Chapter 3: Wolf of the North
Pain was supposed to fade.
That's what people said. Give it time. The body heals. The brain dulls it. Eventually, it becomes memory—just a scar on the mind's skin.
But not this.
This was different.
Alex lay curled on the forest floor, muscles twitching, eyes wide and blind. Every nerve was fire. Every heartbeat was thunder. The wound on his shoulder had long stopped bleeding—but that wasn't a good thing.
It had closed.
Sealed.
Like it was never there.
But something had been left behind.
Something crawling beneath his skin.
His back arched suddenly, a scream ripping from his throat, ragged and raw. Trees shook with the sound. Birds fled into the dark. His nails cracked, then grew—black and sharp. His bones creaked, groaned, shifted, like they weren't sure what shape they were supposed to be.
He wasn't sure either.
He wanted to black out.
But he didn't.
His body wouldn't let him.
It wanted him awake.
It wanted him to feel it.
Miles away, atop a mountain wrapped in eternal winter, a figure stood beneath a sky lit only by starlight.
He was massive. His skin was pale, marked with ancient runes that glowed faintly against the cold. His beard was black and braided, eyes golden and wolf-like. Around him, warriors—fur-clad, scarred, fierce—gathered in a circle of ice.
The wind carried a sound to him. A scream. Not of pain.
Of becoming.
He turned, eyes narrowing.
"It has begun," he said, voice deep and low. "One of ours has been awakened."
A woman beside him—tall, red-haired, with a silver wolf pelt draped over her shoulders—stepped forward.
"But there was no rite," she said. "No claiming. No trial."
"No," the man replied. "This was no choice. This was fate."
Back in the forest, Alex lay still.
The pain had stopped.
That was almost worse.
He sat up slowly, breath catching in his throat. The world looked... brighter. Clearer. Every leaf, every blade of grass shimmered with definition. He could hear things—things that shouldn't be audible.
A squirrel's heartbeat in the branches.
The flap of an owl's wings from a mile away.
The drip of water onto moss—three hills over.
"What the hell..." he whispered.
Then stopped.
Even his voice sounded different.
Deeper. Sharper.
More alive.
He stood.
Or tried to.
His legs felt strange—stronger, yes, but foreign. Like wearing someone else's muscles. He stumbled, caught himself against a tree.
His fingers left marks in the bark.
He stared at them, blinking. Then looked down at his hands.
They weren't claws. Not yet. But they weren't just human either.
He took a breath—and his lungs filled like they'd never known air before. Scents exploded in his brain. Wet soil. Animal musk. Iron. And... something else.
Something familiar.
Smoke.
No.
Ash.
He turned.
There, deeper in the woods, a trail.
Not a human one. Not animal either.
Something older.
A path cut not by feet, but by presence.
Drawn to it, Alex walked.
He moved like he'd done it a thousand times. Fast. Silent. Efficient. Ducking branches. Avoiding roots. A predator born in minutes.
The trail led to a clearing surrounded by black pines. At its center, a stone altar—carved with runes that pulsed faint blue. Moss covered its base. Blood, dry and flaked, stained the top.
Not fresh.
But not ancient either.
He stepped closer.
The moment his foot touched the altar's base, the air shifted.
A cold wind whipped through the trees.
And something stepped into the clearing.
Tall. Clad in black fur. Eyes golden and glowing.
A wolf. Standing upright. Not a beast. Not a man.
Something between.
Alex froze.
The creature stared at him, head tilting slightly.
"You are not of our blood," it said.
Its voice was rough—like gravel breaking under a glacier. But it was not unkind.
Alex didn't answer. His body was screaming at him to run. But something deeper—something new—held him still.
"I was bitten," he said. "Last night."
The creature's gaze sharpened.
"Then you are cursed. Not claimed."
Alex shrugged slightly, wincing at the soreness in his shoulder. "Feels like both."
The wolf stared at him in silence.
Then stepped forward.
Its form shimmered, shrinking, folding, reshaping.
And in seconds, a man stood where the wolf had been.
He looked to be in his forties—tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a thick cloak of wolf fur. His beard was streaked with silver. His eyes remained golden.
"You stand on sacred ground," the man said. "Claimed only by those of the North."
Alex raised a brow. "And you are?"
"I am Ulfvarr. High Alpha of the Norne."
The name rang in Alex's head like a bell struck too hard.
He didn't know what it meant.
But part of him did.
Like it had always been waiting to be remembered.
"I'm Alex," he said. "Wilson."
Ulfvarr stepped closer.
"You carry more than the bite. I can smell it. A power not of the blood, nor the bone. Something older."
Alex hesitated. "I don't know what I am."
"Good," Ulfvarr said. "That means you are still dangerous."
Elsewhere
In a palace made of obsidian and smoke, a figure cloaked in endless shadow leaned over a pool of ink.
It rippled.
It screamed.
The being's face was formless, shifting. Its eyes were pits that pulled in light.
"He awakens," it said. "The Wound is open. The Balance... shakes."
Another voice replied—soft, almost feminine. "Then it has begun."
"The child must not survive."
Back in the Forest
Alex sat by a fire. One Ulfvarr had built with a snap of his fingers. No flint. No spark. Just will.
The old werewolf studied him in silence. Around them, other wolves had arrived—men and women, strong and watchful. None spoke. But all kept their eyes on him.
"You are Norse now," Ulfvarr said. "By blood. By pain. By the law of the bite."
"But it was an accident."
Ulfvarr nodded. "Fate does not ask permission."
Alex stared into the flames. "So what happens now?"
"You learn. You survive. You evolve."
"And if I don't?"
Ulfvarr's voice was quiet.
"Then the Void takes another."
Alex looked up sharply.
"The Void?"
The name sent a chill through him. Like something ancient had just whispered into his bones.
Ulfvarr's expression darkened.
"An enemy of all myths. Of all balance. They come not to conquer—but to erase."
"And you think I matter in that?"
Ulfvarr didn't answer right away.
Then: "I know you do."
Later That Night
Alone, beneath a full moon, Alex stood at the edge of the forest cliff.
He could see the city from here—lights glowing like fireflies, unaware of the war that stirred beneath their feet.
He felt... different.
Stronger.
But also heavier.
Like he was carrying something he hadn't agreed to.
His fingers clenched.
Then relaxed.
He took a breath.
And for the first time, he howled.
Not in pain.
Not in fear.
In declaration.
The woods answered.
And the North listened.