James, like the good boy he was, climbed up to the top bunk. The moment his back touched the mattress, his body just—plopped into it.
He had expected the bed to be hard. From everything he'd seen so far, that just felt… on brand. Rough life, rough people, rough everything.
But no.
The bed was soft.
Really soft.
He could feel the feathers inside shift under his weight, molding slightly to his body. It wasn't luxury, not in the modern sense—but it was made well. Made by them, for them.
Practical comfort.
His body sank just enough to relax his muscles, tension bleeding out of him without permission.
Then—
A faint sensation.
Something… nearby.
His senses brushed against it instinctively. A talisman.
Subtle.
Quiet.
He couldn't tell exactly what it did—maybe something to ease sleep, maybe something that triggered if danger approached.
He didn't know.
He wasn't there yet.
He'd just learned magic was even a thing.
His eyelids grew heavy.
"Stupid Caius…" Mira's voice drifted in from outside, annoyed as hell.
She had, in fact, put the bed back.
She had, in fact, fixed the roof.
She was, in fact—still complaining.
"Stupid…" she muttered again, not really angry… just irritated.
"Shut up and do your work."
"The hell did you just say to me, you bitch?"
Talia stuck her tongue out.
"I didn't tell you to throw the bed. So do your work."
Mira looked like she was this close to throwing hands again.
"And please clean my clothing afterward,"
Talia added lazily. "I'm too tired to do it."
"I am not your fucking maid—"
"Mira, just do it," Caius said flatly from his bed. "You are already outside."
Mira turned, visibly annoyed.
"Since when was I the goddamn maid here?"
Talia just looked giddy.
Caius didn't even look at them.
He simply pointed at the wall.
A board.
Chore rotation.
Clear as day.
"You are on duty this week. Just do it."
Mira gritted her teeth.
"Yeah, do your job," Talia added helpfully.
Mira's eye twitched.
Meanwhile, Talia—who looked roughly seventeen or eighteen—was already passed out like a baby.
James blinked slowly.
Yeah… okay.
They were definitely young.
At least by werewolf standards.
His brain tried to rationalize it.
If they live for hundreds of years…
Then what? Seventy is like… fifteen?
What even is the age of consent in a world like this…?
Yeah.
Nope.
Brain shutting that thought down immediately.
Before he could spiral any further—
Sleep took him.
His wolf instinct had already made the call.
Safe enough.
Surrounded by his own kind.
No immediate threats.
System powering down.
—
Darkness.
Pure.
Endless.
Then—
Light.
—
He opened his eyes.
And he wasn't in the cabin anymore.
He stood barefoot on soft grass.
Lush.
Vibrant.
Alive.
The world around him stretched into something unreal—yet too real at the same time.
A forest.
No—
More than that.
It was like the Amazon rainforest had been fused with the idea of paradise itself.
Towering trees arched overhead, their canopies thick with leaves that shimmered in shades of emerald and gold. Sunlight filtered through in soft beams, scattering across the ground like liquid light.
The air—
God, the air.
It was fresh in a way that felt impossible. Every breath filled his lungs with something clean, something pure, something that made his entire body feel lighter.
Fruits hung from branches—ripe, colorful, almost glowing with life. Vines curled naturally around tree trunks, flowers blooming in bursts of color that felt almost deliberate.
Birds flew overhead.
Dozens of them.
Their wings cutting through the sky, their songs layering over one another in a harmony that didn't feel chaotic—just… alive.
Crickets chirped softly in the distance.
A gentle breeze brushed against his skin.
Then—
Water.
He turned slightly.
A lake.
Crystal clear.
The surface so still it reflected the sky like a mirror, broken only by the occasional ripple.
The sound of water moving—soft, rhythmic—felt like it was soothing something deep inside him.
Like it was healing him.
This place…
It felt like heaven.
Not fake.
Not dreamlike
.
Real.
Too real.
—
Then—
He saw him.
A figure.
Walking away.
Calm.
Familiar.
