## 2. The incident and the infection
### 2.1. A Fragile Peace
The air in Mirewood was heavy with the damp scent of the swamp, the
kind that clung to clothes and lingered long after the sun had set.
Calwyn crouched near the edge of a small garden, carefully plucking
weeds as his mother, Lenya, worked beside him, humming a soft tune.
"Easy now," Lenya said with a soft smile, brushing soil from her
fingers. "Pull too hard, and you'll take the roots of the good ones
with the weeds."
Calwyn sighed, holding up the clump of weeds he'd just uprooted. A
faint warmth tingled in his palm-something that always happened when
he worked in the garden-but he shook it off. "How can you tell
what's good and what's not? It all looks the same."
"You'll learn." Lenya chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her
face. "And until then, you'll keep pulling weeds while I supervise."
Calwyn rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling. His mother had
always been patient with him, even when his curiosity led to broken
jars or spilled herbs. She had a way of making every chore feel less
like work and more like a lesson.
A sharp whistle cut through the air, and Calwyn turned to see his
father, Bran, standing by the fence at the edge of their yard. He
was broad-shouldered and weathered from years of labor, but his
expression softened as he waved them over.
"Calwyn, give me a hand with this post!" Bran called. "It's leaning
worse than the old mill."
Lenya patted Calwyn's shoulder. "Go on. He's been complaining about
that fence all week."
Calwyn jogged over, grabbing the hammer and nails his father handed
him. Together, they worked to steady the fence, Bran pointing out
how to drive the nails at an angle to keep the wood secure.
"Use your head, boy," Bran said, his tone gruff but warm.
"Strength'll only take you so far. Think ahead, or this fence'll be
down again by the next storm."
"I get it," Calwyn muttered, hammering a nail a little harder than
necessary. "You've only told me that a hundred times."
"And I'll tell you a hundred more," Bran replied. He ruffled
Calwyn's hair, earning a groan of protest. "One day, you'll thank me
for it."
### 2.2. The Breaking Point
The peaceful rhythm of the day shattered when the soldiers arrived.
It started with the sound of hoofbeats, distant at first but growing
louder. Villagers peeked out from their homes, faces tense as a
group of armored men rode into the square. The banner of Lord Calden
fluttered above them, its stark black and red colors a grim reminder
of the fief's master.
Calwyn stood frozen by the fence as the soldiers dismounted. His
father stepped forward. "Stay close," Bran murmured, his hand
gripping the fence. His voice was steady, but his knuckles whitened
against the wood. "Don't draw attention. Let me handle this."
In the square, the leader of the soldiers, a man with a cruel face
and a scar running down his cheek, raised his voice. "Taxes are
overdue. Lord Calden does not tolerate delays."
The villagers gathered hesitantly, clutching small pouches of coins
or sacks of grain. Calwyn's parents joined them, Bran carrying a
weathered pouch in his calloused hands. When their turn came, Bran
stepped forward.
"This is all we have," Bran said, holding out the pouch. "The crops
failed, and-"
The soldier snatched the pouch, weighed it in his hand, and sneered.
"It's not enough. You think this pitiful offering will satisfy Lord
Calden?"
Bran stiffened. "Please, give us more time. We'll-"
"You've had plenty of time," the soldier interrupted, his voice
cold. He motioned to the others. "Teach them what happens to liars
and beggars."
Two soldiers stepped forward, grabbing Bran by the arms and dragging
him toward the horses. Lenya screamed, rushing to his side. "No!
Please, we'll find more!" she begged, clawing at the soldier
restraining her.
Her pleas were ignored as the lead soldier smirked. "Maybe we take
the wife instead," he said, leering at Lenya. "She looks like she
could fetch a good price at the next market."
Calwyn's chest tightened as his mother's screams tore through the
air. She twisted in the soldier's grip, her wide eyes meeting his,
pleading silently. "No! Leave her alone!" Bran roared, his voice raw
with fury. The soldiers only laughed, shoving him to the dirt like a
discarded tool.
The soldier restraining Lenya tightened his grip, dragging her
closer. "We're just collecting what's owed. If it's not coin, it'll
be something else."
"Stop it!" Calwyn shouted, running forward. He grabbed a rock from
the ground and hurled it at the soldier, striking him in the
shoulder. The man stumbled back, his grip on Lenya loosening.
