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They were a couple of nights away from a full moon, and he, Jupiter, and Allen had been tracking their prey in the woods outside of Lyena.
Allen and Jupiter grew stronger by the night.
He, on the other hand, felt exhausted; his fangs ached, and his claws had begun to shed, causing a terrible itch. He wanted to cough but resisted the impulse. He could not afford to show any sign of weakness, not after so many years trying to be accepted into the royal pack.
Jupiter and Allen would turn in two nights, but for him, tonight would be the last.
“Come on, Faust! Don’t fall behind! This ought to be your kill, remember?!” Jupiter called from ahead.
“I’m perfectly aware, thank you. I just want to taste his fear first,” he answered with viciousness.
“You, crazy old wolf,” Allen told him, smiling.
“Lead the way, then,” Jupiter added, impressed.
Faust moved without a sound, cloaked under the shadows of the giant eucalyptus trees.
As snow began to fall, he led the pack toward a clearing in the woods, overgrown with tall grass.
And there, in the middle of the open glade, trying to pass as a deer, was the shapeshifter.
He knew their kind too well.
That’s why the royal pack had summoned him. Otherwise, they would never have accepted an outsider. He could read the shifters tells, however subtle.
Sometimes it was something off in their eyes; sometimes it was a minor flaw in their mimicry. But no matter how talented the shifter was, he could always tell.
The shapeshifters had been attempting to infiltrate the royal lair for years. Their objective: to seize the lunar stone, an ancient artifact capable of influencing the moon’s orbit.
They had come dangerously close a few times, posing as pack members. But so far, they had failed.
Because of that, Lyena had been sealed off to newcomers, at least for now.
Shifters were nearly impossible to distinguish. Not even the most seasoned hunters of the royal pack could always detect them.
But now they had him…
Rumors of his skill had reached the royal circle. Now this was his final trial before getting initiated as one of them.
Allen and Jupiter were the finest hunters of the royal pack; that’s why they were with him now. They were to observe and report, and Faust needed to show he belonged among them.
The task: capture a shapeshifter and bring him back alive for interrogation.
They had been roaming the woods for weeks, tracking different animals. The shifters were always around, trying to make their way inside the lair. It was just a matter of time before they found one.
This particular shifter was cunning and elusive, but now, he had run out of places to hide.
Jupiter crept through the tall grass behind the shifter. Allen watched from the branches above, ready to block any unlikely escape.
And Faust closed in from the river, his scent masked by the current of wild waters.
Years of training had made his movements sleek and deadly. Each step was precise. Slowly, he closed the distance between him and his prey.
He crouched low. His muscles tightened. His eyes locked on the deer.
The snow and tall grass camouflaged him. He lunged, silent as a hawk mid-flight.
The shapeshifter didn’t stand a chance. Faust crashed down on him, driving his claws into the creature’s neck.
The false deer groaned in pain and protest.
A ripple of motion in the grass nearby caught his eye.Jupiter.
Faust knew what had to be done. And he did it, though it sickened him.
He buried his long, sharp claws into the creature’s chest, piercing its heart.
The disguise began to melt; the shapeshifter revealed his true form.
Faust could feel the slowing of the shifter’s heartbeat. The dying shapeshifter looked up and recognized him.
Faust looked away.
“May the cosmos forgive me,” he muttered as Jupiter approached. But he knew there would be no forgiveness. Not for him. Not after so many atrocities.
“What have you done? We were to take him alive!” Jupiter shouted.
Faust stayed silent a second longer, staring down at the shifter with revulsion.
“My instincts took over. I’m disgusted by these creatures; I couldn’t help myself,” he spat.
Jupiter studied him for a moment… then broke into laughter.
“You’re a natural killer. I can’t say I would’ve done any different,” he said, amused.
Allen carried the shapeshifter’s body back to Lyena.
On the entire walk back to the lair, both hunters kept questioning Faust about his tracking methods. He offered them vague answers, barely paying attention and offering half-truths.