His breath hitched.
"…Dad…"
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
And then—
He ran.
No hesitation.
No thought.
Just instinct.
His legs moved before his brain could catch up, sprinting forward with everything he had.
The distance didn't feel far—but the closer he got, the more something felt… wrong.
Resistance.
Like the air itself was pushing against him.
Like the world didn't want him to reach him.
His steps grew heavier.
Each stride harder than the last.
Like he was running through water.
Through gravity.
Through something that actively resisted him.
But he didn't stop.
Didn't care.
He pushed harder.
Faster.
Ignoring the strain.
Ignoring the drag.
Ignoring the way the world seemed to pull him back.
His chest tightened.
His lungs burned.
Still—
He ran.
"Dad—!"
His hand reached out.
Fingers stretching—
Just—
A little—
More—
—
Contact.
Warmth.
Real.
He grabbed him.
Pulled—
Tried to hug him—
—
Gone.
—
Darkness.
Instant.
Violent.
—
He blinked.
And everything changed.
—
Rain.
Cold.
Heavy.
Pouring from the sky in relentless sheets.
His breathing—
Sharp.
Broken.
Uneven.
He looked down.
His hands—
Covered in blood.
Thick.
Dark.
Wet.
Dripping between his fingers.
It clung to his skin, warm despite the cold rain washing over it.
The metallic scent hit him instantly, suffocating, filling his nose, his throat—
His stomach twisted.
No.
Slowly—
Too slowly—
He lowered his gaze further.
A body.
Lying at his feet.
Still.
Broken.
Claw marks ripped through flesh.
Deep.
Violent.
Unforgiving.
His vision blurred.
His breathing spiraled.
No no no no—
The rain pounded harder.
The blood didn't wash away.
It just… spread.
His hands trembled.
His chest tightened like something was crushing it from the inside.
He couldn't think.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't—
—
The body moved.
—
A hand—
Rose.
Slow.
Unnatural.
Reaching toward him.
James froze.
Every instinct
screamed.
Run.
Move.
Do something—
But he couldn't.
The body's mouth opened.
Slow.
Wet.
Wrong.
—
"Wake up."
—
James gasped awake.
Air slammed into his lungs like he'd been drowning.
His body jerked upright, muscles tense, heart pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break out of his chest.
Sweat clung to his skin.
Cold.
His breaths came fast.
Too fast.
His senses flared instantly—hyper-aware, scanning, searching—
Reality snapped back into place.
The cabin.
The beds.
The faint sounds of breathing.
And—
Caius.
Standing there.
Looking at him.
Calm.
Unbothered.
"Get up."
That was it.
No concern.
No questions.
Just—
An order.
Then he turned.
And walked away.
Leaving James sitting there—
Still breathing hard.
Still feeling the phantom warmth of blood on his hands.
He slowly looked down.
His palms—
Clean.
Nothing there.
But his chest?
Still tight.
That was a horrible dream.
But it felt too real.
James looked down at his hands again. For a split second, he could still feel it—the tearing, the weight, the blood.
Like he had actually mauled his dad.
"…Yeah, my brain is fucked," he muttered under his breath.
Then again—he hadn't exactly been given a break since he turned.
Every day had been survival.
Every moment, a fight.
Even now, he could feel it—his body still changing, still adapting, still getting stronger.
"…Okay," he said quietly, swinging his legs off the bed.
He needed a shower.
Badly.
—
Caius was already ready.
Fully dressed.
Composed.
A sword rested at his hip, secured like it belonged there.
His scent carried something earthy—clean, sharp, forest-like. Probably some kind of perfume.
"Get ready," Caius said, already writing in his notebook. "You need to clean yourself."
"…Right."
James didn't argue.
He lazily hopped off the top bunk.
It wasn't a small drop—around eight feet.
The lower bunk sat maybe two feet off the ground, leaving a solid gap of space between them.
The design made sense.
Werewolves needed space.
They were taller, bigger, and apparently liked not smashing their heads into wood every morning.
