Riven Thorn had always believed that monsters were stories people told to keep children indoors after sunset.
Threxa was not a city of legends. It was a place of narrow streets, rusted railings, and old stone homes packed too close together. A place where people worried about food prices, broken lanterns, and whether the rain would flood the lower districts again. Monsters didn't belong here. They lived in myths, old warnings whispered by drunk elders or scratched into forgotten books no one read anymore.
That night, Riven learned how wrong he was.
The moon hung low and pale above Threxa, its light dimmed by drifting clouds. Riven had just finished locking the front shutters when the first scream tore through the streets.
It wasn't long. It wasn't dramatic.
It was cut short.
Riven froze.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then another scream followed closer this time. Glass shattered somewhere down the road. A dog began barking wildly before falling silent.
His mother, Tyrella, was already moving.
"Riven," she said sharply, grabbing his arm. Her grip was tight, too tight. "Get your boots. Now."
"What's happening?" he asked, his pulse climbing.
Tyrella didn't answer. She shoved a small pack into his hands, clothes, wrapped bread, a flask, an old knife that had never once been used for anything more than cutting rope.
That alone terrified him.
Then came the sound.
Heavy. Wet. Not footsteps but pads striking stone with inhuman rhythm. A low growl rolled through the street, deep enough to vibrate in his chest.
Tyrella's face went pale.
"They found us," she whispered.
Riven didn't have time to ask who they were.
The front door exploded inward.
Wood splintered like paper as a massive shape burst through the entrance. Moonlight revealed glowing eyes, feral, filled with hunger. The creature stood on two legs, its frame twisted into something both man and beast. Fur bristled along its shoulders. Claws scraped against stone.
Behind it, more shapes moved.
Werewolves.
Tyrella shoved Riven toward the back exit. "Run. Don't look back."
The first werewolf lunged.
Tyrella stepped in its path.
Riven shouted her name, but the sound drowned beneath snarls and crashing furniture. She moved with desperate precision, slashing with a blade she'd hidden beneath her cloak. It bought seconds, nothing more.
They burst into the alley behind the house, rain-slick stones biting into Riven's boots as they ran. The night felt alive now, filled with echoes of destruction, screams, howls, buildings collapsing under monstrous force.
They didn't get far.
A blur dropped from the rooftop ahead of them, landing silently. Another werewolf larger than the rest. Its presence pressed down on the air itself, heavy and suffocating.
An Alpha.
Tyrella stopped.
Slowly, she stepped in front of Riven, arms outstretched as if her body alone could shield him.
"Please," she said, voice shaking but defiant. "He's just a boy."
The Alpha tilted its head.
Then it moved.
There was no fight. No chance.
The werewolf's claw tore through Tyrella's chest with terrifying ease. She collapsed without a sound, her body hitting the stones as if she weighed nothing at all.
"Mother!!!"
Riven dropped beside her, hands slick with blood he didn't understand, his mind screaming that this couldn't be real. Her eyes were already unfocused.
Something inside him broke.
He screamed not in fear, but rage and lunged at the Alpha with the useless knife.
The Alpha backhanded him.
Pain exploded across Riven's throat. He hit the ground hard, choking, warmth spilling down his chest. His vision blurred. His body refused to move.
I'm dying, he realized distantly.
The Alpha loomed over him, eyes narrowing.
For a moment, something like curiosity flickered across its face.
Then it did the impossible.
The Alpha lowered its head and sinked his fangs into Riven's shoulders.
Agony unlike anything Riven had ever known surged through his body. Fire raced through his veins, his heart convulsing violently. The world shattered into white-hot pain and darkness.
The last thing he heard was the Alpha's voice ancient, layered, carrying the weight of command.
"A mistake… or the beginning."
Then everything went black.