Markus dug through the twisted remains of his old ship, sweat glistening on his brow, grease streaked across his cheek. Two others worked beside him, both demi-wolves like himself—Aaron and Sam.
"Find anything interesting?" Sam called out, poking his head out from under a bent stabilizer.
"Not a damn thing!" he huffed, shaking a pile of wires loose from his mane.
Markus stood up, stretching his back with a wince. "Aaron?"
The tall, dark-haired demi-wolf kicked a busted panel aside. "Just more burnt junk."
Markus sighed. "Then let's keep looking. Carefully. That core's still somewhere under all this, and if we damage it, we're screwed."
The trio kept at it, picking apart the wreckage with deliberate hands and sharpened eyes. Hours passed. Grease covered their forearms, smoke puffed from a melted conduit now and then, but they pushed through—half-built shelter above them, cracked steel all around.
Then, as the sun began to dip behind the rocky ridge—
"Markus," Aaron called out, crouched near what used to be the cockpit. "I think we found something."
Markus dropped his wrench and hurried over. Sam peeked over Aaron's shoulder.
Embedded in the ship's skeleton, blinking ever so faintly—was a small black box. A distress beacon.
Markus's eyes widened. "That's… that's the beacon! It still works?"
"Looks like it," Aaron said, brushing dust off the casing.
Markus wiped his forehead with his sleeve, leaving a long streak of oil. "This is fantastic!"
From across the path, a group of girls watched them from under a shaded awning—some were demi-cats, a few human, one or two demi-wolves. All sat with water jugs and baskets of fruit… but none could take their eyes off the scene.
Aaron elbowed Sam. "You see that?"
Sam grinned. "Yeah. Time to shine."
Without hesitation, both struck poses. Aaron flexed a bicep, wiping grease in dramatic slow motion. Sam leaned on a piece of debris, tilting his head with a cheesy grin.
"Ladies," Aaron declared, "there's plenty of us to go around."
Their audience stared at them.
Blankly.
One girl blinked. Another whispered, "Are they serious?"
Their gazes turned ice cold.
Sam and Aaron's postures crumbled like wet paper. They dropped to their knees in unison.
"Damn you, Markus…" Aaron groaned, face buried in his hands.
"Damn you and your stupid, rugged, emotionally scarred appeal!" Sam wailed dramatically.
Markus glanced over, utterly confused. "You guys… okay?"
"…No."
The work resumed.
Iris arrived not long after, carrying a tray with wooden cups filled with chilled berry juice. "You all look like you're about to melt," she said with a gentle smile. "Drink."
They snatched the cups with grateful groans.
Sam took a long sip and let out a thunderous burp.
Aaron stared at him, impressed. "You call that loud?"
BURRRRP! Aaron's response echoed off the walls.
"Nice one," Sam chuckled, clinking his cup to Aaron's.
Iris stood there, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Seriously…?"
She turned to Markus. "Can you believe them? They're such children sometimes."
Markus gave her a calm smile—then calmly stepped forward.
Took a deep breath.
And BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPED like the sound of thunder rolling off the hills.
Everything went silent.
Even the wind paused.
Aaron and Sam stared at him in disbelief.
"…Bro," Sam whispered. "That was divine."
"Legendary," Aaron added.
Markus shrugged with a smug grin. "Let's be real. Mine was clearly bigger."
Iris, deadpan and done, sighed. "Boys are boys, after all. You're all disgusting."
The three demi-wolves shared a proud fist bump.
"Hell yeah we are."
And with that, they dove back into the wreckage—laughing as they dug through it, a small hope flickered in ther hearts.
The sun dipped low, painting the horizon in soft reds and pale golds.
"Alright, that's it for today, boys," Markus called out, stretching his arms with a satisfied grunt.
Aaron wiped his forehead with a rag. "About damn time."
Sam slung a toolbag over his shoulder. "If I see another bolt today, I'm eating it."
They laughed and exchanged lazy waves, their silhouettes splitting off under the dimming sky.
Markus made his way back toward the quiet village, boots dragging slightly against the packed dirt road. The lights inside his home glowed faintly through the window. Warmth. Comfort.
He stepped inside and caught the smell instantly—roasted root vegetables and seasoned meat. The air was heavy with it.
Iris stood by the small cooking space, ears perked as she glanced over her shoulder.
