Chapter 1

Kenny was the first to wake up in the small, modest house. The morning light barely peeked through the thin curtains, casting a soft, greyish glow over the humble room. Dust motes danced lazily in the still air. The only sounds in the room were the rhythmic breathing of his cousins from their shared bedroom. In the silence of the early morning, everything seemed suspended in time. Kenny’s body, thin and wiry from years of malnutrition, curled up beneath an old, faded mat that lay stretched out on the wooden floor. His clothes, worn and patched in several places, hung loosely on his frame. The fabric of his trousers was frayed at the edges, and his shirt, once a deep blue, was now faded to a dull grey from the constant wear. His face was sharp, with high cheekbones that stood out against the pallor of his skin. His dark hair, messy and untamed, fell across his forehead, casting shadows over his deep-set eyes. Despite his unkempt appearance, there was a quiet strength in the way he moved, even in sleep.

Kenny always woke first. It was a habit born of necessity and routine. His two cousins, Victor and Taro, were heavy sleepers, accustomed to the comfort of the soft, creaky king-size bed they shared while Kenny slept on the floor.

Kenny rolled the woven mat he slept on, and folded the threadbare fabric that served as a blanket. Although the mat was uncomfortable and the threadbare fabric did little to keep him warm, he was grateful to have a roof over his head and his body had grown accustomed to the coolness of the floor, the hardness that pressed into his spine.

His cousins, were much rounder, while Kenny’s ribs were visible beneath his skin, the bones of his face were pronounced, the sharp angles of his jawline and cheekbones cutting through the hollows of his cheeks, a stark contrast to the broadness of his cousins.

As he put away his bedding, the almost melancholic rhythm of the morning filled the room. His body ached, but he pushed through it. It had become second nature to ignore the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He could feel the tension in his limbs, the tightness of his muscles that never seemed to ease, but it was normal. It was always like this.

Kenny's eyes flicked toward the beds in the corner of the room, his cousins asleep in peaceful ignorance as they snored in unison. Victor lay sprawled, the blanket half-off him, his chest rising and falling in an exaggerated rhythm. Taro, in contrast, lay curled tightly in a ball, his head resting on the pillow, arms tucked beneath it in a defensive, almost childlike way. They were oblivious to the silence, to the soft burden of the world Kenny carried each day. Victor and Taro stirred at the sound of a crow outside, their slumber undisturbed for now.

Kenny walked away quietly, careful not to wake up his cousins, they wouldn't end well for him. He had a lot of chores to get to.

Kenny started with the kitchen, sweeping the floors, and wiping away the crumbs and dust from the previous night’s meal and food on the stove cooking. He moved silently, his worn shoes barely making a sound against the wooden floorboards. It was a small, cramped house, but Kenny had learned to make it work. He rinsed the few dishes that remained from the night before, the metal clinking softly in the basin as the cold water splashed over them.

He was nearly finished with his chores when he heard the unmistakable sound of heavy boots shuffling across the floor. Orvin, his uncle, was awake now, soon everyone in the house would be too. The floor creaked as the tall, broad-shouldered man slowly made his way to the kitchen. The smell of metal and sweat clung to him, a scent that Kenny had grown used to over the years. His uncle was a blacksmith, his hands were calloused and scarred, his back a bit arched, like he carried the weight of a lifetime of hard work on his shoulders.

Orvin stopped at the doorway, looking at Kenny with a faint nod. “As usual, you’re already up,” he said gruffly, wiping the sleep from his eyes. His voice was low and rough, like stone grinding against stone. Kenny paused for a moment, his hands still wet from the dishes, and gave his uncle a small smile. “I hope I didn’t want to wake you,” he replied quietly, keeping his voice soft. He had long ago learned to be quiet around Orvin, to not speak too much or ask for too much.

Orvin grunted in response, glancing around the kitchen. His eyes were already tired, the lines on his face deepened from years of working at the forge. He had a job lined up for the day—a special order from a rich client in the nearby town. A rush job that would require his attention immediately, “Special order, rich client, need delivery done”, he said as he walked out of the house.

By the time Kenny finished his chores—the house was already bustling with activity. His roommates, Victor and Taro, with their sister Émeline, were already seated at the table, their plates piled high with food. They glanced at him with smug grins, scooping the last of the food onto their plates as they laughed at his expense.

His aunt, Nikolina, Orvin’s wife, was there too, chuckling quietly at the spectacle, her eyes betraying the same sense of amusement as her children deprived their cousin of breakfast. No one had offered him anything, though he made the food, and his aunt only took it off the stove when it was done. No breakfast today, it seemed. Not for Kenny. It is an all-too-familiar scenario whenever his uncle isn’t around.

Kenny stood there for a moment, feeling the sting of hunger and anger but swallowed his pride. He turned to leave, but his aunt's voice stopped him. “Kenny, since you are free, could you wash the plates, please?” She giggled as if it were a small, amusing thing. It was hard for Kenny to hide the bitterness that rose in his throat, but he nodded, took the plates and went to the sink, doing the chores quietly. He scrubbed the plates with mechanical efficiency.

