A Scar Beneath the Skin

The Blackthorn training grounds looked more like a war zone than anything resembling a gym. No padded floors or wooden dummies. Just a wide stretch of hard-packed dirt, half a fence leaning like it had given up the fight, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood clinging to the morning air.

Ezra followed Kael through the frost-bitten silence, trying not to trip over his own anxiety. Wolves were already out there—sparring, grunting, moving like they’d been born to bruise. Their breath rose in puffs as knuckles cracked against flesh. And every one of them turned to look at him.

Not with curiosity. With calculation.

“Morning drills,” Kael said, voice calm but final. “You’re in.”

Ezra blinked. “Me? You’re serious?”

Kael just looked at him. Not a glare. Not a challenge. Just… sure. Like he was handing Ezra something more important than a command.

“They need to see you’re more than just a name,” Kael said. “And you need to believe it too.”

Ezra swallowed down the spike of nerves twisting in his gut. He could feel every eye on him, waiting for the joke to fall apart. His feet felt too big. His heartbeat, too loud.

Alric stood nearby, arms folded like he couldn’t wait to say ‘I told you so.’ His silver hair gleamed under the early light.

“You’re really putting the mutt in the ring?” Alric asked Kael, unimpressed.

Kael didn’t blink. “He’s not asking your permission.”

A tall wolf stepped out from the group. Broad-shouldered, too confident, his smirk already grating. The Blackthorn crest was branded into his shoulder—dark and angry.

“I’ll take him,” the guy said. “Let’s see what the stray can do.”

Ezra didn’t flinch. “You flirt like this with everyone, or am I special?”

The guy didn’t answer. He just lunged.

Ezra barely dodged the first punch, but the second caught his ribs hard. Pain laced through him, hot and sharp. His wolf roared under his skin—shift, fight, run—but he shoved it down.

Instead, Ezra dropped low, swept the guy’s legs, and yanked.

The wolf hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Silence.

Ezra stood over him, chest heaving, fists still up. “We done here?”

The guy scrambled up, embarrassed now, fists clenched. He charged again. Ezra twisted, caught him mid-swing, and flipped him with a clean, practiced throw.

He wasn’t even sure how he’d done it.

But it worked.

Whispers stirred around them. Eyes widened. Even Alric tilted his head, faintly surprised.

Kael gave a nod. “That’s enough.”

The cocky wolf didn’t try again.

Alric muttered, “Guess he’s not entirely useless.”

Ezra shrugged. “Thanks for the glowing review.”

But before he could step away, another wolf approached—older, weathered, scarred. His eyes were pale and sharp, like winter had frozen over inside him.

“If he wants to be one of us,” the man said, pulling something from his belt, “he’ll take the rite.”

Ezra stiffened. “What rite?”

Kael turned toward him, body tense. “The pain-bind.”

The older wolf held up a knife. Not ceremonial. Just used. The edge was nicked. The handle worn smooth.

“Blood for blood,” he said. “Scar for scar. That’s how we welcome our own.”

Kael’s voice dropped low. “You don’t have to do this.”

Ezra looked at him, heart thudding. “But if I don’t?”

Kael didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Ezra rolled up his sleeve and stepped forward. His breath trembled, but his arm didn’t.

The blade bit fast. Sharp, cruel.

Pain flared. Ezra gritted his teeth but didn’t flinch.

Then something changed.

The blood that trickled out wasn’t just red—it shimmered, faintly, like starlight caught in motion. A glow, subtle and gold, lit under his skin for a heartbeat.

And then… the mark appeared.

Not a fresh wound. Not the cut. Something older. Like it had always been there, waiting. A circle, ancient-looking, burned just beneath the surface.

Gasps rose around him. Alric froze. Even the scarred wolf looked shaken.

Kael was the first to move. He stepped forward like a storm, his voice slicing through the air. “That’s enough.”

Alric’s voice was low. “That mark…”

Kael didn’t let him finish. “Drop it.”

Ezra blinked, staring at his arm. The glow faded. The mark dimmed, almost gone. But he felt it, deep in his chest—something had shifted.

Something had woken up.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, voice tight, afraid to hear the answer.

Kael looked at him—really looked. And for the first time, there was something close to fear in his eyes.

“Something I thought was only legend,” he said. “Something that shouldn’t exist anymore.”

Ezra’s arm throbbed, the cut still bleeding. But all he could think about was the pull in his bones.

Like a door had opened.

And whatever was behind it wasn’t done.