***The Forgotten Name***
Alaric's claws twitched.
The memory of her—of Lyra—shook something loose in his mind, but the rising scent behind her drowned it out: rot, blood, and the stale reek of ancient magic. He turned his head slowly toward the trees. The shadows had grown teeth.
Figures emerged—twisted things in shredded black robes, their limbs too long, their mouths full of jagged bone. Not werewolves. Not human. Wraithbound.
Lyra raised her spear. "We have to move. Now."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," Alaric growled, but even as he said it, he stepped between her and the wraiths.
The largest one stepped forward, head cocked unnaturally. It spoke in a gurgling voice.
"Moonborn… you should not exist."
"I get that a lot," Alaric muttered.
The wraith lunged. Alaric met it midair, their bodies colliding like thunder. He ripped it in half with a roar, golden eyes blazing, but three more closed in behind it.
Lyra shouted a word—"Vironas!"—and a circle of silver light erupted at her feet, casting the wraiths back. She knelt, panting.
Alaric spun to her. "Where did you learn that spell?"
"I studied the old ways. The true ones. I had to find you."
More wraiths poured in from the forest. Too many. Even with Alaric's newfound strength, they would be overwhelmed.
"Shift!" she cried. "You need to change fully!"
He bared his teeth. "I am changed!"
"No. You're holding back. The curse—you haven't accepted it yet. You're still half-man."
Her words hit him like a hammer. She was right. Some part of him still clung to his human self, to shame, to fear. But that part was going to get them both killed.
The next moment happened all at once.
Alaric threw back his head and howled.
His body twisted, bones snapping, skin stretching. His already monstrous form became something greater—taller, darker, more complete. The man was gone. What rose from the snow was the full-blooded werewolf of legend—fur like night, claws like daggers, eyes burning like twin moons.
The wraiths hesitated. Then, too late, they ran.
Alaric tore through them, his fury unleashed, his form no longer resisting the ancient power in his blood. When the last creature fell in pieces, silence returned.
He stood over the battlefield, chest heaving, body slick with blood.
Lyra approached him cautiously. "You remembered your name. That was the first step. Now you have to remember your purpose."
Alaric turned to her, his voice deep and broken. "What did they do to me?"
"They tried to erase what you were. But you're not just a man or a beast. You're the last true werewolf."
She met his gaze.
"And you're the only one who can stop what's coming."