Pain.
Not the dull ache of sore muscles.
Not the burning sting of a fresh wound.
This was sharper. Deeper. Like something had split his skull open and forgotten to close it.
He woke with a sharp inhale, chest rising violently as cold air rushed into his lungs.
Grass.
He could feel it first before he could see it — damp blades pressing against his skin. The earth beneath him was cool and uneven, littered with pebbles and roots that dug into his back. A faint breeze brushed across his bare torso, carrying the smell of soil, moss, and distant trees. He didn't move immediately. Instinct told him not to. Instead, he listened.
Wind through leaves.
Birdsong somewhere high above.
The quiet rustle of insects in tall grass.
No engines. No distant city noise. No electricity humming through power lines.
Silence. His eyes snapped open.
A pale blue sky stretched endlessly above him, broken only by drifting clouds and the looming silhouette of towering trees. Their trunks were thick and ancient, bark rough and scarred like they had stood for centuries.
He frowned.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He pushed himself upright, and the motion sent a violent spike of pain through his skull. His vision blurred as memories tried to surface — fragments crashing into each other like broken glass.
Running. Shouting. The metallic scent of blood thick in the air.
Claws.
Fangs.
A battle beneath a moonlit sky.
His hand flew to his head as he groaned.
"I was… fighting."
The words left him hoarse and unfamiliar, as if he hadn't spoken in days. His breathing slowed, instincts settling beneath his skin like a predator waking from slumber.
And then he noticed his body.
Or rather… the lack of clothing.
What remained of his clothes clung to him in torn, shredded pieces. The fabric looked like it had been dragged through claws and stone. Deep gashes sliced across the shirt's remains, exposing hard muscle and skin marked with faint healing wounds.
Claw marks. His claw marks.
Recognition flickered in his eyes.
He exhaled slowly.
"Shift damage…"
His voice steadied.
Yes. That made sense. Werewolves shredded clothing when they transformed. He knew that. He remembered that. He was a werewolf. Not just a werewolf.
A True Alpha.
The title surfaced in his mind with an instinctive certainty that made his chest tighten. The power beneath his skin responded to the thought, a low hum vibrating through his bones.
But something else tugged at his memory.
Before the battle. Before the pain. There had been…
Technology.
Flashes of it appeared in his mind like distant dreams. Streetlights, Metal roads, Glass buildings, Engines roaring like mechanical beasts.
Civilization.
He looked around again. Trees. Endless forest. No roads. No power lines. No distant hum of human life.
Only wilderness, Only silence. And far in the distance…
Smoke rising from what looked like a village.
His stomach growled. Loud. Violent. Primal.
Hunger hit him like a truck.
The kind of hunger that didn't ask politely.
It demanded. His pupils dilated as the forest suddenly exploded into detail. The world sharpened into scents and sounds layered over reality.
Wet bark. Rotting leaves.
Small animals beneath the soil.
Birds in the canopy.
And then, There.
A heartbeat. Fast. Panicked. Small.
His head tilted slightly.
Rabbit.
The realization didn't feel strange. It felt natural. Automatic.His body moved before his thoughts caught up.
The forest blurred around him as he sprinted forward, bare feet silent against the earth. Branches snapped past his shoulders, air tearing against his skin as the distance vanished in seconds.
The rabbit bolted. Too slow. He lunged.
The hunt lasted less than three seconds.
When he finished eating, the hunger had dulled into a manageable ache. Blood coated his fingers, warm and metallic, but he barely noticed. Instead, he leaned back against a tree trunk and exhaled slowly.
Survival came first. Questions later.
Water. He needed water.
Closing his eyes, he let his senses spread again. Listening. Smelling. Feeling the world breathe.
Then he heard it. Flowing. A stream.
He followed the sound until the trees opened to reveal a narrow river winding through smooth stones and moss-covered banks. Sunlight danced across the water's surface, sparkling like shattered glass.
He knelt beside it and drank deeply.
Cold. Fresh. Real.
When he finished, he sat back and stared at the sky. Clouds drifted lazily overhead.
"Where am I…?"
The question slipped out quietly. He expected silence. Instead—
A distant scream shattered the forest.
His head snapped toward the sound.
Wind shifted.
A scent rode the breeze.
Blood.Not animal.Human.
He was moving before he realized it.
The smell grew stronger with every step, metallic and thick, laced with something else beneath it. Something wrong. Something cold.
He burst into a clearing. And stopped.
A man lay sprawled on the ground, eyes wide and lifeless, skin pale as snow. His clothes were simple — rough fabric, handmade stitching. The kind seen in history books.
