The night had a strange weight to it—dense, almost expectant—as though the Evergreen Forest itself was holding its breath.
After everything Merlin had told her about the legends, Lucy felt the world she knew slipping further from her grasp. She had grown up hearing whispers about the forest gods, the tribal clans, the curses sealed in blood centuries ago… but they were stories. Shadows meant to scare children indoors after sundown.
Now those shadows felt real.
Too real.
Merlin had been pacing near the fence line, squinting toward the dark outline of the forest. The way his posture stiffened made Lucy's nerves tighten.
"Do you hear that?" he murmured, eyes narrowing.
Lucy held her breath. Wind brushed across the tall grass. A faint rustling. Then… footsteps.
Not animal footsteps.
Human.
Someone was moving through the trees—not stealthily enough to be a hunter, not loudly enough to be drunk or lost. Purposeful. Measured. Almost… predatory.
Merlin moved first.
"Stay here," he ordered quietly, shifting his weight like a trained soldier, hand sliding automatically to the knife strapped at his hip.
"Merlin, be careful," Lucy said, heart pounding.
He gave her a quick nod and ran into the shadows.
Lucy stayed by the porch, clutching her grandmother's shawl around her shoulders. Her breath formed faint clouds in the cold air. She strained to hear anything—movement, voices, the familiar crack of Merlin's boots on branches—but silence swallowed the garden whole.
Her chest tightened.
Something was wrong.
A thud cracked through the quiet—a low, heavy impact, followed by a muffled grunt.
Lucy gasped. "Merlin!"
She ran, fear gripping her throat, ignoring the way her legs trembled. The moon hung low over the treetops, pale and fat, lighting her path with a cold luminance. When she found Merlin, he was locked in a struggle with a man—no, not a man exactly. He was dressed in tattered tribal clothing, paint smeared across his face, eyes wild like an animal cornered.
The stranger lunged at Merlin again, but Merlin anticipated the move and pivoted, using the man's momentum to flip him on the ground. The tribal let out a hiss—an actual hiss—as Merlin pinned his wrists and held him down with professional precision.
"Who are you?" Merlin demanded.
The man thrashed weakly. Lucy's footsteps made him turn sharply, and the moment his gaze landed on her, something changed.
His eyes widened.
Shock spread across his face like a crack in porcelain.
"You—" he breathed, voice trembling. "You… you…!"
Lucy froze. "Me?"
The man looked horrified, not angry—not even threatened. Just… terrified.
Before she could step closer, the tribal man's body gave a violent jerk, and his eyes rolled back. He collapsed unconscious, chest rising in rapid, shallow breaths.
Merlin exhaled sharply. "Damn it."
Lucy knelt beside them, hands trembling slightly. "Why did he react like that? He looked at me like he'd seen a ghost…"
Merlin shook his head. "I don't know. But I need to take him in. He attacked me for a reason. Someone sent him. And he didn't want me to see him out here."
He lifted the unconscious man with practiced strength, throwing him over his shoulder.
Lucy followed him back to the house. "Shouldn't we—shouldn't we tell the authorities?"
"I am the authorities," Merlin said with a small, tired smirk. "Partially, at least. I'll handle this. You stay inside."
"What about you?" she asked, suddenly uneasy.
"I'll take him to a secure outpost for questioning. Then I'll come back."
Lucy nodded, though her stomach twisted.
When Merlin left, the house suddenly felt enormous and empty. The walls seemed to breathe with her, expanding and shrinking. The silence pressed against her ears, louder than any storm or scream.
She folded her arms and paced the living room. She checked the windows twice, then thrice. She tried to sit, but her thoughts were restless. Images of the tribal man's eyes—wide, terrified—kept replaying in her mind.
"You…"
"You, you…"
Why her? Why that reaction? What did he see when he looked at her?
Hours passed with agonizing slowness until exhaustion finally pulled her under. She lay on the couch, not even bothering to change, and drifted into an uneasy sleep.
The Howl
It was a sound unlike anything she had ever heard.
Not a dog. Not a wolf either. Deeper. Older. A howl that echoed through the walls, vibrating the windows, crawling under her skin.
Lucy bolted upright.
For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming—the world felt warped at the edges. But then she heard it again.
A chorus of howls.
Wolves.
Dozens of them.
She stumbled to the window and froze.
Her house was surrounded.
Wolves—large, grey, black, white—ringed the entire property, pacing in a perfect circle. Their eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and their fur seemed to ripple with an unnatural silvery sheen.
Lucy's breath hitched.
"What… what is this?"
Her heart hammered with a fear she couldn't contain. She backed away from the window, but the pull to look again was too strong. Her fingers trembled as she pushed the curtain aside.
And then she saw him.
In the center of the wolves stood an enormous silver wolf—massive, easily twice the size of the others. Its fur shone like frost under moonlight, and its eyes glowed an unnatural blue.
On its back sat a man.
Lucy's breath stopped.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, his long white hair spilling like liquid snow down his back. His clothing was dark, almost ceremonial, and his expression was unreadable—cold, regal, otherworldly.
His beauty was alarming.
Wrong.
He slid off the wolf with slow, graceful movements and began walking toward the house.
Lucy felt rooted in place.
Her legs refused to move.
Her heartbeat drummed against her ribs painfully.
His presence was overwhelming—darker than night, brighter than moonlight, too ancient to belong to any human.
He lifted his face.
His eyes—deep blue, glowing—met hers through the glass.
Lucy's breath left her body.
She felt something twist inside her chest, a pull, as though invisible threads connected them.
She didn't understand it.
She didn't like it.
She couldn't look away.
The man stepped closer.
And closer.
Until only the thin sheet of glass separated them.
A strangely gentle expression flickered across his face—not kind, but almost… sorrowful. Like he was looking at someone he had waited for too long.
"Who… are you?" Lucy whispered, voice cracking.
His eyes softened for a fraction of a second.
Then everything changed.
His pupils narrowed.
His irises flared into a burning, violent red.
His jaw tightened—and two long, sharp fangs pushed past his lips.
His entire body shuddered, bones shifting under skin.
Lucy's terror surged.
He was transforming.
No—not fully. Not into a beast.
Something between.
Something that defied nature.
The wolves outside growled in unison, as though answering their master's call.
Lucy staggered backward, shaking, but the man reached to his side and pulled a small cloth from his belt.
His transformation halted.
Breathing hard, he raised a clawed finger and pierced the pad of it, drawing blood.
Lucy's stomach knotted.
With swift, practiced movements, he drew symbols on the cloth—lines, arcs, circles, all forming a pattern that seemed ancient, primal, wrong.
Then he pressed the bloody cloth onto the window frame.
Lucy felt a shock wave.
The room temperature dropped sharply. The glass trembled. The wolves fell silent as if holding their breath.
The blood-mark glowed faintly.
Lucy forced herself to look at it.
Five creatures were drawn in the symbol:
A lion with wings and a serpent for a tail
A two-faced eagle
A five-headed serpent
A minotaur
And at the center… a werewolf
Her heart thudded painfully.
The man outside watched her reaction, his expression unreadable. Something like longing. Something like regret. Something like hunger.
Lucy whispered, voice trembling, "What… do you want from me?"
His red eyes softened briefly to blue.
Then he turned away sharply, leaping onto the great silver wolf.
The pack howled again, but this time the sound felt like a message—a warning, a promise.
And then they vanished into the forest.
Leaving Lucy shaking, breathless, and very, very alone.