The Day the World Changed...

Cyrus hurriedly jogs through the village. Frosted vapor escapes his throat every time he breathes, and the displacing cold, dry air stings his skin. He slips by dozens of people noticing and making way for him; it's rare to see the man fervently rushing somewhere like this. The man grinds to a stop near the main pathway into the villages, locking eyes with one of the guards as he catches his breath. "Hey, did Aerin come this way?" he asks, his grey eyes hecticly eyeing the two men. The one closest to him shakes his head first, but the second answers Cyrus.

"He never came this way, sorry. Is something wrong?" the young guard inquires, and Cyrus shakes his head. A frigid breeze blows falling snow a little harder over them and the landscapes when Cyrus speaks.

"No, not yet, at least..." Cyrus sighs and pinches his nose in exasperation, then glances toward the thicket of woods surrounding them. Suddenly, he sucks his teeth and faces the soldiers again. "Are the Vargrs trained and ready for use yet?" he inquires, even though his eyes hint his thoughts are everywhere. The closest guard scratches his head and thinks for a second before he responds.

"One or two of them might be?" he answers, glancing at his companion for confirmation. The other soldier readily chimes in.

"There's a couple of them, yes. However, they're the new breeding pair since the previous dozen or so Vargrs died from Wolfsbane Flu. The rest aren't fully grown yet. I don't think they'll be ready for the festival this winter," he informs, and Cyrus lightly snarls in annoyance. He needs to make a choice. Now.

"I'm going to look for Aerin. We're in a situation that is too delicate to have him break tenets. Can one of you inform Ymir of my actions? You won't get into trouble for leaving your post because I'm sending you," he assures them. The guards happily nod.

"As you command, Cyrus," the furthest guard acknowledges but pauses in thought. "Is something wrong, though? Are we in danger?" he asks, and Cyrus responds without missing a beat.

"No. Aerin's just getting too comfortable being a Lone Wolf," Cyrus sighs aloud, understanding his response wasn't entirely true. However, he doesn't want to spook anyone. Cyrus walks toward the forest as he waves his hand over his shoulder. "I'm going to find him. If he's not back before dusk, send out a search party and keep it on a need-to-know basis," he orders, and both soldiers express acknowledgment. Cyrus quickly darts into the snowy forest and disappears seconds later. He glances at the sky and guesses it's a little after midday. There's plenty of time and light for tracking without transforming. Cyrus needs to save his strength for the festival.

As the man darts through the woods alone, he feels a familiarly debilitating sensation. A sense of caution and paranoia itches the back of his mind and a sense of lost power. Cyrus understood this feeling more than well enough; it only happens when a Lycan leaves the pack without an ally...

Fenrir does not watch over Lone Wolves...

For the Lone Wolf tends to earn Another's Gaze...

"Stay focused..." Cyrus aggressively shakes free from his thoughts, fixating on his main goal: finding Aerin. He picks up speed, quickly reaching speeds rivaling the fastest horses while rushing through the terrain. However, he lacks his younger sibling's agility at high speeds. This lacking agility shows when Cyrus tucks his head and brandishes his right shoulder forward at a rapidly approaching fallen tree. He smashes through it, knocking snow and splintered wood everywhere, and loses minimal momentum. Dusting himself off, he snorts like a bull and picks up even more speed until he's forced to run on all fours, covering yards of distance with every bound. He crossed over a mile of distance in less than a few minutes. Where was Aerin? Where was his brother?

Then it happens. He smells something that stops him in his tracks and triggers a reaction...

Blood...

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Earlier...

A vague distortion silently steps through the deep snow and barely leaves footprints. They track sensations and stimuli not readily seen by most. To Aerin and his newly transformed Vargr: Skoll, hunting this unknown potential threat is child's play. The camouflaged Lycan gently grasps the unseen scruff of his bestial companion as they gallop across the deep snow, their paws barely leaving prints in the snow. Skoll carries Aerin with the speed of a tempest as it darts, dashes, and jumps over uneven terrain and fallen logs. While it runs, it constantly sniffs the air, following a clear trail in its mind despite such erratic movements.

