against the stone floor, their cold echo filling the room. Sunlight crept in through a narrow window, casting an unwelcome light on my face as I stirred. I was back in human form, but the pain was everywhere—sharp, burning, gnawing at my muscles. My wrists and ankles were still bound, the heavy chains leaving deep marks in my skin.
The door creaked open. Two silent figures entered, draped in white togas with their faces concealed beneath hoods. Silently, they approached and began unlocking the chains, the metal falling away from my limbs. My body ached as I shifted, the pain relentless, despite the relief of being unshackled.
"Fuck," I cursed, the pain surging through every muscle as the shackles were removed. My body reacted on instinct, and before I could stop myself, my fist connected with the head of one of the servants. The sickening sound of their body hitting the wall echoed through the chamber.
"Do your job properly, or I'll rip your heads off," I snarled, my voice low and laced with venom. The agony was unbearable. Every nerve felt like it was on fire, the cursed pain searing through me, relentless and unforgiving. This curse—this torment—it was driving me to the edge.
The servant I had knocked against the wall slowly regained their footing, steadying itself before returning to help me rise. My legs trembled beneath me, barely able to hold my weight, as I was carefully guided toward the bath. Each step sent a fresh jolt of pain through my body, but I clenched my jaw, refusing to falter.
I eased into the warm water, feeling it lap against my sore muscles. Though it provided some relief, the deep ache remained, stubborn and unyielding. Fatigue weighed heavily on me, and I closed my eyes for a brief moment, allowing the exhaustion to settle over me like a shroud. The servants moved quietly, pouring water over me, its surface shimmering with silver petals.
*****
The heavy doors groaned as I pushed them open. My body still ached from the chains, but I forced myself to walk into the throne room. The vast chamber was dimly lit. At the far end, my father sat on his throne, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders, his beard framing his face.
To his right stood my uncle, Claus, with his expression unreadable, and next to him, my cousin Luna, cold and distant. On the left side of the hall, near the towering stone columns, was Kaleko, my other uncle. I moved to stand beside him.
But it wasn't just us. Kneeling at the center of the room, on the cold marble floor, was Artem. Blood streaked his skin and soaked through his clothes, forming a dark pool beneath him. His head hung low, breath labored and uneven. The sight of him told me everything I needed to know—he had failed. My father could have sent me, but instead, he chose this weakling.
The stillness in the room was shattered by my father's voice, low but laced with an unmistakable threat. "You had a simple task," he said, each word deliberate.
I glanced at Artem again, his broken figure a jarring contrast to the pristine elegance of the hall. The fear radiating from him was palpable. If only my father had sent me, the mission would have been a success.
"You were given one straightforward task, Artem," my father repeated, his tone cold, echoing through the room. "Eliminate every witch and warlock in Zires. And yet, some remain."
Artem trembled, bloodied and broken as he knelt before the throne, his voice barely a whisper. "The covenant from Zurks arrived, Your Majesty… we had no choice. Sillus was there."
The name sent a ripple of murmurs through the room. Even Claus shifted, a look of unease passing between him and my father. Sillus—our old enemy.
My father rose from his throne slowly,he looks calm but I can feel danger radiating from him. "Then we must deal with the Zurks once and for all. They've interfered for too long."
"The prophecy must not be fulfilled. The Gods of the Unknown must never reincarnate. Their return would spell our end.", Kaleko said looking at my father.
My father's eyes gleamed cold and deadly. "Exactly. If the children of Zires are allowed to grow, they will become vessels for the gods. We must wipe out every one of them before the covenant can protect them. And if Sillus is guarding them... we'll make sure he falls with them."
"We will burn Zires to the ground," my father declared. "And the Zurks covenant with it. Leave no survivors. Make sure the Gods of the Unknown are erased before they can ever be reborn."
Artem remained silent, knowing his fate was sealed, his failure now an afterthought in the face of the carnage to come.