His mind was elsewhere, focused solely on his objective.
The royal lair, like most werewolf dens, was underground, protected from the harsh conditions of the continent—hidden to the untrained eye.
After traversing a network of tunnels inside the frozen tundra, they emerged high above the den.
Faust was stunned. He had never imagined such untamed beauty.
Below them stretched the werewolf haven—vast, wild, and breathtaking.
Moonlight and snowflakes filtered in through a massive gap in the ceiling above, where streams of water poured down from the edges and splashed into silver ponds, filling the air with mist.
As they descended, Faust noticed that the pack lived within the sprawling roots of the enormous eucalyptus trees from above.
The roots hung from the cave roof and extended all the way to the silver pools below, their tips dipping delicately into the water, feeding from it.
The entire lair was carpeted with green frozen grass. Bees buzzed lazily in the air, pollinating tall velvet flowers that bloomed throughout.
Faust was expecting the usual stench of a bunch of werewolves living together, but this was entirely different. The rich scent of flowers and eucalyptus filled Faust’s lungs, clearing his throat and refreshing his senses.
The night was at its peak. The den buzzed with life. Members of the pack had gathered outside their abodes to witness the return of the hunters.
Faust saw adults and younglings alike. Pups dashed between the crowds, laughing and howling while they played, oblivious to everything else.
His stomach turned. A knot of guilt twisted inside him, cutting deeper than before.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Allen asked him.
“Beautiful,” Faust answered with a broken voice.
A giant jade temple towered at the heart of the lair. Faust had heard of it in whispers and legends.
It was said that the ancient structure reflected different symbols and shapes depending on the moon’s phase.
Now, just a couple of days before the full moon, the moonlight revealed a vast wolf shadow stretched across the temple’s surrounding floors.
At the base of the temple, in front of the entrance, stood the high members of the royal pack.
They wore ceremonial garments made from the pelts of their ancestors. Aside from that, they stood bare.
One of the members held the lunar stone in his hands. The ancient artifact’s runes shone white and bright, like the moon in the skies.
Faust steadied himself. His heart was pounding. All the effort, all the lies, all the death—it had led to this.
“Hunters! Welcome back!” One of the royal members called out.
Faust glanced around. The entire pack stood behind them, watching in silence.
“WE HOWL AT THE MOON!” Jupiter declared, bowing his head to the royals.
“WE HOWL AT THE MOON!” The pack echoed in unison.
“I see you’ve brought the shifter, but you’ve brought him dead,” a striking dark-skinned woman of the royal pack declared.
Jupiter shifted nervously at Faust’s side. Allen dropped the body onto the grass before the royals.
“Pack,” Faust addressed them with measured respect, “this was my fault. My mistake. I let the wolf inside me take control. Please, do not take it as an insult.”
The pack howled together in response.
“We understand, Faust of the Dry Hills pack,” the woman answered in a solemn tone. “The shifters have inflicted great sorrow upon our kin. The desire for vengeance in their name is only natural.” Her eyes burned green beneath the moonlight.
“Jupiter! Allen! Tell us about the hunt,” an older, shorter royal barked.
His fellow hunters recounted the pursuit, detailing the last few weeks.
Meanwhile, Faust studied the temple. He needed to find a weak point—an opening.
He would only have minutes to act.
As Jupiter neared the end of his briefing, Faust spotted it: high above, there was a narrow shaft. A chimney, perhaps. That’s all he needed.
Jupiter finished. The pack howled again.
“It seems the stories of your abilities were true, Faust,” a different, broad, tall royal said.
“I only wish to serve the pack,” he answered, trying to sound honored and humble.
“And you will,” the woman added with a glint in her eye. She was watching him closely—her gaze thick with the flame of desire.
“Your initiation will take place under the next full moon. Until then, let us feast!” the older royal declared.
And the pack erupted into celebratory howls.