Aerin is silent for the entire duration of Skoll's tracking. The only thing on the young man's mind is countless possible scenarios of what's to come. He wonders what he'll do upon seeing this unknown adversary. What if it's a Lycan from a tribe he doesn't know about? A survivor? What if it's something else entirely? A Witch? A Shapeshifter? A Wraith? They're all possibilities, and Aerin's never encountered a few of them. How would he react?

He unknowingly tightens his grip on the back of Skoll's nape and falls deeper into his thoughts. Amidst the cyclone of doubts and fears steadily gaining traction in his heart, one doubt stands head and shoulders above the others. It's something Aerin's never found an answer to.

"Do I have the authority to act alone like this...?"

Skoll suddenly slows and stops, its deceleration barely whispering in the wind despite its size and bulk. Aerin snaps out of his thoughts and glances around. He notices a slightly sloping decline of the forest floor which leads down a broad pathway heading through the mountains. It's northwest of the village and straight west of most of the tundra. Aerin stares down the path in thought and his expression paints itself with hesitation. He knows where this path leads, but he's never ventured that way. He contemplates turning back. If Skoll led him here, the suspect likely was gone already. Aerin scoffs; he's too late.

Or is he?

The young man dismounts Skoll, then clasps his hands together and makes another wolf-styled shadow puppet gesture while saying "Release,". The transformed Vargr purges all the coalesced Primordial Energy from its form, and Frostbite briefly regains its original appearance. However, the beast's visage breaks down into magical energy as well before swirling into the now-manifested sword stabbed into the ground by Aerin's feet. The runic engravings hum and glow with a resonating tune before dispersing entirely, leaving the sword inanimate once again.

The Lycan plucks the sword from the snow, then he flourishes it in his right hand before sheathing it across his back. He lets out a tired breath; he's winded. Using Bestial Incantations taxes the body and soul in more ways than one. He catches his breath for a while, ignoring the falling snow and freezing air as usual. However, Aerin looks down the sloping path once more before departing. His mystic blue eyes fixate on something that wasn't there to begin with.

Aerin turns and scans the immediate vicinity, periodically deeply breathing through his nose. His enhanced sense of smell kicks in, siphoning through multiple different stimuli as if narrowing down the options. What's he looking for? The Lycan steps a little to the side but maintains his calm and composed composition. He looks alert. On guard. Cautious. Wary...

Someone is watching him...

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Aerin fails to pinpoint the peculiar scent he searches for, but he still picks up on something. It's a foreign smell he's never experienced before, and it's very faint. It's a scent so faint that only something as keenly aware of their surroundings such as himself could ever pick it up. Yet, even so, Aerin fails to triangulate the scent's origin; all he knows is that it's too close for comfort. He eyes the treetops, then the thickets of brush, snow, and rocks surrounding him. He ponders calling out to the assumed spy but disregards that. Instead, he exhales, shrugs his shoulders in submission, and heads home. "Guess it was nothing..." he says aloud to himself.

Then it happens; something shuffles behind him...

"Got you!" Aerin says on cue and spins around toward the noise before rushing it. He rapidly crosses several yards in moments, his eyes focusing on the fleeing figure as they burst from cover and slide down the pathway. The path leads toward an open valley with rolling hills giving it multiple, far-sighted blindspots. But first, Aerin and his target must survive the descent through the woods toward open ground. It's a chase Aerin tends to win.

"Wait!" Aerin yells out while outstretching an arm toward the surprisingly speedy suspect, his eyes making out her features from behind. Her long, black hair trails behind her tall, healthy figure draped in thick clothing while her strong, long legs carry her through the deep snow. Aerin's quickly amazed at the way this fleeing suspect traverses the uneven, descending terrain covered in deep snow. She keeps pace with Aerin despite the latter running as fast as he can without transforming. The longer Aerin chases her, the more questions he has. Who is the woman!? How is she managing to move so fluidly and fast through the snow? Why was she running toward No Man's Valley!?