Even though—
Looking around—
The tallest person here was like 5'10.
And the guy under him was barely 5'5.
…Yeah, okay.
When James landed, he paused.
"Wait… I don't have any clothes."
Right.
That was a problem.
He hadn't exactly packed a suitcase before getting turned into a werewolf.
And he hadn't showered in—
Yeah.
Let's not count that.
Caius paused mid-writing.
Looked at him.
"…Height?"
"Six-two."
Caius thought for a second.
"I have something that should fit."
Caius' clothes were naturally baggy on him. He preferred it that way—more freedom of movement, less restriction.
Even though he was around 5'10 and roughly 160 pounds, he wore clothes sized for someone bigger—closer to James' build.
So yeah.
James would fit just fine.
—
Caius turned his head slightly toward the other bed.
"Rowan."
Rowan, who looked half-dead, slowly turned his head.
"Show him the bathhouse."
Rowan yawned.
Loud.
Long.
Unapologetic.
Then rolled off his bed, landing cleanly on both feet before stretching like his spine needed realignment.
He turned lazily toward James.
"Follow me," he muttered.
James nodded.
Yeah, sure.
—
Now that he was fully awake, though—
He noticed things.
Like Mira.
Sleeping.
If you could even call it that.
She was sprawled across the top bunk like gravity had lost an argument.
One leg hung off the side, the other bent at an angle that looked mildly concerning.
One hand rested on her stomach, lazily scratching it mid-sleep, while the other arm had completely vanished—probably dangling somewhere off the bed.
She was snoring.
Loudly.
"…hm… meat…" she mumbled.
James blinked.
"…Is she okay?"
Rowan didn't even look.
"She will be fine."
The tone said everything.
He had seen this before.
Too many times.
Years of it.
To them, time blurred anyway—years felt like months, months like weeks.
They noticed time passing.
They just didn't care much.
James shifted his gaze.
Talia.
Curled up.
Peaceful.
Almost innocent—
If you ignored the fact that she was cuddling her sword like a stuffed animal.
"…Don't worry about her," Rowan said lazily.
"The sword is not sharp enough to pierce her skin."
James frowned slightly.
"…Wouldn't that make it useless?"
A sword that couldn't cut didn't exactly scream "weapon."
Rowan paused.
"One—our skin is tough."
A beat.
"Two—the sword has runes embedded into it. It cannot harm her."
"…Oh."
Yeah.
That made more sense.
—
They stepped outside.
And immediately—
James felt it.
Morning.
It was around 6 a.m.
The sun was just beginning to rise, bleeding soft gold light through the trees. Shadows stretched long across the ground, shifting slowly as the world woke up.
The air—
Crisp.
Clean.
Sharp in the best way possible.
It filled his lungs like something pure, clearing out every trace of sleep in seconds.
If he had to describe it—
It felt like drinking ice-cold water right after chewing mint gum.
Yeah.
That fresh.
His senses sharpened instantly.
He could even see faint traces of magic in the air—subtle, drifting, like particles barely visible unless you knew how to look.
Birds chirped overhead.
The camp was already awake.
Shops were opening—wooden shutters being pushed aside, goods being laid out. People moved with purpose.
Some headed out to hunt, others returned from patrol, guards swapping shifts like clockwork.
It was alive.
Organized.
Efficient.
A well-oiled machine.
James glanced around as they walked.
"Everyone is up early."
Rowan stretched again, arms overhead, tattoos shifting along his skin. A crescent moon marked his shoulder.
James frowned slightly.
I've seen that before…
Somewhere.
One of the elders, maybe.
"…Yes," Rowan replied simply.
They kept walking.
Past shops.
Past people talking, laughing, preparing
.
Some were gearing up for hunts.
Others were already sparring.
No one wasted time.
They moved with rhythm.
Purpose.
—
After about five minutes, they arrived.
A stone building.
Simple on the outside.
"This is the bathhouse," Rowan said, glancing around briefly like he was checking something.
