The air was thick with unease.
In the village square, fires burned low in iron braziers as the townspeople gathered in hushed clusters. Children were kept close, and elders clutched their rosaries or muttered prayers in forgotten tongues. Every eye was fixed on the sky, where the moon—once full and radiant—had begun its descent into shadow.
Elena stood at the edge of the crowd, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air. The pendant at her neck pulsed steadily, like a heartbeat out of sync with her own. She tried to ignore it. Tried to tell herself it was only the atmosphere, the strangeness of being displaced in time, the exhaustion pressing on her bones.
But the moon had other plans.
The eclipse unfolded slowly, deliberately. The silver orb dulled, swallowed inch by inch by the encroaching darkness, until only a blood-tinged halo remained in the sky. The wind fell silent. The firelight flickered as if sucked inward.
Then—Elena felt it.
The pull.
Her hand moved before she realized, gripping the moonstone tightly. A jolt of heat burst through her fingertips, racing up her arm and flooding her veins with light. She gasped as the ground beneath her seemed to tilt, the world blurring at the edges.
Voices around her faded, swallowed by a sound she couldn't place—like a thousand whispers threading through the trees, calling her name.
The villagers didn't seem to notice her sway, or the way the light around her warped. Her vision fragmented, as if reality itself were splitting along invisible seams.
Then came the howl.
Low and primal at first. Then higher, mournful. The sound clawed at her chest, dragged something ancient from the depths of her soul. Her knees buckled.
A final pulse of light shot from the pendant—
—and everything shattered.
---
Elena awoke in darkness.
Not unconscious—aware, but shaken. She lay on the floor of an abandoned chapel just outside the village, its windows shattered, pews rotting, and vines creeping in through cracked stone. She didn't remember walking there. It was as if something had guided her.
The pendant glowed faintly, casting pale blue light onto the stone floor. The eclipse had passed, but the air still felt charged—dense with magic.
Night deepened around her.
And then, the howling began.
At first, it came from far off—an eerie, lonely sound echoing across the mountains. But soon, others joined it, and the tone shifted. The howls grew urgent, then angry. She pressed herself into the shadows, heart racing.
She wasn't alone out here.
Eyes watched from the trees.
The pendant vibrated slightly against her chest. She clutched it tight, and the magic responded like it was alive—warm and electric under her skin. Her pulse matched its rhythm. Instinct told her to run. But something else—something deeper—told her to stay. To listen.
The next night, restless and shaken, Elena left the chapel. She followed the edge of the woods, driven by questions and desperation. The moon hung low, its silver light cutting long shadows across the forest floor.
She didn't realize she was being watched until the birds fell silent.
A shape emerged between the trees.
Massive. Fluid. Silent as moonlight.
A wolf—no, not a wolf. Not truly. This creature stood taller than any normal animal, its fur a deep, smoky gray, and its eyes... gods, its eyes. Amber. Intelligent. Aware.
It didn't growl.
Not at first.
It circled her slowly, muscles rippling beneath its pelt, head low as if assessing. She stood frozen, too stunned to scream. The pendant burned hot against her skin, and she swore she saw it react—its glow flaring brighter with each step the beast took.
The Lycan bared its teeth.
Elena stumbled back, heart hammering, but it didn't lunge. It simply stopped, stared, then—like mist in wind—vanished into the dark.
Silence returned.
But something had changed. Something unseen had shifted between them.
She knew now: that was no normal wolf.
It was a Lycan.
And it had recognized her.