The sun was rising when Faust slipped out of the woman’s chambers, after a feast of a different kind.
He was naked, the soft breeze from the waterfalls sending shivers down his spine, but he didn’t care.
Clothes would only slow him down now. The shame of his actions was the only thing he would wear from this point on.
The lair was asleep.
Only the sound of flowing water and bees echoed in the den.
Sunlight bathed the jade temple, and Faust moved toward it with quiet determination.
Using his years of training, he slipped unnoticed around the temple perimeter.
Only a couple of guards stood watch at the entrance; the rest must have passed out after the celebration.
He dropped all discretion and headed to the entrance of the temple; there was nothing else now.
“Faust of the Dry Hills, you’re not allowed insi—”
But Faust gave them no chance to react.
He lunged forward, his claws morphing—growing longer, sharper, deadlier.
He slashed the throat of the first guard, severing his vocal cords.
The werewolf collapsed into the grass, clutching at the open wound, unable to cry out, terror in his eyes.
The second managed to howl, but only that.
Faust leapt onto his shoulders and drove his claws into the guard’s eye sockets.
Both guards lay on the grass, bleeding out, grasping for a life that was leaving them.
He dashed inside the temple.
Using his refined tracking skills, he quickly navigated the halls to where the lunar stone was kept.
The artifact sat atop a jade altar. The lunar stone was made of polished onyx, gleaming under the first rays of light like obsidian.
Faust stopped for a second, admiring the relic. But his mind snapped back with haste; the job wasn’t done.
He ran on all fours, his limbs moving with desperate speed.
Faust reached the altar and took the stone.
It wasn’t as cold as expected; it was warm, pulsing… alive.
As his fingers closed around it, the pulse of the sentient stone quickened and its runes lost all their light. The stone knew it was being stolen.
But he had no time left to wonder.
He shut his eyes and concentrated; it had been a while…
This would be his final shift; he could feel it.
The parasite had been devouring him from within.
His arms began to peel their skin away, feathers sprouting in their place. The itch was terrible, but he had to endure.
He tried to focus on something else, something to take his mind off the pain.
But the only images that came to his mind were the faces of those he had slain in cold blood.
Faust trembled out of fury at himself and from the pain of his shift.
His bones contracted as he shrank. A beak pushed from his mouth, tearing the flesh of his lips. All his teeth fell in a blink; the agony blinded him for a minute.
He spat blood as his vital organs became smaller. He could feel his heart pounding against his still human chest.
The hand that clutched the stone was no longer a hand; it had become a golden, powerful talon.
“ARGH!! YOU SCUM! YOU FILTHY TRAITOR!” Jupiter screamed from behind him. The hunter had been the first to come after the alerting howl.
Jupiter held a long, jagged spear. His face twisted in fury.
Faust’s shift wasn’t finished, but there was no more time.
His wings extended, but his torso was still half-human. The wings struggled under his weight.
After a short flight, he landed on a narrow ledge near the temple’s ceiling opening. His bones were still cracking from the shift, his vision still blurred under the thundering pain.
But he still had the stone in the talon, tightly grasped.
Jupiter roared and hurled the spear with deadly force.
Faust twisted at the last second.
He caught the weapon with his beak, then let it fall.
It clanged against the jade tiles, ringing through the chamber.
Howls echoed from the tunnels below—dozens of them.
The pack was coming. But Faust’s transformation was nearly complete.
They would not reach him in time.
“Why? WHY FAUST?!” Jupiter bellowed in rage from the floor of the temple.
“It’s not personal, Jupiter, it’s survival,” Faust said with sincerity, with what was left of his vocal cords.
And then, he took to the skies.
As he soared above the lair, wind rushing beneath his wings, he felt life slipping away from him.
But it didn’t matter. He would reach the city.
He had given up everything—his life, his soul, his dignity.
And in doing so, Faust had given the shapeshifters a chance.
A chance to avoid total extinction.