Bran turned his head sharply. "Stay back, Calwyn!" he barked.
"You'll make it worse!"
But Calwyn's blood was already boiling. He couldn't watch them hurt
his parents any longer. He couldn't stand being powerless.
"Stupid boy," the lead soldier spat, motioning to another. "Teach
him a lesson."
A soldier advanced toward Calwyn, drawing a whip from his belt. "You
think you're brave?" he snarled, cracking the whip in the air.
"We'll see how tough you are after this."
The first lash barely missed Calwyn's face, and he stumbled
backward, his heart pounding. The second strike grazed his arm,
sending a sharp sting up to his shoulder. He bit back a cry,
clenching his fists as hot tears filled his eyes.
"Calwyn, no!" Lenya screamed, struggling harder. Bran roared,
thrashing against the soldiers holding him.
Calwyn's vision blurred, the world narrowing to the sounds of his
parents' voices and the crack of the whip. A searing heat built in
his chest, rising with each heartbeat, each cry for help. His body
trembled as the pressure inside him begged for release.
"Let them go!" he screamed, his voice raw.
The air crackled, alive with an unnatural charge that prickled
against Calwyn's skin. Heat built in his chest, too much to contain,
until a deafening pulse of energy tore free, rippling outward in a
blinding surge. The soldiers were hurled back, their screams drowned
by the thunderous roar. The whip flew from the soldiers's hand as he
was thrown backward into a cart. The others were knocked to the
ground, groaning in pain.
But the energy didn't stop there.
Calwyn's knees buckled as the force lashed out in all directions.
His parents, too close to the blast, were thrown to the ground.
Lenya's scream cut off abruptly, and Bran's body hit the dirt with a
sickening thud.
"No," Calwyn whispered, his ears ringing. He stumbled toward them,
his legs shaking. "No, no, no!"
Calwyn fell to his knees, his trembling hands hovering over their
still forms. He didn't dare touch them, as though his hands might
still carry the curse that had struck them down. "I didn't mean to-"
His voice broke, the words tangling in his throat. Tears blurred his
vision, but they couldn't wash away the horror of what he'd done.
Around him, the villagers stood paralyzed, their faces a patchwork
of pale dread and dawning horror. Murmurs rippled through the crowd
like a rising tide, sharp-edged and accusatory.
"It's magic," an older woman gasped, clutching her child close as
though to shield them from an unseen threat.
"Demon's work," another hissed, his voice trembling. "He'll bring
ruin to us all!"
Eyes filled with suspicion and fear turned to Calwyn, their weight
crushing him far more than any whip ever could. Even faces he
recognized-neighbors who had shared kind words or bread in
passing-looked at him now as though he'd become something monstrous.
"He killed them," someone whispered, the words cutting through the
air like a blade.
"No!" Calwyn's voice cracked, but the denial felt hollow in his
throat. He stumbled backward, his gaze darting between the villagers
and his trembling hands. The faint glow of magic still clung to his
fingers, flickering like dying embers-a mark he couldn't erase.
"Stay back!" A man lunged forward, brandishing a rusted pitchfork.
"Don't come near us, boy!"
Calwyn's chest tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He
wanted to explain, to make them understand he hadn't meant to hurt
anyone. But the widening circle of fear around him told him there
was nothing he could say that would erase what they had seen.
"Demon spawn," the soldier rasped from where he lay crumpled against
the cart. His voice was weak but venomous, each word dripping with
loathing. "You'll bring the curse down on all of us."
The villagers' murmurs grew louder, their fear feeding on the
soldier's words until it swelled into a chorus of condemnation.
Someone threw a stone, and though it missed, the message was clear.
Calwyn's body moved before his mind caught up. He ran, his boots
pounding against the dirt as the villagers' shouts followed him like
a shadow. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighted with the
understanding that he couldn't go back.
### 2.3. Fleeing Into the Mire
The swamp swallowed young Calwyn whole, its thick mist wrapping
around him like a suffocating shroud. His feet stumbled over tangled
roots and sinking mud, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The
shouts of the soldiers faded behind him, but their words lingered,
sharp and cutting.
"Demon spawn."
"You'll kill us all."
