Chapter 4: Moonbound
The dream was not his.
It began in darkness. Not absence—but pressure. A weight so dense, so absolute, it crushed sound, light, thought.
Then—a heartbeat.
Not his.
Louder than thunder. Slower than time.
Boom.
And with it, visions.
Flashes.
A thousand eyes watching from the edge of nothing. A blade too heavy to be lifted, buried in a tree that bled light. A silver moon turning black, dripping tar onto a battlefield where gods fell screaming.
And at the center of it all—
Him.
Standing alone.
Not as Alex Wilson.
But as something else.
---
He woke gasping.
Cold sweat clung to his skin. His body was trembling, not from fear, but from something deeper. Like his soul had been stirred. Like the air no longer fit inside his lungs properly.
He sat up, wrapped in a thick fur blanket inside a wooden longhouse. Runes carved into the walls pulsed with faint blue light. It smelled of firewood, steel, and frost.
Outside, snowflakes fell lazily beneath a silver morning sky.
Alex took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"I really miss my dorm bed."
---
The Norne werewolves lived in what could only be described as a hidden village tucked into the bones of the Scandinavian wilderness—far from civilization, cloaked by enchantment and fear. The humans who came too close always turned back, plagued by unease and hallucinations of wolves with glowing eyes.
Alex had been brought here unconscious after his first howl.
And now?
He was their problem.
---
Ulfvarr was waiting for him outside, standing at the edge of a frozen lake surrounded by pines.
The High Alpha wore no cloak now—just runed leathers and frost-kissed scars on his chest. His breath came out in slow clouds as he gazed across the ice.
"You dreamt," he said without turning.
Alex approached cautiously. "How'd you know?"
"Because all Moonbound do."
Alex frowned. "Moonbound?"
Ulfvarr nodded. "Those born of chaos. Bitten, not blessed. Touched by something older than blood. You are not one of us by tradition—but the moon has accepted you."
Alex folded his arms. "And what exactly does that mean?"
Ulfvarr turned to him, golden eyes narrowing. "It means you will never belong to just one myth. You are something the Council fears. Something the Void hates."
Alex raised a brow. "That's comforting."
---
Training began immediately.
Not the cool, montage-type training Alex had seen in anime and movies.
No.
This was brutal.
Raw.
Real.
First came body conditioning—forced transformation drills beneath moonlight. It took hours to shift a finger. Days to control the claws. Weeks to move without breaking something.
Then combat—facing down elder wolves in duels meant to kill. Not literally, but close enough that Alex left every day limping.
And finally, mental discipline—learning to resist the pull of rage, the madness of the wolf, the influence of mythic instinct.
It was agony.
And he was hooked.
---
He'd never felt more alive.
Every punch landed with power he didn't have before.
Every movement grew sharper, faster, inevitable.
The wolf inside him wasn't a beast.
It was a second mind.
A presence.
One that whispered when he was weak. One that laughed when he was afraid. But never tried to control him.
Not yet.
He began calling it Fen—short for something he didn't know yet.
---
By the second week, others started to notice.
The Norne warriors who once looked at him with suspicion now gave him nods of respect.
One even grunted what might've been a compliment.
Progress.
And then there was Astrid.
---
She was Ulfvarr's second-in-command. Tall, lean, and lethal. Her hair was a sheet of pale gold, her eyes icy blue, and her expression perpetually unreadable. She moved like a storm trapped in human form—graceful, quiet, and dangerous.
Alex first met her properly when she pinned him to the snow with a blade at his throat during a sparring match.
"You're dead," she said flatly.
He grinned up at her. "Give me five seconds, I'll respawn."
She blinked.
Then actually smirked.
And walked off.
That was the beginning.
---
She didn't talk much.
But she watched him.
And every now and then, she offered a word. A correction. A warning. A compliment hidden beneath sarcasm.
He liked her.
A lot.
And the worst part?
She never gave him the satisfaction of knowing if she liked him back.
---
Then came the test.
---
On the thirteenth night, beneath a waxing moon, Ulfvarr summoned the circle.
Dozens of werewolves stood in the clearing—cloaked, armed, transformed. The fire in the center roared high, casting shadows that moved like spirits.
Alex stood in the middle, shirtless, marked with runes painted in wolf's blood. His eyes were steady. His breathing calm.
He was ready.
Or so he thought.
Ulfvarr stepped forward, voice booming.
"Alex Wilson. Bitten by fate. Forged by pain. You stand at the edge of path no one has walked. Tonight, you face the Trial of Howling Flame. Survive—and you are Norne. Fail—and we bury what's left."
Alex swallowed.
No pressure.
---
He was given no weapon.
No warning.
Just thrown into the pit.
And then the flames rose.
Out of the smoke came three wolves—massive, white-furred, eyes like ice. Spirit-born guardians of the Norne. They did not bleed. They did not tire.
They existed to test the soul.
Alex didn't hesitate.
He ran toward them.
---
The first one lunged.
He ducked, slid beneath its claws, and drove an elbow into its ribs. The wolf shimmered, howled—and vanished.
Not real. Not fully.
The second attacked from the side.
Alex shifted—his hands turned to claws mid-move. He slashed, tore fur and smoke. Another howl.
Gone.
The third was behind him.
But Fen—his inner wolf—whispered.
Now.
Alex turned, caught the third wolf mid-leap, and let it carry them both to the ground.
They rolled.
Fangs flashed.
Claws tore.
And then—
Silence.
Alex stood.
Bloody. Bruised.
Victorious.
---
The fire dimmed.
The wolves were gone.
Ulfvarr stepped forward.
"So," he said. "You live."
Alex spat blood and smiled. "Told you I respawn."
---
That night, the Norne howled.
Not in mourning.
In honor.
Alex Wilson was one of them now.
Moonbound.
---
But Elsewhere...
In the heart of the Void, the Hollow King stirred.
He watched through eyes not his own.
He saw the boy rise.
Saw the wolves kneel.
And he laughed.
But it was not joy.
It was hunger.
A thousand whispering voices echoed around him.
"He awakens."
"The Balance tilts."
"The Anchor trembles."
The Hollow King raised one hand.
The stars in that cursed sky blinked out.
And across the world, Voidspawn began to rise.
---