{IRIS}
I stirred from something wet and cold, my senses sluggish, my body heavy.
As my eyes fluttered open, the vast expanse of the night sky greeted me, rain falling in relentless sheets as if the heavens themselves had been waiting for my awakening.
Each droplet kissed my skin, washing away the remnants of something nameless, something terrible.
The earth beneath me was damp and hard, its chill seeping through my bones. I shuddered. Not from the cold—but from the creeping unease coiling around my heart.
What happened?
The question burned through my mind as I struggled to recall. Had I died?
Was this the afterlife?
But if it was, then why did it feel . . . so strange . . .
I inhaled sharply, and the scent of blood hit me like a slap. My gaze darted around. Carnage. Chaos.
The bodies of creatures—ones that had hunted me, clawed at me, devoured my flesh—were strewn across the battlefield, their twisted forms torn apart as if something even more monstrous had descended upon them.
Their lifeless eyes stared into the abyss, their dark blood mingling with the rain, soaking into the mud like ink spilling across parchment.
And then, I saw her.
The old hag.
Or rather, what was left of her.
Only her head remained, her expression frozen in a grotesque mixture of shock and fury. The rest of her body was nowhere to be found, lost to whatever had done this.
A wave of nausea surged through me. I lurched forward, retching, my body trembling as if still caught in the echoes of a nightmare. But I was awake. This was real.
I forced myself upright, wincing at the phantom pain of wounds that should have been there—but weren't. My hands roamed over my body, seeking the gashes, the torn flesh, the proof of my suffering.
Yet, instead, I found smooth skin. My wounds—gruesome, fatal—were gone. Vanished as if they had never been.
How?
A tremor ran through me. I barely managed to whisper, "W-what . . . what happened?"
"Now, this is a sight you don't see every day."
The voice was rich, deep, laced with a quiet amusement that sent a shiver through me. I stiffened. Slowly, I turned.
He stood at the edge of the forest, a tall, shadow-cloaked figure, his presence bleeding into the storm like something conjured from the darkness itself. His hood shielded his face, but I felt his gaze pierce through me, unseen yet inescapable.
He moved forward, his steps unhurried, the rain seeming to bend around him rather than touch him. And then, with a slow, almost taunting grace, he reached up and pulled back his hood.
I forgot how to breathe at the sight of his face.
His beauty was something unearthly, something sculpted by hands that had never known imperfection.
Pale as the moon, his features were sharp yet impossibly elegant, his dark hair slicked against his skin from the rain. But it was his eyes that unraveled me—silver, luminous, burning with an intensity that felt like they could untangle the very fabric of my soul.
My heart pounded.
Something about him was both terrifying and mesmerizing. Like a wolf stalking through the night—deadly, yet impossible to look away from.
"W-Who are you?" I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.
He tilted his head slightly, regarding me with an indifferent face. "Shouldn't you be asking yourself that?"
The words sent a ripple of unease through me. I swallowed hard, my throat dry despite the rain.
"A-Are you here to . . . eat me too?" The question tumbled from my lips before I could stop it, my mind still reeling from everything.
Then, almost without thinking, I turned my head to the side, baring my throat, offering surrender. "If so . . . just get it over with." I was too tired of it all.
He went utterly still.
The air between us grew taut, stretched too thin, like a violin string on the verge of snapping. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, he moved—so fast I barely registered it.
One moment he was several feet away; the next, he was before me, close enough that I could feel the ghost of his breath against my skin.
I gasped.
His gloved fingers brushed against my jaw, tilting my head back further, exposing more of my vulnerable throat.
But he did not strike, did not sink his teeth into my flesh. Instead, he hovered there, his breath teasing my skin, his presence drowning out the rest of the world.
He was sniffing me.
And I wasn't sure why.
"Are you . . . a werewolf?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rain.
His expression twisted into something between a sneer and a scoff. "Don't insult me." His voice dripped with disdain. "I am nothing like your kind."
The way he said it sent a chill down my spine. He looked at me then, truly looked, his silver gaze sweeping over me with a quiet intensity that made my pulse stutter.
Then, to my utter bewilderment, he leaned in—closer, impossibly close, his face mere inches from mine.
I held my breath.
His eyes darkened, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled deeply. My heart hammered as I realized what he was doing.
He was smelling me again.
His lashes fluttered briefly, something flickering behind those silver irises—something unreadable, something dangerous. Then, just as quickly as he had closed the distance, he drew back, his expression carefully blank.
But not before I saw it.
A hint of something on his lips.
A smile.
And that terrified me more than anything.