The Last Lycans...

Generations later... deep in the snowy forests of the cold, lonesome North...

Something rushes through the white powder-covered terrain at high speed with two others pursuing: a Lycan and his Vargr.

The mysterious young man with a sword strapped to his back leaps through the trees with the agility of a monkey, his black boots finding firm purchase on every branch, and his gloved hands like fish hooks with every pull and swing. He's a young and athletically built man garbed in all black, and he's effortlessly traversing the winding and twisting terrain of the frozen treetops. His agility, speed, and overall acrobatic skills as he moves from tree to tree vastly outperforms what should've been possible for his human appearance. He’s fixated on his prey: a large, fleeing Elk with a gashed flank. The man's messy silver hair bangs sway with every move he makes while his ethereal, almost otherworldly pale blue eyes lock onto his prey meters ahead of him down below. This is it…

Chasing on the ground at nearly the same speed through the deep snow is a Vargr: a much larger and more ferocious relative to the less powerful and smaller Grey Wolf. The Beast's white fur and powerful muscles ripple as it bounds through the hazardous terrain while easily keeping pace with the Lycan chasing from the trees above. The Vargr barks for its master's attention, its sound is as thunderous as it is vicious. The pursuing Lycan glances down at his companion for a split second before jumping from the trees toward the fleeing Elk, which still keeps a narrowing lead on them.

The hunter seamlessly lands atop his running companion's back, clutching the scruff of the Vargr's neck with his left while drawing his sword from his back with his right, bearing it under the luminous sunlight: it's a silver-colored, double-edged weapon with runic markings carved along its broadsides, with a wolf skull-shaped crossguard, and a gem-encrusted pommel. The blade's tip is still bloodied from their previous attack on its fleeing target. The Lycan holds it out at his side, tucking it closer to his Vargr's center and gaining speed on the elk. The closer they come to the fleeing herbivore, the hungrier they look. Go faster!

The Elk, however, keeps its lead despite its slowing speed until they all plateau. The elk's longer legs and greater strides give it a key advantage over a lone Vargr without the surprise of ambush. However, neither the Lycan nor his companion looks concerned. They pursue the elk for many more meters until they breach the snow-capped forest, diving into the great expanse of tundra surrounded by massive mountain ranges—their turf!

The second They clear the treeline, the silver-haired Lycan stands and jumps off of his Vargr several meters into the air with his sword. The runic engravings on the weapon brighten with strange magic, accompanying a fierce glow in the man's blue eyes. He cocks his sword back as if to throw it, his muscles tensing throughout his arm before hurling it through the air. The blade howls like a wolf upon launch, achieving bullet speeds. The weapon hones in on its target, those etched inscriptions pulsing in a steady rhythm, and it stabs into the backside of the elk with enough force that the beast bowls over. The elk cries out in pain, tumbling through the cold permafrost of the tundra terrain until it crashes into a large rock, breaking its neck in the process. It's a clean kill...

Moments later, the Vargr catches up and immediately ensures the elk's final moments with a bone-crunching bite to the elk's face, crushing a large portion of its orbital socket and nose region to powder. The herbivore falls lifeless, and the Vargr howls in triumph while its sword-throwing master approaches the carcass with a small look of sadness in his eyes. He speaks respectfully while ripping his sword from the elk's backside in one fluid pull, spinning it through his fingers before sliding it home into the sheath beneath his tattered cloak.

"I'm sorry..." he apologizes to the deceased elk, with sincerity in his soft-spoken words. "May you be reborn as an apex predator..." he says, turning to his Vargr the moment it starts gnawing on the creature's neck. The man hesitates a moment before speaking.

"Frostbite..." the Lycan calls out at the beast as if it were human, and the white-furred Vargr immediately ceases eating, now quietly sitting and awaiting commands. The young man stays silent for a second, quickly turning back to the carcass. Then, he pauses again before glancing around the tundra for any dangers. As his eyes scan around, his sharpened senses of smell and hearing also focus; he's searching for nearby predators or danger. Once he assures himself he's safe, he drops his guard and bends near the elk, pulling a knife from under his cloak before cutting into the chest cavity.

