THE MOON'S CURSE
Moonlight should have been a blessing. Cold, distant, patient.
But this moon bled.
Riven Thorne jolted upright in the cramped library alcove where he'd collapsed hours earlier, pain exploding through his spine like fire dragged through bone. His hands clutched the sides of his skull as heat surged through his limbs. A low, guttural growl escaped his throat—alien, monstrous. His muscles twisted, bones shifting. Fingers cracked. Nails lengthened into claws. His canines sharpened against his will.
"No... not now..." he gasped.
It wasn't a full moon.
Elara spun from the glyph-table nearby. "Riven?" she said, alarmed. "What's—"
He slammed a clawed fist into the stone floor, cracking it beneath him. "Get back," he snarled. "It's happening."
Her spell-light illuminated his figure: partially transformed, caught mid-way between man and beast. His eyes glowed a molten amber, skin blotched with patches of coarse grey fur. His voice deepened, torn between the growl of a predator and the pleading tone of the man beneath.
"But the moon's not full," Elara whispered. "Why now?"
"I don't know," he said through gritted teeth. "I feel... like something's pulling me open."
Then it struck—a pulse, not from within him, but from beneath the stone of the library itself. Riven turned his head as if summoned. His claws scraped the floor, carving paths in the ancient stone. With a final growl, he lurched to his feet, chest heaving. His breathing slowed, the transformation halting just before it overtook him completely.
The pain left, but the instinct remained.
Elara helped him steady. "You felt it too, didn't you?"
He nodded slowly, eyes still glowing. "Something... called me."
They waited, still, breath caught in the silence.
Then the pulse came again—subtle, distant, but undeniably there. Like a heartbeat trapped beneath the earth.