Chapter 86: THE BEAST BENEATH

Ares's point of view

Tristan took me to a place I never knew existed—a forgotten path that even the wind seemed reluctant to cross. The trees grew taller and closer together the farther we went, their roots twisting like knotted veins over the earth, as if they were guarding something ancient. Sunlight barely reached through the dense canopy above, casting long shadows across the forest floor.

I should’ve turned back.

But something inside me—a dull, aching pull—kept me moving forward.

We reached a crooked structure buried beneath ivy and silence. A crumbling hut, leaning as though it had carried the burden of centuries. I’d seen ruins before, but this one felt… alive. The wind didn’t blow here. The air didn’t move. Even the birds refused to sing.

“She’s in there,” Tristan said, voice low.

I narrowed my eyes. “And who exactly is she?”

“The last surviving witch of the Mistefell circle,” he replied. “The only one who might know how to break the binding on your blood.”

I scoffed bitterly. “Right. Another secret my mother buried.”

Tristan didn't react. He just walked ahead, motioning me to follow.

Inside, it smelled of dried herbs, old parchment, and something darker—something sharp and metallic that made my stomach tighten. Candles lined the walls, flickering against symbols carved into the stone. A fireplace crackled at the far end, and in front of it sat a woman, hunched, wrapped in layers of black and crimson robes.

Her eyes met mine.

I froze.

There was no warmth in them. Just depth. Cold, ancient depth. Her skin was creased and pale like cracked parchment, but her gaze held power. She didn’t speak at first. Just stared, as though she could see straight through my soul.

Then, slowly, she reached out a gnarled hand.

I hesitated.

Tristan gave me a nod.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I stepped forward and placed my hand in hers. The moment our skin touched, a chill raced through me—like ice sinking into my veins. She closed her eyes and began chanting words in a language I didn’t recognize. Ancient. Older than Mistefell itself.

My heart started to pound.

The air grew heavy.

Then she let go and spoke to Tristan, ignoring me completely. “The spell is deep. It wasn’t made of one emotion—it was cast with love, fear, anger… and grief. That kind of magic takes time to undo.”

My fists clenched. “What spell?”

She finally turned to me again. “Your mother sealed the beast within you, boy. She didn't just hide you from danger—she buried what you are.”

“No,” I shook my head. “That’s not possible. I thought… I thought it skipped me.”

“It didn’t,” she said simply. “You are lycan, Ares. Your father’s blood was strong, but your mother feared what that strength could become. So, she did what she thought was right. She bound it.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to deny it. But the words got stuck somewhere between my chest and throat.

“Then unbind it,” I said, stepping forward. “Take it off.”

She gave me a withered smile. “I can’t. Only pain can. Only the full moon.”

“And that’s tonight,” Tristan added softly.

I turned to him sharply. “You planned this.”

“I prepared for it,” he said. “The first transformation is the hardest. You’ll need someone there. Someone who’s been through it.”

My head spun. “So, what? You want me to become a monster under the moon and hope for the best?”

“You’re not a monster,” Tristan said firmly. “You’re a lycan. But without control, without awareness, yes—you can become one.”

“And how the hell am I supposed to control something I don’t understand?”

He looked at me solemnly. “By facing it. Tonight.”

The sun was setting by the time we reached the edge of the forest.

Ahead lay the Silver Lake—one of the oldest and most sacred places in Mistefell. I had only heard of it in scattered tales, but the moment I saw it, I understood. The water was still, impossibly so. It mirrored the world perfectly, glowing under the moonlight like a surface made of glass and starlight.

“Why is it called the Silver Lake?” I asked, just to delay the inevitable.

Tristan’s eyes were on the horizon. “Because under a full moon, the water reflects silver. It’s where the first lycans of Mistefell came to awaken their beasts. The magic here... it doesn’t lie.”

That didn’t make me feel better.

Tristan handed me a flask of water. “This is the last moment you’ll feel human tonight. Drink it. Breathe. Remember who you are.”

I took a sip, though my hands trembled.

The moon began its climb.

At first, nothing happened.

But then, my chest tightened. My breath hitched. I doubled over as a sudden heat spread through my core, rising like a tide of fire. It was searing. Suffocating.

My heartbeat thundered.

I fell to my knees.

Something was happening—something I couldn’t stop. My skin prickled. My spine arched unnaturally. Pain lanced through my muscles like hot blades.

I screamed.

The ground cracked under my palms. I could feel my bones shifting, breaking, rebuilding. My jaw snapped forward. My teeth elongated. My nails turned to claws.

Every nerve screamed.

It was as if my body was at war with itself.

A howl—mine—ripped from my throat, raw and ragged. I didn’t recognize the sound.

Then I saw it.

In the water’s reflection.

The beast.

Golden eyes. Dark fur. Massive, crouched limbs that no longer belonged to a man.

I staggered back, panting, foam lining the sides of my mouth. The moonlight had transformed me into something primal. My human mind clawed desperately to stay awake, to not be swallowed whole.

“Ares!” Tristan’s voice snapped through the storm. “You’re in control. Stay with me!”

But I didn’t feel in control.

I wanted to run. I wanted to fight. I wanted to hunt.

Everything around me reeked of vulnerability.

Even him.

I turned to him with a low growl. He stood still, unwavering.

“I’m not your enemy,” he said calmly, even as I snarled. “You’re not alone in this.”

My limbs twitched. My claws dug into the earth. For a moment, I thought I’d lunge.

But then something inside me shifted.

A memory.

My mother’s voice.

Ares… forgive me.

I froze.

A whimper escaped me, unintentional. My breath slowed. My claws retracted slightly into the soil.

I remembered who I was.

I wasn’t just the beast.

I was the boy she left behind.

The boy born into a war he never asked for.

And now, I was the weapon that war would fear.

Slowly, painfully, I lowered myself, panting, trembling. My body was still a wolf’s—still enormous and terrifying—but the rage that blinded me moments ago began to fade.

Tristan approached carefully. “You did it.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t.

But my golden eyes stared at him with something close to understanding.

I had awakened.

As the first light of dawn kissed the horizon, I collapsed near the lake—my body shifting painfully back into its human form. Every bone ached. My skin burned with invisible wounds. I was soaked in sweat and blood, though I didn’t know whose.

Tristan draped a cloak over me.

“You’ll be sore for a few days,” he said, crouching beside me. “But you survived. That’s more than most can say.”

I didn’t speak.

I was too tired.

But somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered: Now it begins.

The beast was no longer sleeping.

And neither was I.