"Stand guard, Frostbite. This'll take a minute..." The man says to his companion, and Frostbite obediently chirps back, then paces around the rock and carcass. A little bit of time passes before the Lycan is done. He grunts and stands with blood-covered hands cradling the elk's heart and liver he's wrapped in a large piece of its hide, then stuffs the materials into a sack hidden under his cloak. He then withdraws a cloth and wipes his hands free of that blood, mentally disgusted at how much of it he always finds himself covered in.

Suddenly, he pauses again, then holds his head in mild discomfort; his expression twists with distress. A flash of images paints his thoughts, but he quickly blinks them away in disgust. These sudden, sporadic, and random flashes of images and sensations are all too common to him. So common that it...

"Frostbite..." the Lycan whistles for his companion while pushing those thoughts aside; now wasn't the time to bother with them. The Vargr happily trots up to his Master, the beast's shoulders reaching the man's midsection despite the man's taller-than-average height. Frostbite's head alone is as big as his master's chest, with teeth thick and sharp enough to simultaneously shear flesh and crush bone. The wolf's muscular quadrupedal body is more bear-like than wolf-like; a trait bred for generations by his tribe. Vargr are the closest things to Lycans outside of being a Lycan. The young man couldn't help but always recall the history of these creatures every time he admires Frostbite: his forever loyal companion.

The Lycan reaches out and ruffles the Vargr's head with a small smile of affection, then mounts the creature's back and taps its side. "Take us home. Cyrus is probably getting anxious by now..." he says to the Vargr before Frostbite barks again and dashes toward the treeline. It's a rather uneventful ride back home, but the Lycan can't wait to return...

It's too damn cold...

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Deep in the snow-covered forest...

Lies one of the last remnants of a race long past its prime...

One of the last bastions of Lycans on Apocrypha...

Frostbite arrives with its Master at a sparsely populated, but homely village well hidden in the deepest depths of the Frozen Forest. The constant freezing temperatures, raging blizzards, and dangerous prehistoric predators do well to keep away all but the hardiest creatures. It is a place only suitable for Lycans, and they have lived here for the last couple of generations. Within the village, small groups of Lycans, only humanoids while untransformed, traverse and interact with each other. Men, women, and children of various heights and builds but similar racial features carry supplies to and from places, are repairing damaged structures, or they're conversing with one another, but they all maintain the last bit of society and structure they have left...

The silver-haired Lycan dismounts his Vargr at the main checkpoint: a guarded pathway into the village where two Lycans stand guard. Their rough and chiseled features softened the moment they saw the returning Hunter and his Vargr. The one on the left is a tall, burly, and friendly man dressed in animal skins, who raises his spear in greeting.

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"Welcome back, Aerin!" the Lycan guard greets with a smile and snowy powder dotting his pale-skinned features. His brown eyes settle on the silver-haired Lycan. "Your brother wishes to speak with you! He told me to pass on this message the moment you arrived!" he informs, and Aerin furrows his brow while pulling his hood over his head. The snow is falling harder than earlier, and even Lycans can't handle it all.

"Did he tell you why?" Aerin inquires, his tone is usually calm, collected, and most of all nonchalant. Before the guard answers, though, Aerin hears a familiar voice calling out from behind him, and Aerin casually veers his gaze to his approaching older brother. His brother's a little taller, somewhat larger, noticeably more muscular in physique, and slightly older than Aerin. This fair-skinned Lycan with curly black hair, relaxed grey eyes, and dressed in dark-colored clothes is Cyrus. He greets Aerin as if greeting a long-lost friend.

"I can tell you that myself, little brother," Cyrus flashes a toothy white smile upon approaching his younger half, reaching out and patting Aerin's shoulder once in range. "I wanted to talk to you about the ritual sacrifice coming up. I talked to the others and convinced them that you don't need to get the heart of that rare elk species anymore. They're probably all extinct at this point considering there weren't many around to begin with when we settled here," he sighs shaking his head and looking off to the side in embarrassment. He eventually meets his brother's confused gaze again, but Aerin simply reaches into his pack and pulls out his spoils of hunting.

