'How is such a thing possible, and if it is, why hasn't it been done before?'
"Ah, Fenris, you're making me blush," Buck joked.
"Stop talking," Fenris said dismissively, his gaze still fixed on the runes.
Trying to understand how they worked, he couldn't. But it was a nice effort to try anyway. At least, that's what she would have told him.
The only thing he noticed that might have been significant was that the runes somehow felt alive—constantly shifting, interchanging, forming themselves into something new, then returning to their original form. Runes on objects were fixed and static.
'Not exactly sure what that means.'
His gaze turned to Gwendolyn, the only one who could have possibly given him back his runes. She was obviously a Blessed One; he had seen her perform different forms of magic.
"You're not getting any of those from me, so forget it," Gwendolyn said.
Fenris was taken aback.
'Did she read my mind?'
It was something Blessed Ones could do if they learned the right spells, but it was unlikely. Fenris should've felt some sort of magical touch if she had.
"Yes, you will," Lycan insisted boldly. "Despite your problems with Fenris, he's now a member of the pack. I expect you to treat him like you would any other member."
She turned away. "As you command, Lycan," she muttered, a bit disrespectfully.
The pack leader had a vein bulging from his head but did nothing to retaliate. He turned to the bulky werewolf.
"Beowulf, you can take him."
"What?" Fenris asked, confused.
"Finally!" Beowulf, the bulky wolf, rose with tremendous force, knocking his chair aside and shattering it on impact. Fenris rose as well, his claws and fangs ready on instinct at the sense of danger to his life. It was almost like he was being hunted.
"What do you mean he can take me? Take me where exactly?" Fenris asked, now a little frightened.
"You are afraid. Good," Beowulf said coldly. "That will be vital for your training."
Gwendolyn snapped her fingers. A portal appeared behind Fenris. She smiled smugly at him before waving goodbye.
"This is going to hurt."
"Huh—"
Beowulf lunged, tackling Fenris and dragging them both through the portal.
"I should go with them. Just to make sure Beowulf doesn't kill him," Buck said.
"Sure, go ahead," Gwendolyn said, uncaring.
Buck sighed, catching the way her eyes lingered on him before looking away. He knew that look. She hadn't forgiven him for the ultimatum.
"I'll make it up to you," he said before diving into the portal, just before it closed into nothingness.
Only Lycan and Gwendolyn remained.
"I don't like him," Gwendolyn said.
"Neither do I," Lycan replied. "But this was more of a favor to Buck. It would be painful for the pack if Buck were no longer with us. I expect it would be especially painful for you."
Gwendolyn tried to hide a slight blush. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't," Lycan said, seeing right through her.
"Anyway," he rose, straightening his fine clothes, "I need you to teleport me to my brother. He and I have a lot to discuss."
Gwendolyn reluctantly chanted a few incantations to recreate a portal beside Lycan.
"It won't take you exactly where you need. I've already spent quite a lot of energy today."
"That's fine," Lycan said, smiling. "Besides, I could use a good run. Noble gatherings are so tedious and stifling."
Lycan took a step forward.
"Please wait," Gwendolyn said, stopping him.
"What is it, Gwendolyn?" Lycan asked, slightly angry.
"Those descriptions Fenris gave us," Gwendolyn paused, "about the Blessed One—purple hair and a liking for crescent moons. Call me insane, but doesn't that sound very much like—"
"I know," Lycan interrupted.
"And what will we do if they truly are the same?" Gwendolyn asked.
Lycan turned away, contemplating. "I'm a man of my word. I will look into this Blessed One when I'm able, but if they are the same as our Matron, then Fenris will be reunited with her soon enough."
Without saying any more, Lycan stepped through the portal.
Meanwhile…
Fenris screamed as Beowulf still held onto him. A portal opened in the fields, and both crashed through, leaving a cloud of dust and debris behind them. Beowulf stood over Fenris, his smirk wider than ever.
"Rise, Fenris," he commanded boldly. "We have much to do."
Spitting out dirt and grass, Fenris leaped away, giving Beowulf a murderous stare.
The atmosphere was dark. It was evening. Fenris slowly felt the hidden moon, granting him a faint flicker of its power.
"What the hells are you doing?!" Fenris screamed at the top of his lungs.
Buck peered through the portal.
"Don't be mad, Fenris," Buck said gently. "Beowulf just gets a bit too excited when it comes to training."
"Excited?!" Fenris asked. "He looks like a rabid dog!"
Beowulf began to laugh loudly, the sound almost echoing. It was haunting.
"Forgive my actions. But I've been waiting for you to rise from your slumber since the moment Buck brought you here," Beowulf said. "It's been so long since I've trained a new warrior."
"Warrior?" Fenris muttered, conflicted. That wasn't the word he'd use to describe himself. He never fought for honor, glory, or the other nonsense warriors are known to fight for.
Survivor suited him far more than warrior ever could. He only fought when he had to—because he had to.
The world had given him only one choice: fight or die.
"I'm no warrior!" Fenris exclaimed.
"You want strength, do you not?" Beowulf shot back, catching Fenris' attention. "You said you would join the pack. Well, this pack needs more than fighters. It needs those who delight in battle. Those who can laugh in the face of their enemy when death strikes near. Those who give their all to end their enemies and do not accept surrender."
"If you cannot give us that, then you are of no use to us. Run along like a scared pup and never return."
Fenris fell silent, contemplating Beowulf's words.
'He's right,' he thought. Lycan had offered him power, and this crazy werewolf must have been part of it. The speed. The strength. He had never experienced anything like it before.
Beowulf had rushed him in what felt like an instant, even without the moon's aid. And when he collided with him, Fenris had no hope of escape.
He tightened his fists.
'If I truly wish to get stronger, I need to change how I think.'
He frowned deeply at Beowulf. His grey eyes glowed gold as the moon emerged, boosting his power.
Fenris began to growl, signaling his intent to battle. Beowulf reciprocated.
Both werewolves lowered onto all fours, observing one another in a moment that felt like an eternity.
In a blur, they both leaped at each other, charging with claws and fangs ready to tear one another apart.