A sharp pain flared in his side where a soldier's boot had struck
him during his frantic escape. His arm throbbed from where the whip
had grazed him, the welt stinging with each movement. Blood trickled
from a shallow cut on his cheek, a reminder of the chaos he had just
fled. The soldier's blade had nicked him as he darted into the
swamp, its sharp sting mingling with the throb of his other wounds.
Every movement sent waves of pain through his battered body, but
Calwyn couldn't stop. Not now.
A sharp branch tore at his sleeve, scraping against his already
bruised arm. He stumbled forward, gasping for breath, his vision
blurring as exhaustion crept in. His legs burned, muscles protesting
every step as he slogged through the thick mud, the swamp pulling at
his boots as if trying to swallow him whole.
Calwyn tripped on a twisted root, collapsing face-first into the
muck. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his ribs, and he cried
out, his voice muffled by the damp earth. For a moment, he lay
there, his chest heaving, his body trembling from a combination of
exhaustion, fear, and grief.
"I didn't mean to..." he whispered, barely audible over the faint
rustle of leaves. The faces of his parents flashed in his mind
again, lifeless and still. Tears mixed with the dirt on his cheeks,
and he clenched his fists against the overwhelming guilt clawing at
his chest.
The sound of distant voices snapped him back to reality. The
soldiers were still out there, searching. Their words were faint,
their shouts distorted by the mist, but the danger was real. Calwyn
forced himself to his feet, wincing as his bruised ribs protested.
He pressed a hand to his side and pushed forward, each step a
struggle.
The swamp grew darker, the thick canopy above swallowing what little
light remained. The air was damp and heavy, clinging to him like a
weight. His cuts stung as the swamp water seeped into them, and
every breath felt like an effort. But still, he moved.
A branch snapped nearby, and Calwyn froze. His ears strained, but
all he could hear was the distant croak of frogs and the faint
rustle of leaves. He couldn't tell if the soldiers were still
chasing him or if the swamp itself was closing in, its endless
expanse offering no path forward and no way back.
Then, through the haze of his pain and the oppressive fog, Calwyn
saw it-a faint, pulsing light. It glowed a soft blue, unlike
anything he'd ever seen, standing out against the murky tones of the
swamp.
He blinked, unsure if his exhausted mind was playing tricks on him,
but the light remained steady, drawing him in. He stumbled toward
it, the pain in his body momentarily dulled by curiosity and
desperation. As he neared, the outline of a structure emerged from
the shadows-a towering ruin, partially buried and covered in vines,
its jagged edges cutting into the mist.
### 2.4. The Primekin ruins
The light seemed to emanate from within, flickering faintly through
cracks in the stone. Calwyn hesitated at the entrance, a gaping
archway etched with symbols he didn't recognize. The blue glow
illuminated strange carvings on the walls-figures that looked almost
human but merged with animals, their forms twisted yet graceful.
His heart pounded as he stepped inside. The air was heavy, clinging
to him like the weight of his own thoughts. The swamp behind him was
merciless, but this place... this place was different. The eerie
blue glow reminded him of something alive, something waiting.
He hesitated, his hands trembling as he glanced back toward the
misty expanse of the swamp. His chest tightened, the memory of his
parents' lifeless faces flashing in his mind. He wanted to turn
around, to run until the pain stopped, but where would he go? What
was left for him now?
A part of him didn't care what was inside-if it was safe, dangerous,
or worse. The swamp behind him was unforgiving, its dangers mirrored
by the distant echoes of the soldiers' voices. His body ached,
bruised and bloodied, every step a painful reminder of what he had
lost.
If the ruin could offer shelter, even for a moment, it would be
enough. Whether he found a place to rest, a chance to hide, or
simply a place to die, it didn't matter. He had nowhere else to go.
Whatever lay within might be worse than the swamp behind him-but it
might also offer an end to the pain, one way or another.
The jagged archway loomed before Calwyn, carved with symbols that
shimmered faintly in the eerie blue light. The glow seemed to seep
through the cracks in the ancient stone, casting long shadows across
the walls. He hesitated, peering into the darkness beyond, before
stepping inside. His footsteps echoed softly in the stillness,
swallowed quickly by the oppressive silence.
