The temple was silent now, save for the faint drip of rainwater seeping through the cracks above. Kieran stood amidst the fading remnants of the shadowy creatures, his breath heavy, his hands trembling from both exhaustion and exhilaration. The power coursing through him was unlike anything he had ever felt—a cold, unrelenting force that refused to be ignored.
The voice of the wolf—his wolf—resounded in his mind once more. "Not bad for a pathetic wretch left to rot. Perhaps there is potential in you after all."
Kieran sneered, running a hand through his damp hair. "You're awfully chatty for a beast. Can't you just let me enjoy the silence?"
"Oh, silence is overrated," the wolf replied with a chuckle that echoed like the rustle of dry leaves. "Besides, we are bonded now, little human. You don't get to ignore me. Not anymore."
Kieran clenched his jaw, refusing to give the creature the satisfaction of a response. He needed time to think, to make sense of everything that had happened. The betrayal. The bond. The power now burning cold and sharp inside him.
"Do you have a name?" Kieran finally asked, his voice low.
The wolf paused, as if surprised by the question. "A name? How quaint. But yes, I am Fenra. Though it has been centuries since anyone dared to speak it aloud."
"Fenra," Kieran repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like a curse. "What exactly are you, Fenra? You're no ordinary wolf."
The creature laughed, a deep, resonant sound that sent chills down Kieran's spine. "Ordinary? No, I suppose I am not. I was once a god, or something akin to it. Worshipped, feared, and hated. But the mortals grew bold, thinking they could chain me, bind my power to their will. Fools."
Kieran frowned, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "And now you're here. Bound to me instead."
"Don't flatter yourself," Fenra snapped, his voice laced with irritation. "This is no act of submission. You were dying, and I saw an opportunity—a means to free myself from the prison of time and stone. Our bond is... mutually beneficial. For now."
Kieran smirked faintly, though there was little humor in it. "Mutually beneficial, huh? And what happens when it's not?"
Fenra's voice softened, taking on a dangerous edge. "Then you'll wish you had bled out on that temple floor."
The warning hung heavy in the air, but Kieran refused to let fear take root. He had faced death, betrayal, and now the whispers of a godlike beast. Fear had no place here—not anymore.
He turned his gaze to the altar, the faintly glowing symbols still catching his attention. "You mentioned allies, weapons, knowledge. Where do I start?"
Fenra growled in approval. "Finally, a question worth answering. First, you must learn to wield the power I've given you. You've tasted it, but you've barely scratched the surface. The frost that flows through your veins is a fragment of my essence, and it will grow stronger with time—if you survive."
"And how do I survive?" Kieran asked, stepping closer to the altar.
"By hunting," Fenra said, his tone dark and eager. "The world is full of creatures both monstrous and human. They will come for you, whether out of fear, vengeance, or greed. You must strike first. Kill or be killed."
Kieran's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "That's simple enough."
As he reached out to touch the altar, a sudden jolt of energy shot through him, making him recoil. The glowing symbols flared brighter, and for a brief moment, Kieran felt a presence—something ancient and watching.
"Careful," Fenra warned. "The old gods left their mark here. They won't take kindly to you meddling in their domain."
Kieran withdrew his hand, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "Old gods? Are they like you?"
Fenra's laughter returned, colder this time. "No, little human. They are far worse. But don't worry—most of them are long dead, forgotten by the world. What remains are fragments, echoes of their former selves."
"Useful echoes?" Kieran asked, his mind already calculating.
"Perhaps," Fenra admitted. "If you're clever enough to bend them to your will. But be warned: the gods do not forgive easily. Their power comes with chains, just like mine."
Kieran considered this, his sharp mind already forming plans. If he was to rise above the ashes of his old life, he would need every advantage he could find. Chains or not, power was power.
As the night deepened, Kieran left the altar and ventured deeper into the temple ruins. The walls were lined with faded carvings, their meanings lost to time, but their presence felt significant. This place had been a sanctuary once, a home to something far greater than him.
"You're thinking too much," Fenra remarked, his voice breaking the silence.
"I prefer to think rather than rush blindly into death," Kieran retorted.
"Careful, boy," Fenra warned, though his tone carried a hint of amusement. "Arrogance is a sharp blade. Wield it poorly, and you'll cut yourself."
Kieran smirked. "I'll take my chances."
He stopped as the path ahead opened into a larger chamber. The air here was colder, heavier, and the faint hum of power was stronger. In the center of the room stood a pedestal, atop which rested a small, crystalline shard that pulsed with faint blue light.
"What is that?" Kieran asked, his gaze fixed on the shard.
"A fragment of the past," Fenra said, his voice unusually quiet. "Take it, if you dare. But know this: power always comes at a cost."
Kieran hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward. He wasn't the same boy who had been left to die in the rain. He was something more now. And he would take whatever he needed to ensure no one ever betrayed him again.
As his fingers closed around the shard, a surge of energy flooded through him, icy and relentless. Visions flashed before his eyes—battles, gods, and a world torn apart by fire and frost.
And through it all, Fenra's voice whispered in his mind: "Welcome to the beginning of your new life, little human. Let's see how far you're willing to go."
When the visions faded, Kieran stood alone in the chamber, the shard now embedded in his palm, glowing faintly beneath his skin.
The hunt had begun. And Kieran was ready to rise.