"No, they're still out there," Aerin reassures while handing Cyrus the heart and liver wrapped in animal skin; it's still a bloody mess, but neither of them minds. Cyrus widens his eyes in disbelief, looking between the bloody parcel held out to him and Aerin multiple times. He eventually plucks the parcel from his brother, commending him while he takes it.

"I told you, you're Fenrir's favorite!" Cyrus chuckles, then gestures to the two guards with a joking tone. "Little brother always says he feels cursed when he's the luckiest fucking savage in the village, right!?" he jokes, and they all share a laugh. All except for Aerin, who's now annoyed; it's written on his face. Aerin then swipes the parcel from Cyrus's hands much to his older brother's surprise, then tightens his grasp around it; Cyrus freezes.

"I could crush this heart in my hands and ruin the ritual, you know?" Aerin threatens although he's clearly saying hollow threats despite his annoyed tone. Cyrus challenges his brother's bluffing; he crosses his arms and shrugs his shoulders, daring Aerin to do it.

"But then, you'd have to go out and get another. We both know that you aren't petty enough to d-" Cyrus cuts off the moment Aerin squeezes the bloody heart in his grasp. "WHOA! What the fuck are you doing!?" he barks. Aerin maintains his indifferent stare but now looks a little disgusted with Cyrus in a disappointed way. It's written all over his face when he responds...

"I'm not what now?" Aerin taunts, lofting one of his brows at his brother. The two guards behind Cyrus fight laughter, repeatedly exchanging glances of amusement at the bickering. Frostbite loiters beside his Master. One wonders if he’s amused as well.

"... Are..." Cyrus pauses, almost as if he couldn't believe what was happening. "... are you a child!?" He asks genuinely amazed at Aerin’s willingness to destroy something he spent days on getting out of pettiness. "You are going to go out and hunt another elk just because I cracked a joke!?" he asks, unable to believe it. Aerin instantly drops his act and tosses Cyrus the heart and liver, then walks past him with a hum, Frostbite in tow.

"No, I just wanted to fuck with you like you fuck with me," Aerin jabs as he passes his brother, and Cyrus maintains a stunned look. One of the guards snorts like a pig, drawing Cyrus's annoyed glare, which causes the other guard to also laugh, and then both guards break out laughing. Cyrus remains at a loss for words before eventually telling the guards to shut up out of embarrassment. He quickly hands off the items to another passing Lycan carrying a basket of salted meats and their mate, relaying orders before pursuing Aerin before he gets too far.

"That wasn't all I wanted to talk to you about, little brother. Why'd you walk away!?" Cyrus grunts, but takes no offense. He quickly matches Aerin's pace as they walk through the village, taking in the sights and noting the peace. The cold and biting morning air invigorates Cyrus as much as it stings his exposed skin. Aerin feels similar but ignores the uncomfortable cold as he answers Cyrus.

"Because, I've been in the forest tracking and hunting that elk for several days, and I'm tired of being outside," Aerin answers with a sigh, reaching to pull the edge of his hood further over his face when a cold breeze wafts over them again. "Isn't there supposed to be a blizzard tonight? Are we all set and stored up for the Winter?" he inquires, and Cyrus quickly waves away his concerns.

"Yeah, yeah don't worry about all of that. We're alright. What I'm trying to tell you is that while you were away, Anesthesia called the Inner Circle for a meeting..." he trails when Aerin abruptly stops walking and faces him, both of them standing in the middle of the large, but largely empty, snow-covered main road through the village. Frostbite quickly stops as well and lies next to their feet, resting its head over crossed paws and sleeping for the time.

"She did?" Aerin replies, his eyes narrowing with concern. "Was it a bad vision?" he asks, and Cyrus raises his hands in deflection.

"I don't know. We don't know yet..." Cyrus trails, gesturing that they walk again as even he is getting cold. The trio steps off down the road once more. "You know Anesthesia is not allowed to tell us all that she knows regarding her visions? The Gods like playing games with us as always. She did have a pretty ominous message to give us, and she seemed a little shaken up as well..." he says, and Aerin glances his way again, those ghostly blue eyes shrouded under his hood.

"Do you think They have something to do with it?" Aerin inquires, his tone more serious and intense as if even speaking about Them chills his soul. Cyrus was quiet for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts before shaking his head.