The air grew colder as he moved deeper, his breath visible in faint
puffs. The entry hall was narrow, its walls covered in moss and
grime, with roots snaking through cracks in the stone. Strange
symbols were etched along the surfaces, faintly glowing as though
the ruin itself still clung to life. Calwyn reached out to touch
one, but a sharp jolt made him pull his hand back.
"What is this place?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his
fingers.
As he continued, the narrow corridor opened into a larger chamber.
He stopped short as his eyes adjusted to the faint blue light that
illuminated the room. The floor was uneven, partially collapsed in
places, revealing gaping holes that plunged into darkness. Jagged
stones jutted up like broken teeth, forcing him to navigate
carefully.
One step sent loose pebbles tumbling into the void, the sound
echoing ominously. He swallowed hard and hugged the wall, feeling
his way forward. A faint trickle of water dripped from somewhere
above, the droplets catching the light and gleaming like stars in
the gloom.
Ahead, the remnants of what might have been a doorway blocked his
path. The wooden frame had long since rotted away, leaving only a
heavy slab of stone tilted against the wall. Calwyn pressed his
shoulder against it, gritting his teeth as he pushed. The stone
shifted slightly, scraping against the floor with a grating sound,
before toppling over with a loud crash that made him wince.
He froze, heart pounding, and listened. The ruin remained silent,
but the sound of the crash seemed to hang in the air, amplifying the
sense that he was intruding somewhere he didn't belong.
### 2.5. An unsettling histrory
Beyond the doorway, the chamber widened into what could only be
described as a laboratory. The stale air was heavy with the scent of
damp stone and decay. The walls were lined with faded carvings,
depictions of humanoid figures merging with animals: a wolf howling,
an eagle in flight, a serpent coiled around a staff. Beneath each
figure were symbols-*Lupus*, *Aquila*, *Serpens*, and others he
couldn't decipher.
Calwyn's fingers hovered just above the intricate carvings etched
into the stone, their lines pulsing faintly with a glow that seemed
alive. The Aetheric patterns spiraled and twisted in ways that
defied logic, as if the very act of observing them pulled at the
edges of his mind. A low hum, almost imperceptible, resonated
through the air, vibrating in his chest like an echo from another
world.
The glow grew brighter as his gaze lingered, casting shadows that
danced unnaturally across the damp stone walls. Each shift in the
light seemed deliberate, as though the carvings were shifting their
focus to him. His breath hitched, and a cold prickle ran down his
spine. These weren't just symbols-they felt like whispers frozen in
time, fragments of something ancient and unknowable.
An unease settled deep in his gut, but he couldn;t pull away. It was
as if the patterns themselves were probing his thoughts, sifting
through his memories with a silent, otherworldly curiosity. He
clenched his fists, forcing himself to step back. The air around him
seemed heavier, pressing against his skin as if the ruins themselves
were alive, watching, waiting.
At the center of the room stood a broken table, its surface covered
in shattered glass and rusted tools. Something about the place felt
wrong, as though it had been abandoned in a hurry, its purpose left
unfinished.
Calwyn's eyes fell on a large, faded map pinned to the far wall. The
parchment was brittle, its edges curled and torn, but the details
were clear: a network of locations, each labeled with strange,
almost clinical names-*Lupinexus*, *Pantheracrypt*, *Aquilabase*.
The terms were unfamiliar, yet something about them stirred unease,
as though they were echoes of the carvings he had seen earlier.
His gaze drifted back to the walls, where the faded figures of
animals merged with humanoid forms: the wolf's sharp howl, the
eagle's wings spread wide, the serpent's sinuous coils. He realized
now that the carvings weren't just decorative-they were tied to the
map, a record of something methodical, deliberate. The names weren't
just labels; they were remnants of experiments, places tied to what
the Primekin had done here.
The thought sent a chill through him. Whatever had been studied or
created in this place hadn't been forgotten-it was etched into both
the map and the walls, an unspoken link between the cold
calculations of the Primekin and the forms they sought to shape.
"Is this what they were doing here?" he murmured, his fingers
brushing over the brittle parchment. His voice sounded hollow,
swallowed by the silence of the room. "Experimenting on animals...
or people?"