*****
As I approached the training grounds, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs echoed in the distance. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and dirt, mingling with the salt of the sea. Werewolves in their full forms were sparring, their growls and snarls filling the air as they clashed, muscles rippling under fur as they tested their strength against one another but I wasn't here for them.
I scanned the grounds, my gaze flicking between the groups of fighters, until I saw her. Isha. She stood in the middle of the older werewolves, in her human form, her body moving in swift as she struck and dodged. Her dark hair clung to her skin, damp with sweat, and I could catch the sharp scent of her sweat. It reminded me of why I hated her.
We were once close with Lex, the one who betrayed me. The three of us had been inseparable once, bound by a friendship that felt unbreakable. Yet here we were, and my father had chosen her—her—to be my bride, despite everything. The thought twisted in my gut.
But there was one thing that gave me solace, one reason I could tolerate her presence. Isha would never betray me. The pact we made as children, a blood vow under the moon, still bound us. I knew she was loyal, bound to me in a way Lex never was. And for that, I could rest easy—at least with her, I wouldn't have to watch my back.
Regret, however, still lingered. I should have made a pact with Lex. If I had, maybe he wouldn't have turned on me. Maybe things would have been different. But it was too late for that now. Lex was dead, and that betrayal died with him.
I shifted my stance, arms crossed as I watched Isha move, feeling the weight of the past hang over us both. She wouldn't stab me in the back, but the scars Lex left behind still stung, a reminder of what happens when trust is broken.
As I stepped closer to the training grounds, a knight approached, his armor clinking softly with each step. He halted before me, bowing his head in respect. "My lord," he greeted. Instantly, the training stopped. The werewolves, still in their full forms, turned to me, their eyes lowering in submission. One by one, they bowed their heads. All except Isha.
This whore….
She stood tall, her chest rising and falling from the effort of her training, but she did not bow. Her pack's importance to my father was the only reason she and her kin still breathed. I could see the subtle defiance in her stance—small, but unmistakable. My jaw clenched as our eyes met, but I masked my irritation. Without a word, I lifted my hand, signaling the other werewolves to move to the edges of the grounds. They obeyed instantly, stepping back to clear space between us. It was obvious what was coming next.
I need to teach this whore some lesson, "Isha," I called out, "I will spar with you."
"Let me guess, you want to teach me a lesson, show me who's in charge," she said, her tone mocking as if she could read my thoughts.
I narrowed my eyes but said nothing, watching her closely. She wiped the sweat from her brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she stepped forward, closing the distance between us.
"Did you know," she began, positioning herself for the fight, "in ancient times, there were no royal bloodlines among werewolves? Only Alphas, each leading their own pack. No kings, no queens."
I circled her, my eyes never leaving hers. "Yes, and that's why they were so weak," I replied. "That's why the witches and warlocks were able to conquer them so easily. Werewolves were scattered, disorganized, fighting among themselves. They should be grateful that a Lunar Caustic—one of the chosen warriors of the Gods—rose up and united them. Without that, they'd still be groveling at the feet of their enemies."
Her smirk widened, and the sight of it made my blood boil. That faint curve of her lips, the look of quiet challenge in her eyes—it infuriated me. She wasn't just defying me; she was mocking the very foundation of what had saved our kind. Grateful, are we?" she said, the words laced with sarcasm. "Some of us don't believe in bending the knee so easily.
I stepped closer, my muscles tensing. "You think this is a game, Isha?" I hissed, barely keeping my anger in check. "The gods chose the Lunar Caustic for a reason, and it's because without order, without someone to lead, werewolves are nothing."
Her eyes gleamed with something I couldn't place—confidence, or maybe something darker. "Or maybe," she said softly, "werewolves were meant to be something more. Something greater. Without needing a crown to lead them."
That smirk again.
I would wipe it off her face soon enough.
I lunged first, throwing a punch aimed straight for her midsection. She sidestepped, avoiding the blow. In one seamless motion, she countered, her fist aimed at my ribs. I barely managed to deflect it, but the force of the impact still reverberated through me. The frustration gnawed at me—she matched my speed too easily.
