The red sun hung low on the horizon like a bleeding wound across the sky. Ares stood atop a jagged outcrop overlooking the volcanic plains of Olympus Mons, the largest mountain in the known solar system. Beneath his bare feet, the blackened basalt cracked from centuries of exposure to the thin Martian air. His breath misted in front of him—visible despite the lack of humidity—a strange anomaly he couldn't explain.
He hadn't transformed last night.
That was the first time since puberty that he had remained human under the crimson moon. And it scared him more than anything ever had.
A howl echoed from the distance, carried by the windless silence of Mars. It was Kael's call—urgent, commanding. Ares turned toward the sound, his muscles taut with unease. He should have answered instinctively, but something held him back. Not fear. Not doubt. Something deeper. A question.
Why didn't I change?
His pack believed transformation was as natural as breathing, a gift from the old Earth gods who had cursed their ancestors. But Ares had been born on Mars, not Earth. None of them remembered the blue planet except through stories passed down like sacred scripture. Their myths told of a time when werewolves were hunted, feared, exiled. When humanity fled to the stars, the werewolves followed—not as pets or prisoners, but as equals bound by necessity.
Now, they lived in uneasy truce with humans in domed cities scattered across the red sands. Humans controlled the oxygen, the water, the tech. Werewolves ruled the wilds—the canyons, craters, and dust plains where no dome could hold. And Ares, once just another young wolf among many, now found himself at the center of something far greater.
He descended the rocky slope, boots crunching against gravel. The cold bit into his skin, but it wasn't unbearable. In fact, it felt... familiar. Natural. As if his body had always belonged here.
When he reached the base of the ridge, he found Kael waiting.
"You missed the hunt," Kael said, his voice low and rough like shifting sand. His eyes glowed faintly gold in the dim light. "Again."
"I didn't transform," Ares replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. "It didn't happen."
Kael studied him for a long moment, then stepped closer. The pack leader was taller, broader, his fur still matted from the previous night's battle with rogue wolves near Noctis Labyrinthus. There were rumors those rogues had begun using stolen human tech—neural enhancers, stimulants designed for soldiers. They weren't just surviving anymore. They were evolving.
And that terrified Kael.
"Show me," Kael ordered.
Ares closed his eyes. Focused. Reached for the beast within—the primal energy that surged through every werewolf under the moon. He searched for the pull, the ache in his bones, the heat behind his eyes.
Nothing.
He opened his eyes again. "I don't know what's happening to me."
Kael's expression darkened. "This is dangerous. If the others find out…"
"They'll think I'm cursed," Ares finished grimly.
Wolves didn't lose their transformations. That was a death sentence in their society. Without the change, you lost strength, senses, survival instincts. You became vulnerable. Human.
And in the wilds of Mars, vulnerability meant death.
"We need answers," Kael said finally. "Go to Dr. Patel. She's been asking about you anyway."
Ares stiffened. "You trust her?"
"She's a scientist, not a soldier. She studies us, not hunts us. Maybe she can help."
Dr. Sophia Patel. A name that stirred something in Ares—curiosity, maybe even respect. She had visited the pack twice before, always asking questions, taking notes, never carrying weapons. Unlike most humans, she didn't treat them like animals. Still, trusting a human was risky. Especially now.
"I'll go," Ares said.
Kael nodded once, then turned away. "Be careful. If this gets out before we understand it, there won't be peace between our kind and yours. There'll be war."
Ares watched him disappear into the red haze of the morning. Then he turned east, toward the distant glow of the research outpost nestled in the shadow of Olympus Mons.
---
Later that Day – Dr. Sophia Patel's Lab
The lab was a stark contrast to the wilderness outside—sterile white walls, humming machines, and the scent of ozone and antiseptic. Ares stood awkwardly in the corner, arms crossed, while Dr. Patel adjusted the scanner above him.
"So," she said, her voice calm, professional. "You didn't transform last night."
"No," he replied. "Not even a flicker."
She looked up, intrigued. "No pain? No fever? No signs of the shift?"
"None."
Sophia tapped a few keys on her console. Data scrolled past too fast for Ares to read. She frowned slightly, then turned to face him fully.
"This isn't normal," she admitted. "For any of you. Your physiology has adapted to Mars better than humans, but you're still dependent on lunar cycles. All of you."
Ares met her gaze. "So why am I different?"
"That's what I want to find out." She hesitated. "But I need to run some deeper scans. Bloodwork, neural mapping, maybe even a tissue sample."
He tensed. "You mean a biopsy?"
"If necessary," she said gently. "But only if you agree."
He studied her face. She was older than him by a decade at least, with sharp features and tired eyes. Yet there was kindness there. Curiosity, yes—but also caution.
"Fine," he said. "But you tell me everything you find."
She nodded. "Of course."
As she prepared the equipment, Ares asked, "What do you think it means?"
Sophia paused. "Honestly? I don't know. But I've seen anomalies before. Patterns hidden in the data. This might be one of them."
"What kind of patterns?"
She glanced at him, then lowered her voice. "There are things buried beneath Olympus Mons. Things older than either of us. Older than Mars itself."
Ares frowned. "You think whatever's inside me came from there?"
"I think," she said slowly, "that you might be the key to understanding something ancient. Something powerful."
Outside, the wind began to rise. Dust swirled against the reinforced glass of the lab windows. A storm was coming.
And so was the truth.