Chapter 88
Kane's POV
Dorothy led me through the ruins toward the canyon's edge.
"Just ahead," Dorothy said, fear evident in her voice. "The old wolf house."
I followed her pointing finger.
A dilapidated wooden structure stood alone at the canyon's end, surrounded by desolation. Half the roof had caved in, the doorframe tilted at an angle, and only a few shards of broken glass remained in the windows. But what caught my eye most was the tattered banner hanging from the eaves—Lightning Wolf Pack's totem, a silver lightning bolt against a deep blue background, now faded and torn, fluttering weakly in the night wind.
"He lives in there?" I asked.
Dorothy nodded but didn't move forward. She stopped about twenty paces from the house, hands clutching her skirt tightly.
"I... I don't dare go any closer."
I glanced at her. "You're afraid of him?"
"Not afraid," she said, biting her lip. "It's... the feeling is strange. Sometimes he looks pitiful, sometimes he's terrifying. Last time I passed by, he suddenly rushed out and grabbed my hand, kept saying 'my son has returned.' I... I was scared out of my wits."
I could understand her fear. A crazy old man living alone in ruins, calling everyone his son—the image was disturbing enough.
"Wait here," I said. "I'll go in alone."
Dorothy nodded with relief, backing away several steps to hide behind a broken wall.
I took a deep breath and walked toward the decrepit house.
With each step closer, I could see more clearly what this place had once been. Though dilapidated, the structure's frame was still solid—clearly built with care. The stone steps before the door were carved with intricate patterns, worn smooth by time but still faintly showing some kind of blessing runes. Rusty iron hooks hung on the walls, probably once used for weapons or game.
This had been a home.
I reached the door and pushed open the rickety wooden frame.
Creak—
The door made a piercing sound, as if it might fall apart at any moment.
Inside was pitch black, only moonlight streaming through the damaged roof to illuminate a small patch of ground. The air reeked of mold, urine, and something rotting, the combination making me gag.
I covered my nose, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness before I could make out the interior.
All furniture had long vanished, only a few broken pieces of wood scattered on the floor. Rags and straw were piled in the corner, probably used as bedding. Bones and scraps littered the ground—whether animal or something else, I couldn't tell.
Then I heard the groaning.
It was a low, hoarse sound, almost inhuman, coming from the shadows deep in the house. The sound came in fits and starts, like some dying beast making its final struggle.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
"Anyone there?" I asked tentatively.
The groaning stopped.
Silence lasted several seconds, then I heard rustling sounds—like something crawling on the ground.
Instinctively I stepped back half a pace, my whole body on alert.
Though I was in human form now, if there was danger, I could shift in a second.
"Son?"
The voice suddenly rang out, aged and trembling, carrying a sickly longing.
"Is that you? Have you come back?"
I saw something moving in the shadows.
A human-shaped silhouette slowly emerged from the darkness, but it didn't look human at all—more like some monster wearing human skin.
His hair was long and matted, completely covering his face and hanging to his chest. He wore tattered clothes, their original color long unrecognizable.
He hunched over, crawling on hands and knees, his movements stiff and twisted.
"Son..." he repeated, his voice breaking with sobs. "I knew you'd come back... I've been waiting for you..."
He crawled toward me, moving faster and faster.
I stood my ground, just watching him.
Blaze growled in my mind: "Careful, something's off about this guy."
"I'm not your son," I said calmly.
But he didn't hear me. He'd already reached my feet, extending his withered hands to feel my legs, waist, chest. His fingers were cold and rough like tree bark, each touch making me uncomfortable.
"It's you... it's you..." he muttered, his voice growing more agitated. "I recognize you... my son... you've finally come home..."
His hand reached my face, and through that tangled mess of hair, I finally saw his eyes.
They were clouded eyes, the whites yellowed, the pupils filmed over with fog.
But when he stared at me, I suddenly felt a chill—because the color of those eyes was almost identical to mine.
Deep blue, with a hint of silver light.
"Son..." he began to cry, tears sliding down his wrinkled cheeks. "You've finally returned... I've waited so long... so long..."
Just then, Dorothy's voice came from outside: "Don't listen to him! He tells everyone they're his son! Last time Blood River soldiers passed by, he said the same thing!"
The old man suddenly stopped crying.
He whipped his head around, shouting toward the door: "No! That's not true! He IS my son! My son!"
He turned back, fixing those clouded eyes on me, his voice turning frenzied: "You're my son! I know it! I recognize you! You were different from birth! Strong physique, unafraid of fire! Unafraid of ice! Even lightning couldn't hurt you! You're the chosen one!"
I frowned. "Blaze, have you heard of this kind of constitution?"
"Naturally immune to elemental forces?" Blaze's voice was full of doubt. "Unheard of. This old guy's probably lost his mind, spouting nonsense."
But I didn't immediately dismiss it. Looking at this deranged old man, at those eyes so similar to mine, I felt something indescribable rising in my chest.