"Looks like you're finally done." She gestured toward the table. "Sit. Eat. Before it gets cold."
Markus gave a tired smile as he pulled out the wooden chair. "You didn't have to wait up."
"I always wait up," she said, turning back to the pot.
He sat down and took the first bite, savoring it like it was the first real meal he'd had in days.
"...We're repairing the distress beacon," he said between mouthfuls. "Found it intact. Still has some power."
Iris's ears twitched. She didn't turn around.
"That's good," she replied softly. "That means… someone might actually hear it."
he sun dipped low, painting the horizon in soft reds and pale golds.
"Alright, that's it for today, boys," Markus called out, stretching his arms with a satisfied grunt.
Aaron wiped his forehead with a rag. "About damn time."
They exchanged lazy waves, their silhouettes splitting off under the dimming sky.
Markus made his way back toward the quiet village, boots dragging slightly against the packed dirt road. The lights inside his home glowed faintly through the window. Warmth. Comfort.
He stepped inside and caught the smell instantly—roasted root vegetables and seasoned meat. The air was heavy with it.
Iris stood by the small cooking space, ears perked as she glanced over her shoulder.
"Looks like you're finally done." She gestured toward the table. "Sit. Eat. Before it gets cold."
Markus gave a tired smile as he pulled out the wooden chair. "You didn't have to wait up."
"I always wait up," she said, turning back to the pot.
He sat down and took the first bite, savoring it like it was the first real meal he'd had in days.
"…We're repairing the distress beacon," he said between mouthfuls. "Found it intact. Still has some power."
Iris's ears twitched. She didn't turn around.
"That's good," she replied softly. "That means… someone might actually hear it."
Markus set his spoon down, eyes narrowing slightly. "It's too weak, though. I'll need to scavenge parts from the cruiser wreckage. Maybe something to reinforce the signal."
Iris froze mid-bite. Her spoon clinked against the edge of the bowl.
She looked up, eyes sharp. "The cruise ship?"
"Yeah," Markus nodded. "It's the only shot we've got if I want to amplify the beacon."
Her silverware dropped to the table with a clatter.
"You can't be serious." Her voice lowered. "That thing's collapsing in on itself. Half of it's already sunk into the sand. We've been expecting it to cave in completely any day now!"
Markus leaned back in the chair, arms folded. "It'll be fine. I'll go in carefully. You know I am a soldier."
"That's not the point," Iris said, tail flicking behind her in frustration. "I know you're trained, but that doesn't mean you're invincible. It's dangerous."
He smiled faintly. "You're right. I don't act like a cold-blooded killer, do I?"
She sighed, crossing her arms with a puff. "No. You don't. Honestly… you're way too soft sometimes."
Markus chuckled under his breath, brushing his hand across his bandaged forearm. "Maybe I'm just going back to who I used to be."
But just as those words left his mouth, a chill crept down his spine.
How dare you be happy…
That voice again. Distant, venomous. Crawling through the back of his skull like ice water.
Markus stiffened.
His eyes dimmed.
"…I'm turning in for the night," he muttered, standing from the table. He didn't look back as he walked to his room. His steps were slow, heavy.
Iris watched him go, her ears drooping just slightly. She didn't say anything.
She just started to clean the dishes in silence.
Markus tossed and turned in his sleep, sweat coating his forehead. His breath hitched.
"No… stop…" he muttered, groaning. His fists clenched the threadbare blanket beneath him.
The world around him shifted—faded—and became something else.
He was a child again.
Small hands. Tiny feet. His view lower to the ground.
A rustic wooden home surrounded him, well-built and warmly furnished. Stone hearth to the side. Wooden beams overhead. Rugs patched and soft. A place that felt lived-in—safe.
Then—
SLAM!
A door burst open. Heavy boots on wood. A demi-wolf male, panting, eyes wide, bolted in.
"Kyton—we have to hurry!" the man barked.
It was his father.
The man shoved aside a round carpet, revealing a small hatch in the floorboards. Without hesitation, he opened it.
"In here! Go on, son!"
"But—!"
"No arguing!" His father crouched and cupped Markus's face. "Don't come out until I say. Or until you hear the rooster crow. After that… run to the village. Got it?"
Tears built in Markus's eyes.
His father kissed his forehead, trembling, then gently lowered the wooden hatch and sealed it shut.
Markus waited.