The words lingered in the stale air, unanswered and heavy. The
carvings on the walls seemed to watch him, their twisted forms
catching the faint blue glow like shadows stretching toward him. The
map offered no clarity, only more questions-a glimpse into something
ancient and unnatural, its purpose long buried but still alive in
the ruin's oppressive weight.
A faint hum broke the stillness, low and rhythmic, like a heartbeat
echoing through the chamber. Calwyn froze, the sound sending a chill
down his spine. Slowly, he turned toward the source. The sound
wasn't coming from within the room-it was emanating from behind a
large stone door at the far end of the chamber.
The door stood tall and unyielding, its surface carved with
intricate patterns that glowed faintly with the same eerie blue
light. Deep grooves spiraled inward toward a single circular
indentation at its center. The hum grew louder as Calwyn approached,
vibrating through the air and into his chest.
He stopped a few steps away, staring at the door in confusion.
Something about the glowing patterns drew his gaze, the way they
seemed to pulse in rhythm with the hum. He reached out hesitantly,
his fingers brushing the cold stone. The glow flared briefly, and he
felt a sharp jolt run through his arm, making him stagger back.
"What is this?" he whispered, cradling his hand. The glow dimmed,
but the hum persisted, low and insistent.
He took a deep breath, staring at the circular indentation. It
almost seemed to call to him, the patterns shifting slightly, as
though urging him forward. Calwyn clenched his fists. Whatever power
had erupted from him earlier, whatever had taken his parents-it was
part of him now. He had to understand it.
He reached out again, this time pressing his palm firmly against the
center of the door. The glow flared brighter, spreading along the
grooves in a cascading wave of light. Heat surged through his hand,
not painful but intense, and the hum rose to a deafening pitch.
The door shuddered. With a grinding groan, it began to move, stone
scraping against stone as it slid open. Cold air rushed out from the
dark space beyond, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of
something ancient and unnatural.
Calwyn stepped back as the hum faded into silence. The newly
revealed chamber beyond was bathed in dim blue light. His eyes
adjusted slowly, settling on the source of the glow: a cylindrical
pod standing against the far wall. Its glass surface was cracked and
smeared with age, but the faint light emanating from within gave it
an otherworldly presence.
He approached it cautiously, each step deliberate, his boots
scraping against the uneven stone. The hum that had been so loud
moments ago was gone, replaced by an eerie stillness. The glow
inside the pod pulsed faintly, as if the thing within was alive-or
waiting.
Calwyn reached out, his hand trembling. He hesitated, instinct
screaming at him to turn back, to leave this place behind. But
curiosity, or perhaps something deeper, pulled him forward. His
fingertips brushed the edge of the pod.
A sharp crack split the air, shattering the fragile silence. The
glass burst outward with an earsplitting noise, and Calwyn stumbled
back, shielding his face from the fragments.
### 2.6. The Transformation
For a moment, nothing happened. The pod stood silent, its contents
hidden by swirling shadows. Then, from within, something shifted.
A faint glow illuminated the interior of the pod, and Calwyn's
breath caught. Slumped against the back of the glass was a skeletal
figure-humanoid... but wrong.
A long, sharp ribcage extended outward, its skeletal structure
warped and uneven, as though caught between forms. The arms, long
and sinewy, ended in claw-like appendages, their proportions
unsettlingly off-balance. The skull was an unnatural fusion of human
and wolf-a broad, elongated shape with angular cheekbones and a
protruding snout. Jagged teeth lined its partially formed jaw, a
grotesque hint at something designed for both speech and predation.
The overall frame was eerily elegant yet undeniably monstrous, as
though the being's very nature was caught between two worlds-human
and beast-locked in a struggle that neither side had won, leaving
behind a form that felt incomplete, fragmented, and tragic.
Calwyn stared, transfixed by the skeletal remains. Was this... a
Primekin? The legends spoke of their mastery of Aether and their
experiments, but no one had ever seen proof. Until now.
As if sensing his presence, the glow intensified, pulsing outward
from the skeleton. The bones trembled, their delicate structure
disintegrating into fine dust that swirled in the air like a storm
of glowing particles. Calwyn stumbled back, coughing as the
shimmering dust engulfed him, clinging to his skin like static.
And then the dust began to move.