James nodded.
"Cool."
They stepped inside.
—
Warmth hit immediately.
The interior was built from stone, the walls curving upward into an arched ceiling that trapped heat inside like a cocoon.
Talisman were embedded into the walls.
Some radiated warmth.
Others emitted a cooling effect.
Balanced.
Controlled.
The air inside was thick, humid—
Exactly what you'd expect from a place meant to wash off everything the outside world threw at you.
Others were for air control.
The air was thick with steam, rising in soft curls from a large, rectangular pool set into the ground.
It was about 20 feet long, and around 10 feet wide.
So it was plenty large—could hold a lot of people. Granted, the water was around 2 to 4 feet deep, depending on where you stood inside it.
Water flowed steadily from a carved spout along the side, pouring into the bath with a constant, soothing sound.
The surface rippled gently.
"This is water from the lake nearby. If you're worried about it being dirty, it was cleaned four times, and we use talismans to regulate the water and so on."
James nodded.
"You guys mention runes and talismans a lot. What's the difference between them? They seem to do the same thing."
Rowan grabbed a large towel and tossed it at James, who caught it, while Rowan picked one for himself.
"Hm."
He paused for a bit.
"Runes are for enchantment. For example, enchanting a sword with a fire aspect."
Did he just make a Minecraft reference?
James kept that thought to himself.
"Think of them like coding in your world—or sealing from Naruto. They are very specific."
James blinked.
Wait… this guy is referencing anime?
"You guys watch anime?" James raised an eyebrow. He did not expect that.
"We keep up with human stuff," Rowan said lazily, glancing at him.
"And we are the scouts of the pack. We tend to have more contact with humans than the rest of the pack, which means, on a general basis, we usually know more about that kind of stuff."
Oh.
So basically—it was more useful to know it than not.
"As for talismans, they are a bit different. While not as diverse as runes, they tend to be more powerful. Some can be used to give you better luck, and the ones being used in this bath, for example, speed up our recovery."
He paused briefly.
"So to sum it up—runes equal magical symbols, talismans equal magical objects."
"You can write runes anywhere, but for a talisman, you need something to imbue it with—paper, a mirror, anything. The second the object is destroyed, so is the talisman."
Ah…
That was a lot of information.
But okay.
Rowan stepped into the bath, his body visibly relaxing as the warmth settled into him.
James' eyes drifted to the shelves.
They were lined with folded cloths, oils, and small jars filled with substances he had no clue about.
There was even a small fire burning in a recessed corner, feeding heat into the space.
"This place feels like a spa."
"It works," Rowan said, staring up at the ceiling. "Today's mission will be tiring."
"So… are you going to join, or keep admiring the view?"
James blinked.
Oh.
Right.
Bath.
"My bad."
He quickly stripped off his clothes—which, to be fair, weren't in great condition. His shirt was torn, his pants barely holding on.
He tossed them aside.
Welp.
Time to join.
He was bonding way too fast.
As he stepped into the water, his body immediately relaxed.
The warmth soaked into his muscles, easing tension he didn't even realize he was holding.
Now that it was just the two of them, James could properly see Rowan.
And yeah—
Dude had a lot of tattoos.
Especially across his chest, where a full moon was inked right over his heart.
Runes ran along his arms and legs.
"You have a lot of runes on your body."
Rowan kept his gaze on the ceiling.
"They are useful."
Then he looked at him.
"Though not all of them are runes."
He paused for a second, then touched the full moon on his chest.
"This one… is because I was blessed by the moon."
James raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, you said that about me. What does it mean to be blessed by the moon?"
"It means you were born under a full moon,"
Rowan said calmly.
"It can also mean you master your wolf abilities quickly."
Oh.
Okay.
That made more sense.
"I can sense you have questions," Rowan added, his gaze drifting back to the ceiling. "Ask. I will answer to the best of my capability."
James nodded slowly.
Yeah.
He would take full advantage of that.
A/N next chapter probably Monday.
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