Marcus's breath came fast and shallow.
The wild boar lumbered forward between the trees, huge shoulders rolling under a thick hide caked with old scars.
Its eyes were small and hard, fixed on him with a single, focused hunger.
From the branch above, Eshara's voice fell like a blade:
"Don't run."
He swallowed, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
His hands flexed at his sides—fingers trembling, nails already darkening as something inside him stirred.
The boar's hooves thudded over the forest floor, closing the space between them in slow, inevitable steps.
Marcus tried to steady his breathing.
The air felt thin, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.
He could hear the wet click of the boar's jaws opening and shutting.
"I—I don't know what to do," he called up to her.
Eshara didn't move.
"Look at it," she said, voice perfectly calm.
He forced his gaze to lock onto the creature's eyes.
Its head swung side to side, the tusks glinting in a shaft of light.
"You will not understand yourself until you understand this moment," she went on.
Her tone never wavered.
"And I will not interfere."
The boar lowered its head.
Marcus could see the ragged pink scar along its shoulder, the way its breath steamed in the cold.
"Eshara—"
His voice cracked.
"It will kill me."
Her black eyes didn't flicker.
"If it must."
A beat of silence.
Then the boar exploded forward, hooves digging furrows in the dirt.
Marcus stumbled back.
For a heartbeat—just one—he thought about running.
But something else surged up in him.
Heat.
Instinct.
Something ancient and feral.
A snarl ripped free of his throat—so loud it startled even him.
His spine arched, bones creaking as claws burst from his fingers.
Black fur prickled over his arms.
He threw his weight sideways as the boar barreled past, the edge of a tusk tearing a line across his ribs.
Pain flashed white-hot behind his eyes, but he didn't collapse.
He turned.
And he felt it—the pull of something inside him finally uncaged.
The boar wheeled back, teeth snapping.
Marcus lunged, claws outstretched.
They collided in a spray of dirt and breath and fury.
His claws raked across the boar's flank.
He felt the hot slickness of blood.
A tusk slammed into his shoulder, spinning him down to one knee.
He tasted iron.
But even through the pain, he felt it:
This is what she meant.
No theory. No lesson.
Just survival.
He forced himself upright, panting.
The boar hesitated, its flank heaving.
Marcus bared his teeth.
And for the first time, he didn't feel like a human pretending to be something else.
He felt like exactly what he was becoming.
The boar huffed, stamping the earth once.
Then it turned and crashed into the underbrush, branches breaking in its wake.
Marcus staggered back, heart hammering.
Blood dripped down his side.
He didn't know if he was about to pass out or roar in triumph.
Eshara dropped soundlessly from the tree, landing in a crouch.
She straightened, eyes scanning him from head to toe.
Marcus tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken exhale.
Eshara stepped close.
She didn't reach for him.
She only inclined her head, her voice low and quiet:
"That is your first taste."
He swallowed, wiping blood from his mouth.
She studied him for a long moment, then finally added:
"The faster you learn to trust it—the faster you will become what you are meant to be."
He didn't have the strength to argue.
When she turned and began walking deeper into the trees, he followed.
Step by step.
Every breath tasting of pain and something like freedom.