The journey to the hill altar was nothing like Elias had imagined. The path, overgrown and tangled, seemed to shift beneath his feet as if the forest itself breathed and watched. The moon, now full, cast pale silver light through skeletal branches, but it barely pierced the thick mist curling around the ground.
Old Mara walked ahead, her pace steady despite the weight of years. Elias struggled to keep up, nerves fraying with every crack of twig or distant howl.
"Do the Shadow Wraiths always come in the night?" Elias asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"They hunt only when the moon is full," Mara replied. "Their hunger grows stronger with every cycle. Tonight, they seek to bind you—body and soul."
Suddenly, a chilling howl ripped through the silence. Elias froze as dark shapes lunged from the fog—wraithlike forms with glowing eyes, their hollow screams twisting the air.
Mara raised an ancient talisman etched with strange symbols, chanting in a language older than the village itself. A glowing barrier sparked to life around them, pushing the wraiths back.
"Run, Elias!" she shouted. "To the altar—find the first son. He waits for you."
Elias sprinted blindly, the forest closing in behind him. His breath was ragged, heart pounding as unseen claws scraped the air mere inches away.
Then, the trees opened to reveal a crumbling stone altar bathed in moonlight. Standing there was a tall figure cloaked in shadows, eyes burning like embers.
"You're late," the figure said, voice low but commanding. "I am Lucan, first son of the line. Let me teach you to fight your curse… or it will consume you."
Elias swallowed, stepping forward into his fate.
—