Seventeen years later, a dark-looking guy moved quietly toward the back of the school, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He stood out effortlessly—tall, sharp-featured, with the kind of presence people associated with male models rather than students. That was Elvis.
He walked without knowing who—or what—he truly was.
Today was supposed to be simple. He was on his way to meet Wendy, his girlfriend, his thoughts already drifting toward her smile, her laugh, the comfort she brought him. Strangely, for no reason he could explain, he chose a different route—a narrow path behind the school he rarely used.
As he turned the corner, he noticed a few students pressed together in the shadows, kissing, hands roaming freely. At first, he thought nothing of it. It was common enough. He was about to look away—
Then he saw the shoes.
Custom-made. Clean. Familiar.
His heart skipped.
Slowly, unwillingly, his eyes lifted.
It was her.
For a brief, unbearable moment, their eyes met. Wendy froze, her face draining of color, guilt and shock written plainly across her features. The world seemed to dull around him, sound fading into a distant hum as heartbreak settled heavy in his chest.
It hurt.
Deeply.
Then something inside him snapped.
The pain twisted, burned, and transformed into raw, uncontrollable rage. Without a word, Elvis turned and walked away, his fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms.
"Wait—Elvis!" Wendy cried, scrambling after him.
She reached for him.
He shoved her away.
Not hard enough to hurt her, but firm enough to make his message clear. She stumbled back, staring at him in disbelief as he continued forward, his expression dark, emotions boiling beneath his face
The guy she had dumped him for laughed loudly, the sound sharp and mocking."Hey, dork!" he shouted, stepping forward. "If you were a real man, you'd fight me."
Elvis stopped.
Slowly, he spun around.
His eyes burned—an unnatural brown glow flickering within them, subtle but unmistakable. For a brief moment, the world shifted. Elvis blinked, his vision sharpening, peeling back something hidden beneath the surface.
And then he saw it.
A werewolf.
Not fully transformed, but unmistakable—the shadow of fangs where a smile should be, the outline of claws beneath human hands, eyes gleaming with something feral and ancient.
"Werewolf…" Elvis muttered, staring directly at him.
The guy froze.
His taunting grin vanished instantly, replaced by tight, uneasy silence. He said nothing—because he knew. Only beings could see his true form.
And Elvis wasn't supposed to be one.
Wendy scoffed, stepping between them. "What is wrong with you?" she snapped. "Instead of acting like a man, you're talking about werewolves now?"
She reached for the other guy's hand.
He didn't hesitate.
He grabbed her fingers firmly and pulled her away, his eyes never leaving Elvis's face. There was no triumph in his expression—only caution. Fear. He knew better than to stay.
Elvis stood there alone, breathing slowly, his heart still racing.
He didn't understand any of it.
The glowing vision faded, the world settling back into its dull, ordinary shape. He rubbed his eyes, confused, frustrated, and embarrassed.
I must be exhausted, he thought. Too many nights studying. I'm seeing things.
He made his way to the bathroom, his steps unsteady, his thoughts tangled and loud. The mirror reflected a face he barely recognized—tight jaw, distant eyes, something restless moving beneath the surface.
He turned on the tap and splashed cold water onto his face.
Once.Twice.
He gripped the sink and closed his eyes, letting the chill sink in.
That was when it happened.
The noise of the bathroom faded. The hum of the lights dissolved into silence. His breathing slowed, deepening, as if he had slipped somewhere else entirely.
A trance.
Darkness pressed in—and then a glow.
A symbol emerged before him, suspended in a vast, unfamiliar space. Ancient. Twisted. Forged from lines that felt wrong, yet deliberate. It pulsed faintly, as though it recognized him.
Hazy images followed—fragmented and distant. Shattered skies. Stone pillars. Fire curling through shadows. Voices overlapping, whispering words he could not understand, yet somehow felt.
His head throbbed.
The visions blurred, slipping through his grasp like smoke, leaving behind only a heavy ache and a sense of something awakening deep within him.
His eyes snapped open.
He was still in the bathroom.
Water dripped from his chin. His hands trembled slightly as he stared at his reflection, breath uneven.
He didn't know what he had just seen.
The bell rang sharply, slicing through his thoughts before they could settle. The sound echoed through the halls, pulling him back into the present, back into a world that suddenly felt thinner than before.
Elvis straightened slowly, his heart still heavy, his head still aching from what he had seen.
But beneath the confusion, something else took shape.
Resolve.
He clenched his fists, feeling his pulse steady. Whatever had just happened—whatever he was becoming—he pushed it aside for now. There would be time to understand it later.
In his heart, he made a quiet promise.
One day, they would pay.