When he was done, he left the house without a word, not wanting to stay any longer than necessary. His stomach growled a reminder that his pride didn’t fill him up. Luckily, there was one place he could go.

Grandpa Wang’s House

The small cottage of Grandpa Wang sat on the edge of the village, nestled near the woods. The elderly man had been kind to Kenny ever since he could remember. Wang was a former scholar, now retired, living a quiet life. The man was odd in a lot of ways and was particularly fascinated with stories of a magical world, of unique and diverse magical beings. Kenny loved those tales, the myths, the idea of something greater, a nice escape from the mundane life he lived if only it was real, Kenny wondered wistfully. Kenny arrived at the door, his knock sharp in the quiet morning. The door creaked open, and Wang smiled warmly at him, his weathered face crinkling into a genuine expression of kindness.

“Kenny, my boy, come in, come in!" Wang’s face lit up as he opened the door, his voice warm with genuine delight. "I was just about to have breakfast, hope you have a room for some nice breakfast?"

Kenny stepped in with a smile, his stomach growling at the scent of warm stew wafting through the small room.

"It seems like you’ve missed a meal or two,” Wang chuckled, gesturing toward the table already set for two. “Come, sit. I made extra, just in case.”

Kenny sat, grateful but also a little embarrassed as his stomach growled again. He dug into the food, scoffing it down with hunger-driven urgency. Wang watched him for a moment, his wise eyes observing the way Kenny ate—with a smile on his face.

"You didn’t have breakfast, did you?" Wang asked softly.

Kenny paused, then nodded sheepishly. "Uncle came home late last night. They... didn’t save me anything, and this morning, he left quite early, so no breakfast."

Wang’s gaze darkened for the briefest moment, but he said nothing of it. Instead, he ladled more stew into Kenny’s bowl. "My poor boy'.

“Well, eat up. Then we’ll talk. What do you think, finish the book or talk some philosophy?”

Kenny shrugged, his shoulders loosened a little. It wasn’t just the food. It was the warmth of being wanted.

After Kenny finished the meal, Wang looked at him with a hint of mischief, holding up two books. “OK, which one do you prefer, the next book in our series, 'The Age of Lycans' or some philosophical reading, 'Transcendence of Reasoning'”.

Kenny smiled, nodding. He had always loved hearing Wang's stories, but not now, "Perhaps, when I get back? My uncle will need someone to deliver whatever he woke up early in the morning to make".

Wang chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound. “You’ve always been a busy one, haven’t you? Orvin is lucky to have you! Well, later it is then. I’ll keep the fire warm for you.”

"Thanks Gran".

Just as Kenny stood to leave, two figures appeared at the door. They were strangers — a man and a woman, both dressed in strange, leather clothing. They looked imposing, their eyes sharp and cold, as if they were something more than human. They didn’t speak, but their presence was enough to freeze the air in the room. Wang’s expression faltered, and for the first time, Kenny saw the old man’s calm demeanour crack.

“Taro!” the man growled.

Wang took a step back, muttering something under his breath in a language Kenny couldn’t understand. He felt a sudden, heavy weight in the room as if something had shifted. The air around them seemed to freeze. The two strangers stood motionless, unable to move.

Wang turned to Kenny, his face now full of urgency. “I thought I had more time... but I must do this now. Quickly.”

Kenny didn’t understand, his heart racing. Wang moved swiftly for someone so old, his steps quick and determined. He disappeared into a hidden room behind the house and returned moments later with a small stone. It was smooth, black, and shimmered with an unnatural glow.

“Give me your arm,” Wang said firmly, his voice low but commanding. Kenny hesitated, confusion clouding his mind. But the urgency in Wang’s tone left him no choice. He extended his arm, still unsure of what was happening.

As the old man brought the stone closer, the air hummed, like they were whispering softly to him and the stone began to glow brighter, pulsing with an energy Kenny could feel in his bones. Wang muttered incantations, and the stone melted into black liquid, attaching itself to Kenny’s skin like a tattoo.

The two strange people squirm furiously, trying to break free like it is important for them to stop the process.

"What!" Kenny asked as the tattoo latched onto him.

“Run, my son. Find Hernie,” Wang whispered, his voice cracking with fear.

Kenny’s mind raced. “Hernie? Who’s—” Before he could finish, the two strangers began to move again, their frozen forms now thawing. Wang gave Kenny a sharp look, urging him to run. Without thinking, Kenny bolted for the back door, panic surging through him. As he sprinted into the woods, he heard the thud of footsteps behind him. One of the strangers tried to follow, but just as they reached the threshold of the door, they slammed into an invisible barrier, bouncing back as if they’d hit a wall.

Kenny startled, darted straight for the forest. He didn’t know what had just happened, but he knew one thing: his life had just changed forever. As he fled through the forest, the last thing he saw before the trees swallowed him whole was the terrified expression on Wang’s face as the two strangers descended upon him.