"I SAID WAIT!" Aerin agitatedly yells out, springing off the ground and propelling himself high into the air toward her with a pulsing flash of magical energy left in his wake. He reaches for his sword but hesitates in drawing it. He ponders transforming but decides against it. He likely lacked the energy to do it anymore today after summoning Skoll. What should he do!?

The fleeing woman suddenly jumps into the air as well when Aerin reaches the zenith of his jump, and she spins around while airborne to face him. In that brief moment, they lock eyes, and Aerin's expression turns into something of pure disbelief and horror as he looks at his attacker. The woman stares him down, and it's her expression that stuns Aerin long enough for her to blast him as he descends toward her with another shocking realization. She clasps her hands together and releases a near-invisible concussive Shockwave at him. Aerin snaps out of his surprise just in time and crosses his hands over his face and chest, cursing right before impact.

"Shit!" Aerin barely gets the words out before the shockwave slams into him and knocks him nearly back up the sloping road. It felt as if a bull slammed into him at full speed. The Lycan hits the snow with his backside first, knocking the wind out of his chest. He gasps, expression twisted in pain before tumbling down the slow again, leaving a larger gap between him and his fleeing target. Then, something happens. While Aerin tumbles and ragdolls down the hill in the snow, his hands transform, and his fingers and by extension nails whiten into hardened claws capable of tearing through the toughest hides: a partial transformation.

He snarls as his hands clutch whatever terrain they can grab amidst his tumbling, leaving noticeable slash grooves across the ground until he regains traction, and twists himself onto his feet again. Now annoyed, he grinds to a stop far down the hill and sucks his teeth. The mysterious woman had already gained too much distance from him. She's beyond Lycan territory. Aerin face flashes his irritation, then he slams his now normal fist into a nearby tree. The force of the blow tears off some of the plant's bark, splinters flying everywhere.

Aerin can't believe it; his shock is clear in his eyes while he catches his breath and dusts his clothes. There wasn't any doubt about what he saw. His heart nearly beats out of his chest with the onset of all kinds of situations and scenarios playing out in his head. He briefly recalls the woman's face in that split second they locked eyes before she attacked him. For the briefest second, Aerin's mind resonated with hers, and a vision flashed in his mind. A vision from Her past...

That was a Human...

A Human capable of using magic...

"That's impossible..." Aerin mutters to himself, suddenly feeling a warm, wet sensation over his left brow. He reaches up and dabs at it, his enchanted eyes gazing at the red liquid staining the tips of his fingers. He spits in annoyance. "A fucking human outsmarted and outplayed me. I'm pathetic..." he sighs again, disappointed in himself. The cut suddenly steams, then closes, fully healed. Aerin turns and heads up the hill toward the village, this stinging defeat no doubt weighing on him the entire time. Why's a human so deep into Lycan territory? Humans and Lycans haven't interacted in several generations.

The moment Aerin reaches the top of the sloping path, he pauses once again. The young man looks down at the path one last time and stares at it for longer than he should've. He eventually breaks his gaze at the sound of a howling wolf in the distance, the Lycan turning his eyes in that direction. After a moment of silence, he looks at the sky and realizes he's been gone far longer than he'd intended. The chase took him farther down the path than he'd hoped, and the climb up was even longer. Dusk would arrive in a couple of hours. Aerin swipes his hand across his nose, then heads back.

"Anesthesia's vision just got a lot more serious..." Aerin sighs, breaking into a jog home despite his fatigue. He needs to relay his discovery as fast as possible.

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Eastward of Aerin's location, and northeast of the village deep in the forest...

His Brother makes a grim discovery...

Cyrus follows the faint scent of blood carried with the wind. He's followed the trail for nearly an hour now and grows more restless the closer he gets. This blood-tinged scent is unlike anything he's smelled before: it's not the decayed stench of coagulated blood from a corpse, nor is the fresh scent of blood leaking from a recently wounded animal. No, this particular scent of blood is different. It unsettles Cyrus's stomach and puts him on edge. He reaches a small clearing bathed in silence and dotted with patches of sunlight through the thickening canopy. As he slows to a stop, he exhales a large cloud of frost, then glances around. The bloody smell filling his nose is more pungent than ever; the source was nearby, but where is it?