Heart pounding.
Then—CRACK!
The front door split open.
Screams.
Furniture shattering.
"NO—!"
His mother's voice.
His heart seized.
He pushed the trap open—against every instinct—and crawled out.
From his cracked bedroom door, he peeked into the living room.
Two demons towered over his family.
They looked almost human—but not quite. Their skin was dark, scaled in places like reptilian armor. Glowing red eyes burned with cruelty. One had curved horns like a ram, the other a long reptilian tail flicking behind him. Sharp teeth glistened beneath thin, cracked lips.
One held his father by the throat, effortlessly lifting him off the floor.
The other had his mother restrained—Alyiha—her hands behind her back, her body trembling. Long, flowing black hair fell around her like a curtain. But her eyes were fierce.
"You dare marry a filthy demi-human, Alyiha!?" the horned demon spat. "You make me sick!"
"Please… let him go," she begged, voice shaking. "Please—it's me you want!"
The father, bloodied but furious, growled. "Leave my wife alone, you bastards!"
The tail demon snickered. "This one has fire."
CRASH! He slammed Kyton's father into the wall, cracking wood and bone.
"Too bad that won't save you."
The other demon pulled a massive blade from his back—gleaming black steel with red runes glowing along its edge.
"Now… watch as I slice his throat, Alyiha."
"No—NO!! PLEASE!!" she screamed, straining against her restraints.
Kyton—Markus—couldn't take it.
"LET HIM GO!"
He ran from the hallway, fists clenched, face twisted with rage, and punched the demon holding his father square in the chest.
It didn't even budge.
But the demon's eyes widened.
"Well now…"
"KYTON—NO!!" his father roared.
"Run… Run…!" he gasped out, choking on blood.
SHING!!
The blade pierced straight through his chest.
Blood spattered across the wooden walls.
Kyton screamed as his father slumped, eyes lifeless, blade torn free from his body with a sickening SHHK.
Alyiha howled. "NO!!"
The young boy, shaking with fury, lunged again—but this time, claws met flesh.
SLASH!
A deep gash opened across his abdomen. Blood sprayed.
He collapsed, gasping.
Alyiha's eyes darted—she spotted a kitchen blade within reach.
Fueled by desperation, she kicked the tail demon square in the gut, dove forward, and grabbed the knife.
"You TOUCH my son—!!" she screamed.
The horned demon snarled, reaching for her—too slow.
SHHHNK!
Steel met eye.
He screamed—blinded—reeling in agony.
"You IDIOT!" the tail demon shrieked. "The king said to bring her in ALIVE!!"
"Too late!" the horned demon howled—and with unholy strength, grabbed Alyiha's skull—
POP.
Kyton screamed as her body dropped like a rag doll.
He twitched. Blood pooling around him. His vision pulsed.
Something inside him shattered.
It rose.
Rage. Hate. Grief.
His body trembled… then convulsed.
"GraaAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Blood erupted from every pore. His eyes turned completely red. His mouth stretched open, fangs glinting as his bones snapped and twisted.
Crimson energy spiraled around him. The demons froze.
"Wait… no…!"
"It can't be—!!"
"A CURSED CHILD!!!"
Kyton's body surged forward, screaming with a voice not human.
"RUUUUAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!"
...
Markus shot up from the bed.
Panting.
Drenched in sweat.
His eyes wide. Red.
His hands trembling.
"…It's just a dream…"
Markus sat there, gasping in the dim light of the early morning. His chest heaved, breath shallow and ragged.
"That was a dream… right?" he whispered.
But the images lingered—too vivid, too real. The scent of blood. The sound of bone cracking. That name.
Kyton.
"…It felt like a memory," he muttered. "But if it was… it wasn't mine."
He looked down—something warm pressed against his side.
Iris.
She was curled up next to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Her face was peaceful, her breathing steady, like she'd sensed the storm in him and tried to calm it without words. Her ears twitched faintly.
But—
Markus's eyes widened.
A small cut traced down her cheek. Thin. Red.
He must've struck her.
"…Iris…"
He reached up with shaking fingers and gently brushed her hair aside. Then, with a slow, careful motion, he patted her head—his touch as light as the breath he'd nearly lost.
A smile, quiet and sad, touched the corner of his lips.
"Why are you so kind to me…?"
The room remained still.
And in that silence, his heart settled.