It gathered in the center of the room, coalescing into a viscous
substance, both liquid and light. The ooze pulsed faintly with an
eerie blue-green glow, quivering as though alive. Calwyn barely had
time to react before it surged forward, rushing across the floor
with unnatural speed. He tried to step back, but the substance
lashed out, wrapping around his legs in tendrils of sticky, glowing
fluid.
"Get off me!" he shouted, clawing at the tendrils. But his hands
passed through them as though they were made of liquid energy. The
ooze ignored his struggles, climbing higher, cold and electric as it
seeped into his skin. Tendrils forced their way into his mouth,
nostrils, and ears, flooding his senses with a sharp, metallic tang.
Pain erupted within him, searing and all-consuming. The Aetheric
substance burrowed deeper, saturating his veins with fire. He
collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest as his muscles
convulsed. His vision fractured, flashes of light and shadow
distorting the room.
Images filled his mind-wolves racing beneath a blood-red moon, their
howls blending with crackling lightning. He felt their hunger, their
power, their unity, but also their rage. The visions weren't his,
yet they burned into his consciousness, as though the Aether itself
was rewriting him.
The ooze surged again, fusing with him, becoming part of him. His
nails grew into claws, his teeth sharpened, and a guttural growl
escaped his throat. He slammed his claws into the stone floor,
leaving deep gouges as the transformation coursed through him.
"No!" he gasped. "Stop!"
The substance responded, wrapping tighter around him, binding itself
to his blood, his bones, his very soul. The Aether bent him to its
will, twisting his body, his mind, and his spirit into something
both human and beast.
And then, it stopped.
Calwyn slumped forward, gasping for air. The glowing tendrils were
gone, absorbed into his skin, but their warmth remained, pulsing
faintly beneath the surface. He lifted his trembling hands, the
claws receding into human nails, but he could still feel it-the
energy coiled inside him, alive and watching.
The skeleton was gone, its remains scattered as dust. Whatever had
been in that pod, it had left its mark. It wasn't just a curse.
It was him now.
But as the silence settled around him, the warmth beneath his skin
began to stir. Faint at first, like the flicker of a dying ember, it
quickly grew into a raging heat, spreading through his veins with
wild abandon. Calwyn gasped, clutching his chest as the pressure
mounted, sharp and searing.
"No... no!" he rasped, his voice raw, his hands clawing at the stone
floor. The energy demanded release, surging through him like a storm
threatening to break.
With a guttural roar, the Aether erupted from him in a blinding
wave, crackling like lightning as it ripped through the air. The
force slammed into the walls, carving deep gouges into the stone and
sending shards flying. The hum that had filled the chamber turned
into a deafening crescendo as the ancient machinery, overwhelmed by
the surge, began to fail.
The floor cracked beneath him, glowing fissures spreading outward
like veins. Sparks danced along the walls as chunks of the ceiling
began to collapse, crashing into the chamber with thunderous force.
Calwyn staggered to his feet, his legs unsteady, and stumbled toward
the archway.
Behind him, the remnants of the pod and the Primekin skeleton
disintegrated, consumed by the chaos. The Aetheric charge tore
through the ruin, its raw energy feeding the destruction. The walls
buckled, and the ceiling above the chamber caved in, unleashing a
cascade of stone and dust.
Calwyn barely made it through the archway as the ground gave way. He
tripped and fell, tumbling into the swamp as the ruin collapsed
behind him, sending a plume of debris billowing outward. The blast
knocked him flat, the cool swamp air rushing over him like a
reprieve from the oppressive heat inside.
He lay there for a moment, gasping, his chest heaving as the charge
finally subsided. His veins still pulsed faintly with the lingering
energy, and his hands trembled as he pressed them into the dirt.
Whatever had happened in that chamber, whatever had merged with him,
was no longer just part of the ruins. It was part of him.
The mist around the ruin began to fade, the oppressive hum silenced
at last. But the memory of what he had seen-and what he had
done-remained. His thoughts raced: What had the Primekin been trying
to achieve? What had they left behind? And what had they turned him
into?
As the swamp settled into quiet and the faint light of dawn pierced
the gloom, Calwyn's eyes drifted to the horizon. The soldiers were
gone, and the ruin lay in rubble, but he knew this was only the
beginning.
Inside him, the energy stirred again, waiting.