"The moon does not change us.
It only reveals what the blood already knows."
— Old Hunter's Proverb
⸻
Days passed beneath guarded rooftops and wary stares.
The Silver Order had turned the old chapel into a fortress, its
cracked walls hung with banners of black and silver. Lin
Wuji remained within those walls, given a narrow room with
a barred window and a bed too stiff for sleep. Each night he
woke gasping, drenched in sweat, convinced he had been
running on four legs through the trees. Yet when he touched
his skin there were no claws—only trembling fingers.
Elira noticed everything.
"Eat," she ordered one morning, sliding a plate toward him."I'm not hungry."
"You should be. Your body is healing faster than we can
explain."
Wuji kept silent. The bite on his arm—once deep enough to
expose bone—had vanished without a scar. The Order
assumed the beast had missed. Wuji knew better.
Something inside him was changing.
⸻
On the training grounds, he stood opposite Elira as recruits
watched from a distance. She tossed him a wooden staff.
"Defend yourself."
He barely raised it before she attacked—fast and precise. Yet
his body moved faster. His feet found the perfect angles. His
arms struck with unnatural strength. Elira's eyes narrowed
each time he blocked her.When he swept her legs and pinned her staff to the earth, she
rolled free, landing light as breath.
"That was no accident," she said.
Wuji swallowed. "I don't know what that was."
"You're remembering something you've never learned."
He dropped the staff. "Please. No more today."
But his hands shook for hours afterward.
⸻
At dusk, Elira brought him to a ridge overlooking dark pines.
"A patrol vanished. Three men. We're looking for them." Her
tone was clipped.
Wuji didn't need to look. He already smelled blood in the
wind—fresh, sharp, wrong."They're dead," he whispered.
Elira stared. "How do you know?"
He shut his eyes. The forest spoke to him now—heartbeats,
breath, terror. "Because I can hear what's left behind."
They found the bodies soon after—torn open, arranged
deliberately, as if the killer wanted to be understood. Elira
knelt beside them, fury tightening her jaw.
"This wasn't a hunt," she murmured. "This was a message."
Wuji turned away. His skin crawled. Some part of him knew
what kind of creature left wounds so precise.
And why the moon was already rising.
⸻
That night, Elira called a council inside the converted chapel.
Candlelight flickered across weapons and weary faces."We face an enemy that plans," she said. "These wolves
think like soldiers."
A murmur of fear spread.
One officer asked, "And the boy?"
Wuji stood silent in the shadows.
"He stays under my watch," Elira said. "Until we know what
role he plays."
Wuji's pulse hammered at those last words.
Role.
As if he were already chosen.
⸻Later, he stood alone in the courtyard, staring at the moon
rising full and merciless above him. His skin prickled. His
heartbeat kicked faster. Every breath felt like fire.
He staggered.
Not again—
His nails lengthened—black tips scraping against stone. The
world sharpened—every sound too loud, every scent too
strong.
The moonlight lanced down like a blade.
"No," he gasped. "Please—"
Too late.
Pain struck with violent joy.
His spine cracked, bones stretching, skin tearing and knitting
again as fur erupted across his shoulders. His teeth pushedlong and sharp from bleeding gums. A roar tore its way out
of him—inhuman and unstoppable.
The monster rose.
The man sank.
⸻
The attack came in a blur of flame and fangs.
Howls split the night as wolves burst through the broken
gates—massive creatures with eyes burning gold. The Order
scrambled—shields up, silver arrows drawn. Elira shouted
commands, her voice cutting through the screams.
"Hold the line! Keep them from the villagers!"
Wuji—no—the beast—lunged into the fray. He moved like
lightning, claws severing bone, jaw crushing skull. Wolves
collided with him. He tore through them without knowing
why—only that everything alive was prey.Blood sprayed the walls. Steel shattered under his weight.
Soldiers died screaming. Wolves yelped, dragged broken into
shadows.
Elira saw him.
Saw the creature he had become.
"Wuji!" she cried, running toward him.
He snarled—a warning—or a plea. Even he didn't know.
The moon's power burned like wildfire under his skin. The
beast wanted more. More blood. More death. Wrath without
memory.
Elira reached for him—hand shaking, blade ready. "Look at
me! Fight it!"
For a heartbeat, he did.
Her reflection flickered in his golden eyes—fear, sorrow,
hope.Then the beast broke free.
He roared, claws lashing. Soldiers pulled her back as the
creature that was Wuji rampaged through what remained of
the Order's defenses.
The horn sounded a retreat—desperate, chaotic.
By dawn, only smoke remained.
⸻
Wuji awoke in a clearing far from the village—naked,
shivering, stained with drying blood. Not human blood. He
told himself that again and again.
He looked at his hands. Trembling. Filthy. Alive.
His throat burned. His memories lurked like shadows—half-
shapes of terror, fire, teeth. Elira's voice echoing.
Look at me. Fight it.He had tried.
He had failed.
He stumbled through the trees, ashamed of the tracks he left
behind—deep gouges from claws he no longer possessed. He
washed himself in a stream until the water ran red.
Then he walked without aim, guided only by the instinct that
terrified him most.
The forest called.
He could not return.
Not like this.
⸻
Far behind him, Elira limped through the ruins as the sun
rose over devastation. Bodies lay scattered—wolves and
humans alike. She pushed aside a collapsed beam, searching.Claw marks led into the woods.
She followed their trail until it vanished into mist. Her voice
cracked as she whispered into the trees:
"Wuji… what have you become?"
The forest gave no answer.
Only a long, lonely howl—half-beast, half-boy—answering
the rising moon.