The nightmares were getting worse.
Every time Caleb closed his eyes, he saw red—blood on snow, wolves circling, and a woman's voice whispering his name from behind a veil of mist. He'd wake up gasping, claws half-shifted, heart pounding like a war drum.
But this time was different.
This time, he saw her face.
Not Lena. Not Sylas.
His mother.
And she was crying.
He sat up in bed, sweat drenched, the mark on his shoulder burning as if freshly carved. It pulsed with something deeper than pain—something that felt like a summoning.
In the hallway, Lena was already up, hoodie on, backpack slung. "You felt it too, didn't you?"
Caleb nodded. "Yeah. Like something's calling."
She bit her lip. "Then we should follow it."
They followed the pull through the edge of the Pines, past the rusted railway and the old greenhouse ruins. It wasn't a direction—it was a sensation, tugging their guts like a compass made of instinct.
That's where they found the altar.
Hidden deep in the earth, covered by brush, stone, and silence. It was ancient—carved with symbols that shimmered faintly under the moonlight, pulsing with the same red glow that now danced across Caleb's mark.
Lena stepped back. "What is this?"
Ronan emerged from the trees behind them, breath ragged. "A shrine," he said. "Built by the first of your kind."
Caleb stared at it. "My ancestors?"
"No," Ronan replied grimly. "Your creators."
Before he could explain more, the wind shifted.
Something moved.
Sylas stepped into the clearing, dressed in black from boots to collar, her hair whipping in the wind. She looked at the altar like it was an old friend.
"I knew you'd find it eventually," she said. "The blood always remembers."
"What is this place?" Caleb asked.
Sylas smiled. "The beginning. And the end. This is where the first Bloodborn was forged. And where you'll decide what you become."
"You want me to kneel?" he growled.
She shook her head. "Not yet. First, you must remember."
Then she raised her hand—
—and Caleb's mark exploded with light.
Visions slammed into him:
Flashes of war. Wolves in chains. Fires burning through trees. A young boy being carried through the woods. A name whispered in fear.
"Caleb."
He collapsed to the ground, gasping.
Sylas crouched beside him. "You're not just chosen. You're descended from the First Fang. The Alpha of Alphas. And every pack will want your blood."
Caleb looked up, trembling. "And if I refuse them?"
Her smile sharpened.
"Then they'll tear the world apart trying to take it."
The altar pulsed once more.
And the forest held its breath.