But that wasn't what made the Alpha freeze. It was the body. No wounds. No torn flesh. No blood on the ground. Yet the smell of blood was overwhelming. The corpse looked…
Drained.
As if every drop inside him had been taken.
The Alpha's eyes narrowed. Another scent lingered nearby. Faint. Fading. Not human.
Not wolf. Gone. He didn't chase it. Not yet.
Instead, he stared down at the corpse, unease settling deep in his chest.
When he finally turned away, the sun had already begun to sink.
Night approached.
And somewhere in the forest…
Something else was hunting.
The forest woke before the sun did.
Adrian Vale opened his eyes to the sound of something wrong.
A sharp crack echoed through the trees, followed by the unmistakable groan of splintering wood.
Not an animal.Not a predator.
Man-made.
He rose slowly from the base of the tree where he had spent the night, body already alert. Dawn's light filtered through the canopy in thin golden rays, painting the forest floor in shifting patterns.
Another crack. Then a voice.
"Damn this cursed road!"
Adrian froze.
Human.
Alive.
He moved silently toward the sound, bare feet stepping over roots and fallen branches without a whisper. As the trees thinned, the smell reached him first — horses, leather, iron… and frustration.
A carriage sat tilted at the edge of a narrow dirt path, one wheel split clean in half. Beside it, a thick-bearded man struggled to drag a heavy chest from the back.
The man muttered curses under his breath as he tugged uselessly at the trunk.
Adrian stepped out from the trees.
The man froze.
They stared at each other.
Adrian suddenly became very aware that he was half-naked, covered in faint scars, dried blood, and wearing what remained of shredded fabric.
The man's eyes widened.
"You—"
He stopped, blinking rapidly as if unsure Adrian was real.
"By the saints… how are you alive?"
Adrian tilted his head slightly.
"…Alive?"
The man gestured wildly toward the forest behind him.
"You came from there. On foot. At dawn."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"No one survives a night in those woods alone."
Adrian didn't answer.
He simply walked past him and grabbed the broken wheel.
The man sputtered.
"That's— wait— you don't have to—"
The wood groaned as Adrian lifted the carriage corner high enough for the axle to clear the ground.
The man went silent.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I— right. Yes. Saints be praised. Lift it… just like that."
Minutes later, the chest was secured, the carriage stabilized enough to move slowly, and the man stared at Adrian like he'd discovered a myth walking among men.
"You're either blessed… or terribly cursed."
Adrian almost smiled.
The man's name was Edwin Miller, a trader from a nearby village two hours south.
He talked. Endlessly.
Adrian learned more in that walk than he had since waking.
Bandits roamed distant roads.
Wolves owned the forests.
Travelers vanished if they wandered after dark.
"Night belongs to the devil," Edwin said grimly. "And the things that serve him."
Adrian listened quietly.
Every word confirmed what he already suspected.
This was the past. Far past.
Before machines. Before cities.
Before the world he remembered.
Edwin finally glanced at him again.
"You truly have nowhere to go, lad?"
Adrian shook his head slowly.
"I woke in the forest. I remember… nothing before that."
The lie came easily.
Edwin studied him for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Then you'll work for me."
Adrian blinked.
"You helped me. And you look like a man who can carry a house if he wished."
A grin spread across Edwin's face.
"You'll work until you find your footing. Fair?"
Adrian considered the offer.
Shelter. Food. Information.
"Fair."
The village stared.
Children stopped playing.
Women paused mid-conversation.
Men lowered tools and squinted suspiciously.
Adrian unloaded crates, barrels, sacks of grain, and furniture with effortless ease. Work that took two men barely slowed him.
Whispers followed him like shadows.
"That boy lifted the whole chest alone…"
"Did you see the size of him?"
"He works like he enjoys it…"
Weeks passed. Routine formed.
Work by day. Quiet observation by night.
Listening. Learning. Watching.
And then one afternoon—
Adrian felt it. The same instinct that warned prey of predators.
He looked toward the treeline. Something stood between the shadows of the trees.
Watching the village. Watching him.
When he blinked—.
It was gone.
"YOU WORK TOO MUCH."
Adrian turned.
Edwin's daughter stood behind him holding two wooden cups. She smiled far too brightly.
"And you think too much. And speak too little. And walk too quietly. And—"
She shoved a drink into his hand.
"You need this."
Adrian stared at the cup.
"…Thank you."
She beamed like she'd won a battle.
Then she began talking. And did not stop.
Stories about villagers. Traders. Rumors. Weather. Chickens. Everything.
Adrian found himself listening.
Smiling, even.
But his eyes drifted back to the treeline.
Where something had been standing.
Watching.
In broad daylight.