Orion woke to the sound of monkeys screaming and laughing. Their voices echoed across Flower Fruit Mountain like a chaotic choir, a mixture of play and wild mischief. He rubbed his eyes, the rough wood of the treehouse creaking beneath him as he sat up. The hut was empty—abandoned long ago by one of Wukong's kin, leaving Orion a temporary shelter.
He stretched, wincing as his back cracked, and caught a flash in his mind of the star he had dreamed about again. That same, distant light—bright, sharp, almost calling to him. He clenched his fist.
What does it mean? He thought. If it's supposed to help me… how?
The dream always ended the same: the star glowing brighter until everything burned white. No voice, no answers. Just that unreachable point in the sky.
With a sigh, he strapped what remained of his quiver to his back and left the hut. The air outside was sharp with mountain mist, the scent of moss and stone carried on the wind. Below him, the training grounds sprawled out, a carved arena of pale stone cut into the mountainside. Crude training dummies—made of straw, bound with rope, and painted with mocking, cartoonish faces—were scattered about like taunts.
At the centre stood Silver.
The werewolf's body shifted with each movement as he shadowboxed the air, his strikes so fast they left afterimages of glowing claws. Every jab, every pivot, every kick cracked like a whip, sending dust scattering from the stone. Orion froze for a moment just watching—the sheer control and fluidity made the beast look more like a dancer than a warrior.
Silver stopped mid-punch, head snapping toward him with an unnervingly sharp grin.
"Ah, great. You're finally here."
Orion sighed and crossed his arms. "Yeah, yeah. So what kind of hell do you have planned for me today?"
Silver rolled his shoulders, smirking. "First… I need to change."
"Change?" Orion frowned, unsure what he meant.
A massive wave of bluish-silver energy burst from Silver's body, crackling in the air like a storm of wild lightning. Orion staggered back, shielding his face as the ground beneath him trembled. For a moment, he thought the air itself was alive, snarling around him. Then the light faded.
Where the towering werewolf had stood, a much slimmer figure remained. Silver now looked closer to Orion's age—still tall, still lean and honed, but no longer hulking. His silver tattoos remained in the same place across his arms and chest, glowing faintly like embers under the skin.
"Huh?" Orion blinked. "Why… why did you do that?"
Silver cracked his neck, the sound echoing across the arena. "Because it's easier to interact with you like this. Less… intimidation. More personal."
His grin widened, sharp canines glinting. "Now, let's begin."
Silver lifted his hand. His nails elongated into vicious claws, sharp enough to carve through stone. He pointed one at Orion.
"You have a single objective. Don't. Get. Hit."
Before Orion could even process the words, Silver launched forward. He moved like a blur of silver and shadow, claws slashing through the air. Orion barely rolled to the side, the claw strike tearing a deep scar into the stone where he had just stood.
"Too slow!" Silver barked, lunging again.
The world became a storm of claws and near-death. Orion dodged, stumbled, rolled, his broken bow raised more like a shield than a weapon. He didn't have time to think, only react, his lungs burning as adrenaline flooded him.
Hours later, the training ground was littered with shattered stone, shredded straw dummies, and Orion's sweat and blood.
He sat on the ground, arms trembling, scratches covering his skin. His bow lay snapped clean in two beside him, the wood splintered and useless. Across from him, Silver stood with arms crossed, breathing steady, not a single scratch on him.
"Pathetic." Silver's voice was sharp, but not cruel. More… matter-of-fact. "Your skills are nowhere near where they need to be. If you want to even think about contending with gods, monsters, or demons, you'll need to improve a hundredfold."
Orion hissed through his teeth, frustration boiling inside him. "I know that! Don't you think I know?!" He slammed his fist into the ground, stone cracking under his knuckles. "Supposedly, I'm special, right? Supposedly, I'm meant to be this… 'Forbidden Ascendant.'" He spat the title like poison. "But look at me. No powers. No abilities. And even if I did, I wouldn't know how to activate them!"
The words echoed across the silent arena. His chest heaved, anger and hopelessness twisting inside him.
For a long moment, Silver said nothing. Then he sighed, crouching down beside Orion. His glowing eyes softened, just a little.
"You're overthinking it, pup."
Orion blinked. "What?"
Silver rested his elbows on his knees. "You're deepening the situation way too much. Yes—you need to get stronger. A lot stronger. But if you become obsessed with chasing strength, you'll blind yourself. Your vision will blur, and you'll lose the reason you're fighting in the first place."
Orion looked away, jaw tight. "Easy for you to say. You're the First Werewolf. You've already got everything."
Silver chuckled, low and humourless. "You think it was handed to me?" His claws flexed idly, scratching into the stone. "No, pup. My power came at the cost of blood. Of loss. Of things you couldn't imagine. Strength isn't something given—it's something taken, carved out with your own hands. And when you do take it, it always costs something in return."
He stood abruptly, then extended a hand toward Orion.
"Enough for today. Come on. Let's get you healed up and fed before Wukong decides to throw you into a volcano or something."
Orion hesitated, staring at the hand. Then, slowly, he grabbed it, Silver pulling him up with surprising gentleness.
As they walked back toward the village of monkey-folk, Orion couldn't shake Silver's words. Strength at a cost. Strength carved with your own hands.
And in the back of his mind, that star still burned.