The Cursed MasterThey call it Frostwillow.A forest cloaked in snow and silence, its trees blackened by time and secrets. But I remember when it was something else — green and alive, pulsing with the blood of my kin. Before the slaughter. Before the betrayal.Before the curse.I do not remember my name — not the one I bore as a wolf. The magic that changed me carved it from my memory, replacing it with something sharper. Something darker. But the hunger? That stayed. The hunger for vengeance. For justice. For retribution so complete that the gods themselves would weep.When they slaughtered my bloodline — when Ashfang tore through our lands and burned our sacred groves — they believed they’d ended the threat.But they were wrong.The forest remembered. The soil drank our blood. And I remained, bound to its roots, waiting.They call me a monster now. A cursed thing, a whisper in the woods. But I was a wolf before I was a god.They made me this.Their fear gives me form. Their blood gi
The Cursed OneThe hunger was never quiet. It gnawed at my ribs, an ancient and endless ache that twisted everything I once was into something dark, something primal. Every breath I took was tainted by the coppery scent of blood, by the stench of decay that clung to my own fur.But still… I remembered.Not everything. Not names, not places. But fragments. Echoes of laughter. The warmth of a den in the dead of winter. The sound of a heartbeat not driven by rage.I remembered being whole. Before the curse.Now, I was a shadow caught between life and death, loyalty and madness.And I was watching them.From the ridge above their camp — the Ashfang stronghold — I crouched beneath the cover of pine and ash, my form hidden by the blackened bark of cursed trees. The moonlight struggled to reach me here, as though it feared what it might reveal.Below, their camp shimmered with ward-lights and the throb of magic. I could hear their heartbeats, feel their strength pulsing through the soil. The
The night air was cold, biting through the layers of my coat like a blade sharpened on frost. I moved silently through the dense forest surrounding Ashfang camp, senses sharpened to a razor’s edge. Every twig snap, every rustle of leaves, every distant howl was a signal—either warning or threat.This forest was a labyrinth of shadows and secrets, but I knew it well enough to feel when something was off.Tonight, more than ever, I felt the weight of those secrets pressing down. The cursed wolves were restless, and so was Elena.Our bond had grown stronger since that first night beneath the blood moon, but tonight, there was something new—a tension, a hesitation in her voice, a shadow in her eyes that I couldn’t ignore.I found her by the sacred pool, the pale moonlight catching the delicate curve of her jaw and the way her dark hair fell around her shoulders. She looked fragile, almost like a whispered secret, but the fierce light in her silver eyes burned bright.“Elena,” I said softl
The blood moon hung low over Ashfang camp, casting an eerie red glow that bled through the towering pines. Shadows twisted and lengthened, the forest around us alive with whispered fears and restless spirits. It was a night heavy with ancient power — and a night that promised no peace.I stood at the edge of the clearing, the weight of the pack pressing behind me, their eyes reflecting firelight and uncertainty. The pup inside me stirred with a steady heartbeat, a steady pulse I clung to amid the growing chaos.Silas came to stand beside me, his presence steady and sure. “The blood moon strengthens the curse,” he said quietly. “We’ll feel its pull tonight.”I nodded, feeling Nyx’s muscles tense beneath my skin. The wolf stirred in uneasy anticipation. Tonight, the battle would shift — from physical to spiritual, from steel and teeth to the raw, ancient forces that bound us all.The camp was a hive of preparation. Warriors sharpened blades and checked weapons, sentinels doubled their w
The morning broke with a brittle chill, the kind of cold that settled deep beneath the skin and made every breath sharp and fleeting. Frost coated the pine needles and the earth, glittering faintly under the pale light of a winter sun struggling to rise.I stood at the edge of Ashfang camp, my wolf Nyx restless beneath the surface, sensing the tension that clung to the forest like a suffocating shroud. Ahead of me stretched the wild, tangled maze of Frostwillow — a land both beautiful and dangerous, where twisted trees loomed like dark sentinels and ancient shadows whispered of things best left forgotten.The pack scouts were ready — hardened warriors bred for stealth and survival. Mara stood beside me, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the tree line, and Silas lingered a few paces behind, silent but watchful.“Everyone knows the stakes,” I said quietly, meeting the eyes of each scout gathered. “We find out what the cursed wolves are planning. We stop them before more Ashfang fall.”A
The dawn broke cold and sharp, with a frost that glittered on the edges of pine needles like tiny diamonds. I stood on the ridge overlooking Ashfang’s camp, the air still and heavy as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Below, the pack stirred slowly—wolves stretching, noses twitching, voices muted by the weight of what had come before.It had been a week since the first battle against the cursed wolves, and the scars of that night still burned fresh in my mind. The earth at the northern ridge was scorched and blackened where our traps had failed, where blood and ash mingled with pine needles and dirt. I could almost see their twisted shapes in the flickering shadows: malformed wolves with eyes that gleamed like poisoned silver, snarling in rage and madness.I closed my eyes and felt Nyx, my wolf, stir beneath my skin. The tension in the pack echoed inside me like a low growl — restless, uneasy. The wolf sensed it before I did: the scent of danger, old and new, weaving throug