Mael ran through the jungle, lungs burning, heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum. Branches whipped across his arms, and mud sucked at his feet. The blood moon loomed high above, bathing everything in a sickly red light. He didn't dare look back—he already knew what was behind him.
Or so he thought.
The growling had stopped. No snapping twigs, no heavy footsteps. Just the wind... and the strange silence that followed it. That's when Mael felt the first pulse. Not in the ground—but in his chest. A burning, like embers beneath his skin.
He stumbled and dropped to his knees, gasping. The fire spread rapidly—up his spine, through his arms, curling into his fingertips. Bones twisted. Muscles convulsed. His fingers cracked as they lengthened into claws. When he screamed, the sound was guttural. Wrong. Inhuman.
Terror rose, but so did something else—power. A deep, ancient force surged through him. The jungle shifted as if it recognized him now. Trees leaned in. The shadows no longer felt empty. They watched. They welcomed him.
Mael clutched his head as memories not his own flashed through his mind—rituals, blood, a pact sealed under a crimson sky. Whispers coiled in his ears, voices that hissed his name and called him "heir." He was no longer running from the curse.
He was the curse.
He staggered upright, chest heaving, staring at his reflection in a pool of dark water. Yellow eyes stared back. His hands—no longer hands. His face—half beast, half boy. "What… what have I become?" he whispered, voice shaking.
Above him, the blood moon pulsed—brighter than before. In the distance, something stirred. Something ancient had awakened with him. And deep in the shadows, the real monster.
.. might be him.