"This is the most wretched-smelling scent I've ever smelled..." Cyrus scrunches his nose and gags while looking around. His boots crunch the snow, burying his legs to their knees with every stuff, but it never bothers the Lycan. He investigates and prods about the clearing, unable to pinpoint the source of the foul smell due to the revolting odor it emanates. It's like a rotting, wet sensation bombarding his nostrils. The man halfheartedly contemplates abandoning his investigation and going home.

That's until a falling drop of blood splashes onto the mess of black hair on his head, and the man turns those steel-colored eyes toward something hidden in the shadows and leafy branches of a large coniferous tree. Cyrus's eyes widen as a primal sense of shock, disbelief, and most of all, fear, grips him. He steps backward as several more splashes of fresh red blood spill out into the bushes at the base of the tree.

"This is..." Cyrus is at a loss for words, his expression twisted with bafflement. High above him in the tree was a creature capable of taking on small groups of Lycans by itself under certain conditions. It was a terrifying beast, a powerful predator, and a vicious killer. It was a Werebear, a distant mutation of shifter from Lycans, and far more rare. And it was a large one.

Yet this fearsome predator lies impaled into a tree, its chest run through by what looks like a blade of coagulated blood...

What on this planet could have slaughtered a Werebear so effortlessly?

"... Aerin!" Cyrus's eyes flash with fear, and he spins around. "Aerin!" he frantically yells, running through the clearing back home. As he runs, Cyrus continuously calls out to his brother, running home only on the assumption Aerin's returned already. A plethora of terrible scenarios rushes through his head. What if whatever killed that Shifter was also after Aerin? What if it creeps closer to the village? Cyrus was at most four or five miles from the village. That wasn't far enough to comfort him about this mysterious creature staying away. He needs to get home. He just prays Aerin is there as well.

Oh, how he prays...

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Dusk approaches...

Cyrus returns to the village's main path, quickly and tiredly running up to the new shift of guards watching the entrance. They both tense and immediately grow on guard when Cyrus approaches out of breath and shaken. One jogs toward the man and offers his arm in support.

"Cyrus? Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost?" the burly, aged, and experienced Lycan guard inquires. "Is everything alright?" he further asks. Cyrus quickly straightens his posture and catches his breath. It's been ages since he's run so fast and so much in a short time frame. He turns toward the men as the sky slowly changes from shades of orange and yellow to darkness, and the intensifying winds, clouds, and falling snow foretell the approaching blizzard.

"Has my brother returned yet? Do you know!?" Cyrus asks, locking eyes with the guard, but then Cyrus grabs the man's shirt when they shake their head. It's a reflexive action that shocks both guards, especially considering Cyrus's frantic tone. "Where is he!? Send a search party. We need to find him. NOW!" he barks, and his shocking out-of-character aggression sparks a similar reaction from his peers. It's exceedingly rare to see him this worked up. The guard fails to speak while in Cyrus's clutches, as his dark-colored eyes notice a silhouette coming from the brush behind Cyrus. He quickly points, diverting attention as Aerin steps into view, worn and tired, but healthy nonetheless. Cyrus quickly looks at Aerin, then the guard he seized, and embraces the guard.

"I'm sorry for grabbing you, brother..." Cyrus apologizes, grasping his Lycan kin's face and pressing their foreheads together for the briefest moment before he turns to Aerin, who approaches without batting an eye. The guard's unbothered by Cyrus's actions, never holding it against him to begin with. Everyone knew how he was with his brother. Cyrus rushes to Aerin and snatches him into a hug. Aerin briefly looks confused and stays still out of shellshock for a moment before pulling away.

"Cyrus, I need to talk with everyone. We're in danger..." Aerin urgently warns, and Cyrus quickly nods back with a matching expression.

"Yes, we do..." Cyrus replies.

Next Chapter: Ill Omens...