The other werewolves could shift between human and wolf forms at will. But Kane's body remained human throughout the day. Transformation wasn't possible—not until the moon rose.
"Okay, let me get going," he muttered, stepping out of his room and heading toward the Judgment Chamber beneath the castle.
As he drew closer, noise reached his ears—raised voices, hurried footsteps, a thick tension hanging in the air.
What's going on?
The moment he stepped inside, confusion struck like a blade. The upper seat—the one meant for him—was already occupied. That was his place. He had come to pass judgment, not be judged.
The chamber was full, packed with werewolves sitting like an audience at a trial. Something was off. Deeply off.
"What's going on?" Kane asked, his voice rising. "What is happening? I didn't do anything… did I?"
Two men suddenly approached him. Without warning, their bodies cracked and stretched—bones snapping, claws tearing through skin as they transformed mid-stride.
Kane staggered back.
"Stop! Stop! What's going on? What happened?!" he shouted, panic climbing his throat.
His eyes scanned the room—then froze.
A man sat in a throne-like chair, different from the others. Elevated. Commanding.
Diren.
He stood, his voice thunderous.
"You end today, you filthy bastard!"
He jabbed a finger at Kane. "We won't risk anyone learning what you really are. Be grateful—because your execution is today."
He raised both hands and barked an order.
The two werewolves lunged, grabbing Kane's arms before he could react. He fought, but their strength overwhelmed him. They dragged him to the chamber's center, chaining his wrists to two iron rods embedded in the stone floor.
He struggled, heart pounding.
How am I going to escape this?
There was no time to think. No chance to plan.
If only… if only I could transform.
But he couldn't.
Not yet.
Not without the moon.
One of the werewolves stepped forward and slashed him across the chest.
"Haa—haa—haa!" Kane gasped, reeling from the pain. Blood poured from the wound as his skin split wide.
Because he wasn't a full werewolf, his healing was slow. Too slow.
They didn't stop.
Slash after slash tore into his body—claws ripping through flesh. Blood soaked the floor beneath him. Some of the shallower cuts began to mend, but the deeper ones kept bleeding. His strength was fading fast.
So… is this it?
Is this how I die? Mocked. Beaten. Chained like a criminal.
My life's been nothing but pain. I never lived. I never had a chance.
Why was I even born?
He shut his eyes.
And then—he saw her.
A vision.
A woman in flowing white. Radiant. Ethereal.
She stepped forward, cupping his face with tender hands.
"You must live, my son," she whispered. "You must live."
Kane stared.
An angel? Is this what people see before they die?
But then it hit him.
No… not an angel.
She looks like… my mother.
But she was gone.
She died years ago.
But she was gone.
She died years ago.
Then why could he feel her touch?
And why, beneath the blood and chains, was something starting to stir?