Luke's heart pounded as the weight of the figure's words settled over him like a suffocating fog. His legs trembled beneath him, though he couldn't tell if it was from fear or the strange energy coursing through his veins. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to run, but something deeper—something ancient—urged him to stay.
"What do you mean?" Luke finally forced the words out, his voice unsteady. "What ancient power?"
The hooded figure tilted his head, the faint light in the room casting deep shadows across his angular features. His golden eyes glowed with an intensity that seemed to pierce through Luke's very being.
"You are not like the others here," the figure began, his voice calm but resonating with authority. "They are products of their environment, their abilities awakened through training or by chance. But you…" He paused, as if searching for the right words. "You are born of something far older. Your blood carries a legacy that predates this institution, predates the tests, predates them."
Luke felt a chill crawl down his spine. He had always known he was different, but hearing it spoken aloud—hearing it framed as something so profound—was both validating and terrifying.
"But the tests said—"
"The tests are blind to what you are," the figure interrupted sharply, his tone laced with disdain. "They measure power that fits within their narrow understanding. They seek abilities like fire, speed, ice—tricks, parlor tricks compared to the true forces that shape this world." He leaned closer, and Luke could feel the sheer gravity of his presence. "What flows in your veins is not an ability. It is a birthright."
Luke's mouth felt dry. "What birthright? What are you talking about?"
The figure straightened, his gaze never wavering. "You carry the blood of the ancient clans, Luke. The blood of those who ruled the night and shaped the tides of history. Your power is both a gift and a curse."
The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive. Luke tried to process what he was hearing, but it felt impossible. "Clans? Night? What are you saying?"
The figure's lips curled into a faint smile, one that sent shivers down Luke's spine. "You are of both moon and shadow. The blood of werewolves and vampires runs through your veins."
Luke staggered back, his eyes wide with disbelief. "That's… that's insane. That's impossible."
"Is it?" the figure challenged, his voice calm but unyielding. "Have you never felt the pull of the moon, the way your senses sharpen under its light? Have you never felt the hunger, the craving for something you cannot name? You've felt it, haven't you, Luke? The part of you that doesn't belong to this world."
Luke's breath quickened as memories flooded his mind. The nights he couldn't sleep, staring at the full moon and feeling a restless energy he couldn't explain. The flashes of heightened senses, the way his vision sharpened in the dark, the way his heart raced at the scent of blood after a small cut. He had always dismissed it as his imagination, as something he couldn't quite understand.
"I… I thought I was just different," he said, his voice barely audible.
"You are," the figure replied. "But not in the way you think."
Luke's knees felt weak, and he sank onto a nearby chair, his head spinning. "If what you're saying is true… then why didn't anyone tell me? Why didn't I know?"
The figure's expression darkened. "Because they didn't want you to know. Those who brought you here, those who run this institution—they fear what you are. They fear what you could become. That is why they kept you in the dark. That is why the tests failed. They didn't fail by accident, Luke. They failed because they were designed to."
Luke's mind reeled. "But why? Why would they do that?"
"Because you are a threat," the figure said simply. "To them, to their order, to everything they stand for. They fear what they cannot control. And you, Luke, are beyond their control."
The words hit Luke like a sledgehammer. His whole life, he had felt like an outsider, like he didn't belong. And now, he was being told that not only was he different, but he was also feared—hunted, even.
"So what happens now?" he asked, his voice shaky. "What am I supposed to do?"
The figure stepped closer, placing a hand on Luke's shoulder. His touch was cold, but it carried a strange sense of reassurance. "You must awaken, Luke. Fully. The power within you is still dormant, buried beneath years of suppression and denial. But it is there, waiting. And when it awakens, you will finally understand who you are—and what you are meant to do."
Luke looked up at him, desperation in his eyes. "And what if I don't want this? What if I just want to be normal?"
The figure's gaze softened, just slightly. "Normal is an illusion, Luke. It is a lie we tell ourselves to feel safe. But you were never meant to be safe. You were meant to be extraordinary."
For a long moment, Luke didn't say anything. He just sat there, his mind racing with questions, fears, and possibilities.
Finally, he looked up at the figure, determination flickering in his eyes. "How do I awaken?"
The figure smiled, a slow, deliberate expression that sent chills through Luke. "That," he said, "is a journey only you can take. But know this: the path will not be easy. There will be pain, and there will be loss. But if you survive it, you will become something far greater than you can imagine."
Before Luke could respond, the door behind them creaked open. A soldier stepped inside, his face pale and his posture rigid. "Sir," he said, addressing the figure. "The council is ready for him."
The figure nodded, turning back to Luke. "Your journey begins now."
Luke stood slowly, his legs unsteady but his resolve hardening. He didn't know what lay ahead, but one thing was clear: his life would never be the same.