The forest was unlike any Kenneth had seen before.
They had crossed into the scorched lands near the Ember Canyons of Korravyn, where trees no longer dared to grow fully, their branches twisted into clawed silhouettes. The air shimmered with unnatural heat, not from the sun—but from something deeper, older. A heat that pulsed from the ground, like the breath of a slumbering god.
Kenneth crouched beside a large boulder, his breath slow, controlled.
He had grown since their first hunts. He could feel it in his limbs—in the way his hands no longer trembled before battle, in how the fire in his veins remained still until he called for it. His blood felt heavier these days. More alive. As if it were watching him.
Beside him stood Malrik, arms folded across his chest, the hood of his long coat drawn over his head. His sharp, aged face was calm, but there was a tension beneath—one only Kenneth could read now after nearly two years together in the wild.
> "It's close," Malrik said in a whisper, eyes fixed on the horizon. "Can you hear it?"
Kenneth closed his eyes and focused.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, in the void of that silence, something shifted. A slow, rhythmic crackling, like fire licking dry wood. Then a faint, echoing screech, haunting and regal. It wasn't the cry of a normal bird—it was deeper, older, laced with power.
> "I hear it," Kenneth whispered. "It's… singing."
> "No. It's warning us," Malrik said, stepping forward. "The Phoenix guards its death. It wants to die, but only to one worthy. It will test your heart first... before it tests your claws."
Kenneth glanced down at his hands. They were trembling now—not with fear, but with something else. Anticipation. Hunger. Somewhere within, the wolf stirred.
---
They moved quietly through the ash-laced thickets, and soon they found the remains of what had once been a meadow. Now it was scorched black. In its center stood a pillar of obsidian with a nest of flame atop it—and in that nest, preening its feathers of living fire, rested the Phoenix.
It was magnificent.
Twice the size of a lion, its wings stretched with glowing tendrils of burning gold. Its feathers shimmered like molten lava, and when it turned its head, its eyes—piercing and inhuman—met Kenneth's.
He stopped breathing.
> "This is no ordinary beast," he whispered. "It's… it's aware."
> "It is ancient," Malrik replied. "As old as war itself. This is not a test of strength, Kenneth—it is a test of restraint. You must consume it fully to inherit its flame… but only as a wolf. This is your first full transformation since… since you turned in the castle."
Kenneth looked down, jaw tightening.
He still remembered the battle. The fear in the eyes of his vampire brothers. The king's roar. His mother's scream.
> "I'm ready," he said quietly.
Malrik stepped back.
> "Prove it."
---
Kenneth stepped forward into the clearing. The phoenix raised its head, and fire spiraled around it like a corona. It opened its wings—not in defense, but in welcome.
A challenge.
With one deep breath, Kenneth closed his eyes.
And let the wolf in.
It wasn't peaceful. The change never was. His back arched, bones cracking as they reshaped, muscles stretching and ripping, fur sprouting from his skin. The agony was as brutal as always—but this time, he didn't fight it.
This time, he embraced it.
His jaw split into a snarl, eyes glowing a savage gold. Black claws tore through his gloves. His form hunched, grew—became beast.
The Phoenix screeched—and launched.
---
The clash was a blur of fire and fang.
The Phoenix dove, talons sharp as spears. Kenneth leapt, catching its leg mid-air, flames scorching his fur, and slammed it into the ground. Fire burst outward in a ring, but Kenneth didn't flinch.
The Phoenix fought like a creature of gods. Its wings carved flaming arcs through the sky. Its breath seared craters into the earth. But Kenneth… he adapted. With every dodge, every charge, he grew bolder.
He wasn't holding back anymore.
And when the Phoenix faltered, wings burned and bones cracked, Kenneth pinned it down.
The beast looked into his eyes, not in fear—but in acceptance.
> "I honor you," Kenneth whispered, the words guttural and growled from his wolf-form mouth.
Then he consumed.
He tore through feathers and fire, through burning flesh and divine marrow. He devoured the beast, absorbed its essence.
And the flame—entered him.
---
He collapsed afterward.
Sparks danced from his chest. His fur shimmered red-hot. His breath steamed like smoke from a furnace. He curled up under the ashen sky, convulsing. Fire bled from his skin, licking at his shoulders, his spine. His mouth opened—and a blast of searing flame erupted skyward.
Malrik ran to him, laying a hand on his back.
> "Let it pass," he whispered. "Let it settle."
Kenneth's body shook. The fire wasn't just inside him—it was alive. It wanted out. It wanted to burn.
> "It hurts," he rasped, voice hoarse. "I can't hold it."
> "You don't hold fire, Kenneth," Malrik said. "You become it. Learn to burn without turning everything around you to ash. Or it'll consume you too."
---
Far away, in the cold towers of the Vampire Kingdom, the firstborn prince stood at the balcony of his father's chamber.
Below, a returning scout dropped to his knees—half-burned, shaking. He held no head. No map. No message.
> "Another one gone," the king growled.
The prince—Lucien Virellion, pale and beautiful as a sculpture, turned toward the flames in the hearth.
> "Send no more scouts," he said with icy calm.
> "Then how will we find him?" the king asked.
> "You won't."
He reached down, picked up his crimson cloak.
> "The shadow squad will."