"No, I don't believe so. I hope that isn't the case. We're on our last legs as is..." Cyrus replies as the two turn off the road and head toward a small, residential area nestled inside of a massive cave system. The cavern walls block sunlight, darkening their surroundings the deeper they go. The residential district is more populous than the rest of the village, for the cavern walls trapped heat, allowing warmth and comfort compared to the colder embraces of the open air. Fire sticks and campfires dotted the area, adding dancing colors of orange and red to the walls and filling their souls with warmth.

"So, what did she say then? Out with it?" Aerin asks while pulling down his hood and embracing the warmth of the cave. His growing relaxation and comfort quickly shot down by the next words out of his brother's mouth.

"She said that we'd be discovered..." Cyrus whispers, making sure the sensitive ears of the other Lycans never hear him. Even while humanoid, a Lycan's senses far exceed that of their superficial adversaries. Aerin's expression darkens as he meets Cyrus's steel-colored eyes.

"By who?" Aerin questions, a nervousness rising in his stomach. "Who is psychotic enough to come this far out into tundra and forest for nothing of value? There's nothing out here but us and wild beasts..." he reminds Cyrus, still keeping his outward cool despite his growing internal stress. All he can think about is Them. Cyrus shrugs again and slips his hands into his pockets.

"I don't know. But, I don't think that it's Them..." Cyrus assures. "I can't say why because I don't know myself. But, I don't think we'll have to worry about encountering a Vampire. They disappeared a couple hundred years back, even if it was well after the war. I think we have a little more peacetime till we meet our fates..." he sighs, shaking his head. Aerin looks down at Frostbite trotting at his side, then back to Cyrus.

"Are we increasing the security around the village, at least? Or are we packing up and leaving?" Aerin asks as the two arrive at the steps of a small hut: Aerin's private home. Cyrus shakes his head when they stop at Aerin's doorstep.

"We can't pack up and leave at the start of winter," Cyrus reminds Aerin. "Don't think I need to explain why? We will, however, be increasing security around the village and starting up a patrol team with Kraven at the head. Because of this, the Inner Circle, including me, have unanimously voted that you are to remain in the village until we find out more about Anesthesia's vision. Or, at least until the Festival," he says, and Aerin's entire expression quickly shifts into one of raw disbelief.

"Are you fucking serious!?" Aerin curses, his tone is more riled than ever. "Why do I have to be on village arrest!? Aren't I part of the Inner Circle, too!?" he demands to know, and Cyrus raises his arms to appease Aerin's agitation, keeping his tone calm as he speaks.

"You are, little brother. You are..." Cyrus assures with sincerity in his words but follows with a foreboding. "However, you know why we made this decision; You're Fenrir's Chosen just like He was. Your gifts..." he gestures to Aerin's enchanted eyes. "Are too important to let you break the Tenants this time. We normally don't mind you heading out on your own because you technically have two allies..." he briefly alludes and glances to the white Vargr near Aerin's feet, and then not at Aerin himself, but something in his possession: Aerin's sword?

"But, the situation is different this time. All I'm saying is to give us a couple of days to figure things out, and then I'll convince them to let you roam again. Deal?" Cyrus asks, almost pleading in his tone toward his little brother. Aerin always caves whenever Cyrus does that; the man's genuine concern and protectiveness over his younger sibling overpowers any sense of rebellion in Aerin's heart.

".... Ugh, fine!" Aerin rolls his eyes and waves Cyrus off before heading toward the door. Frostbite happily follows as the Lycan tacks on a request. "Just keep me updated on what's going on; I don't like being the only one left out of the loop," he warns, and Cyrus cracks a smile while nodding.

"Of course! I appreciate you, little brother!" Cyrus exclaims, waving farewell before running off. "The Night of a Thousand Hounds is still on, though! You better be ready to lead it this Winter!" he yells back, his voice growing fainter the farther he goes. Aerin doesn't respond, merely shaking his head before stepping into his home and shutting the door behind Frostbite. Now this is going to be something constantly on his mind...

Just like those visions...

Next Chapter: The Inner Circle