"You're good," I admitted grudgingly, my breath ragged as we circled each other, eyes locked. "But don't get too comfortable. You're lucky I'm not in my silver wolf form. If I were, you'd be dead by now."
Isha smirked. "Luck has nothing to do with it," she said, her voice calm.
With that, she charged at me, her fists flying in a flurry of strikes. I ducked and weaved, parrying her blows, but I felt the sting of her punches landing more often than I liked. Every punch, every kick, was aimed to test my defenses, and I found myself working harder to keep up.
Fuck…fuck…fuck… I will fucking kill this bitch.
I retaliated with a sweeping kick aimed at her legs, but she leaped over it, spinning in mid-air. As she landed, she immediately launched into a series of rapid jabs. I blocked one, then another, but I could feel my resolve wavering.
The sound of fists connecting echoed around us, and I began to push back, harnessing my strength. I caught her wrist mid-punch and twisted, aiming to bring her down, but she used her momentum to flip over me, landing behind me with a soft thud. I turned quickly, but she was already poised for another strike.
I was not just fighting her; I was battling the frustration of being matched by someone I deemed an inferior. Each time she landed a hit, the anger inside me flared.
I'm gonna kill you. Rip those head and parade it.
"You're strong," I grunted, blocking another punch, my arms straining against her force. "But don't forget your place. You're still just a lower kind."
Isha's expression hardened, the playful smirk fading. "And you're just a boy who thinks his title makes him invincible."
Fueled by that, I launched myself forward, delivering a powerful uppercut that sent her staggering back. But she regained her footing quickly.
"I'm not done yet," she said, showing me an eyes that's want to kill. Yes, give me that looks. That looks that wanted to kill.
I charged again, but this time, I used feints to mislead her. With a sudden twist, I aimed for her legs, hoping to knock her off balance. She ducked low, rolling to the side and coming up with a powerful roundhouse kick aimed at my head.
I barely managed to block it with my arm, but the force behind her kick sent me stumbling. I could feel the sting of her strike radiating through my body. I cursed under my breath, frustration boiling over.
"Keep this up, and I might just reconsider my thoughts on your ability," I said, gritting my teeth.
"You'll have to do better than that," she shot back, her voice steady as she squared her shoulders, ready for my next move.
As we resumed our standoff, I realized I had to change my strategy. I couldn't rely solely on brute force; I needed to out-think her. Just as I prepared to launch into another attack, the sharp sound of footsteps interrupted us.
"Enough!"
Uncle Claus strode into the training ground. Isha, ever the obedient pupil, bowed her head in respect. The sight of her submission twisted something deep inside me. Why was she so willing to show deference to him, a man who had never trained me?
I stepped back, muscles still coiled from the fight, anger simmering beneath the surface. Claus had trained her, but he had never deemed me worthy of his time. The injustice of it gnawed at me as I tried to suppress my frustration.
"Claus," I said, my tone sharp, "we were in the middle of friendly sparring."
He turned to me, his expression unreadable. "Training has its limits. You both need to focus on more than just brute strength."
I took a deep breath, trying to steady the storm brewing inside me. "Fine," I said, my voice laced with reluctant acceptance. "I'll let her have her training."
As I turned to leave the training ground, I could feel Isha's gaze on me—it's infuriating. I clenched my fists at my sides, a mix of anger and resentment swirling within me.
Why does she get to train with Claus while I'm left to figure everything out on my own?
I shook my head, brushing away the frustration that threatened to consume me. This is just a sparring session. I can't let my emotions get the better of me. I need to focus on my own training, my own path and how to end the curse.
Yet, even as I tried to rationalize it, I couldn't help but feel the sting of betrayal. Claus is supposed to guide me, to teach me, not play favorites. I should be the one on the ground, pushing myself against someone who matches my strength, not her.
With each step away from the training ground, I felt the weight of the world pressing down on me. I deserve more. I won't be overshadowed by Isha—or anyone else.