Matthew's POV
It has been over one month since I left Tirfothuinn.
With me, I carried my mother's letter, the note Deborah left behind, and the wolf fang necklace she returned.
These items weigh on me, like reminders of my responsibilities and the emotions left unresolved.
On the night of the full moon before we set out, I and my fellow werewolves in Conscientia finally experienced our first transformation—a searing agony.
Every bone in my body felt as if it were dislocating and rearranging, as though I were being torn apart and pieced back together. Every inch of muscle protested, screaming.
I gritted my teeth, and Deborah's image flooded my mind—her eyes, her every expression, all seared into my memory.
As I returned to camp, my mother's letter reminded me of my failures towards her, waves of guilt crashing over me, inescapable.
Though David kept urging me to let go, it felt as if a curse had bound me. I couldn't rid myself of thoughts of her or the regret lodged deep in my heart.
This uncontrollable feeling—other werewolves were experiencing it, too.
Since the breaking of the seal, it was as if something fundamental had changed in the minds and behaviors of our kind, every emotion magnified.
Since the seal was broken, I have struggled to control my emotions.
What once was trivial anger now burned through me like wildfire, consuming my sense of reason.
A few nights ago, around the campfire, John casually mentioned that his wife was waiting for him back in Tirfothuinn—a small remark that, on any other day, would have passed unnoticed. But that night, rage flared in me so intensely that my fists clenched, and I nearly wanted to hit him. Only after several deep breaths could I rein in the impulse, though the struggle left me almost overwhelmed by the sudden fury.
Then there was jealousy.
Every time I saw Cora and David talking closely, trusting each other, a strange jealousy simmered in me, mingled with a hollow sense of exclusion.
A resentment began to creep in. If Deborah were still here, we would be speaking like that—perhaps even closer.
It felt like losing a piece of myself, a pain that cut deep.
Since the unsealing, the line between love and hate, joy and sorrow had become sharp and blurred; every feeling like a knife, carving into every corner of my heart.
Only now do I truly understand that this is far harder than I'd ever imagined, even more agonizing than my first transformation.
As my emotions intensified, so did the changes in my body.
Our senses had become terrifyingly sharp.
The faintest touch of the wind, the subtle rustle in the grass, even a single wave of emotion in the air—we could feel it all. That night on patrol outside the camp, I heard the barely audible breaths of birds and beasts in the woods, and the sound of a single heavy footstep sent me into a state of readiness, muscles tensed, breathing quickened, my body like a taut bowstring, ready to release at any moment.
Our sense of smell had become equally heightened; each breath allowed us to pick apart the mixture of scents in the air, a new strength both fascinating and unsettling.
A faint shift in the wind, and I could discern friend from foe, even sensing their emotions from scent alone.
Our sight, smell, and hearing—and even the silent communication between us—had sharpened, elevating us beyond the limits of human experience. This newfound strength brought a new perspective and a deep sense of responsibility.
My mother's letter spoke of my destiny as the White Wolf, the Alpha, a role not merely carrying personal burdens but the fate of the entire werewolf clan.
Since the moment I transformed into the White Wolf, the weight of countless responsibilities has been added to my heart.
Every breath, every choice seemed to carry with it the promise I made to our people.
This intangible duty felt like a flood, pushing me toward an unknown depth.
The people of Tirfothuinn welcomed us unconditionally; their kindness and trust became the strength that kept me moving forward.
I couldn't betray their hopes, nor could I let the people of Murias face future battles alone.
To search for werewolves scattered across other underground cities, I brought along John, Alex, Jac, and Jim—companions like me, born of pure-blooded werewolf parents.
The bond between us needed no words.
Compared to half-bloods, our strength was greater, and our sense of duty ran deeper.
This mission is fraught with unknown dangers, yet each of us holds a fierce determination in our eyes. We fight not only for ourselves but for freedom and a future for all our kin.
During the journey, we discovered an unexpected ability—we no longer needed to wait for a full moon. With strong enough emotion or the moon's reflection, we could shift at any time.
The freedom this granted was unparalleled, though not without inconvenience.
Whenever we returned to human form, our clothes were torn apart, leaving us exposed in the wilderness—a memory as awkward as it was unforgettable.
To prevent these mishaps, the people of Tirfothuinn had thoughtfully prepared ample clothing for us, especially extra undergarments, in case we needed to shift at a moment's notice.
They'd chosen durable fabrics that could be quickly put on—small gestures of care that provided great comfort.
For over one month, we pressed on without pause.
With every step, I felt the changes within me settle deeper.
Each time I gazed at the moonlit shadows, I reminded myself of the destiny I carried, a legacy granted by blood, and the unyielding hope of my clan.
Cora had once told me that Mark mentioned Deborah seemed to know something about other underground cities.
She had talked about Falshi's unique operation—how only when Enigma radiation combined with sunlight would this mineral release its energy, and only 1% of the generated energy stayed within the five cities for human use.
Mark had been surprised that Deborah knew such sensitive information; he even said she'd mentioned a place called "Falias," though he couldn't be certain.
These pieces of information kept turning over in my mind—Murias, Falias, 1% for the underground cities. Where had the other 99% gone?
John, Alex, Jac, Jim, and I discussed the possible location of this other city.
Based on my search with Deborah south of Murias, where we'd found Tirfothuinn, we decided to start heading north from Murias in hopes of finding signs of Falias.
The silence of the desert was unnerving, endless sands burying all signs of life; even mutated creatures left no trace.
Tirfothuinn's people had provided us with ample food and water, enabling us to cross this barren land.
Yet the desert's harsh emptiness brought an indescribable sense of oppression.
Suddenly, beneath the dunes, a dried corpse appeared.
It was a twisted figure, skin stretched taut over bones, its eyes sunken, mouth frozen in a grimace. The features were still distinct.
On closer inspection, I noticed that the skin hadn't fully dried, indicating the death wasn't long ago, though the arid air had quickly desiccated it.
Every corpse along the way bore marks of bleeding from the seven orifices, a clear sign of death by Enigma radiation.
Looking at these bodies, I felt overwhelming gratitude and sorrow for Mark.
Had he not uncovered Falshi's secret, Murias's inhabitants might have ended up like this—corpses scattered across the desert.
But now, he rests forever on that quiet field, unable to witness how his research saved lives.
The thought of it stirred a tide of loss and regret within me, nearly drowning me.
We decided to follow the trail of corpses; they seemed to point us in a certain direction.
With each body we encountered, my grief was gradually replaced by a powerful sense of purpose—to rescue the people trapped in other cities, to free our werewolf kin. This mission became my drive, the belief that kept me moving forward.
After a long journey, we finally approached what appeared to be the remains of an underground city.
Cracks marred the ground beneath us, hardened magma forming a thick crust with residual heat beneath.
It was clear that this area had seen violent tectonic activity, destroying the city.
Judging by the state of the bodies, the disaster seemed to have occurred less than one month ago.
We continued onward until we found an entrance, sealed by magma—a doorway that possibly led into the city.
The magma flow left by the eruption had completely blocked it. We carefully searched the area, hoping to find any survivors, particularly werewolves immune to Enigma radiation.
But only desiccated corpses remained, frozen in moments of anguish. There were no signs of life or of our kin.
Expanding our search, we hoped that werewolves, resilient against radiation, had managed to flee farther out.
As I wandered through the sand, I kept praying, hoping to find kin, hoping the werewolves here had survived.
After days of searching, we found nothing.
Just then, I spotted a familiar figure in the distance—Deborah.
And beside her…