Chapter Text
There was a thrumming sound, dull and somewhat muffled, but there nonetheless. Razor drifted awake from his afternoon nap and back into the world, slightly irked by whoever had disturbed him. Wolves took their naps seriously, even more so on especially relaxing days such as these. He lifted his head up, nose sniffing, searching.
The flood of usual scents was there, the warm afternoon breeze, the familiar scent of the wolfhook berries he always slept near… and the sharp, unsettling scent of humans.
He tensed, lightly hopping to his feet, alert and all traces of sleep shaken off. His eyes were open, narrow, casting careful glances around the surrounding forest. His home. The only home he ever had, the only one he could remember.
The light fog that constantly covered Wolvendom persisted, heavier and thicker than usual. The intangible, silver mist curled around the fallen trees and outjuttings of roots, despite the sun shining overhead. Crouching down, Razor quietly shuffled out of the the undergrowth and glanced out at the main path, waiting. Watching, alert. A strange contrast to his usual languid stretching and long yawns after a nap, but wolven beings and humans are as stark a contrast as could be. Their coexistence was something that constantly clashed, tugged, fought and struggled. Something that many believed just wasn’t meant to be.
And for enough of them to taint the wild, minty scent of the forests of his home? Razor darted out of the bush and started running, feet lightly landing on the rugged dirt path compared to the heavy, careless footsteps of the humans he had heard.
Chunks of ore, bushes of wolfhooks, and scattered sticks and fallen branches littered the path that led to Andrius’ domain. The fog grew denser as he descended until it obscured his vision to just a few feet ahead of him. No matter how sunny it was, the fog was ever-present in the deeper areas of the forest.
Stopping to catch his breath, the silver-haired boy sniffed the air again. It was stronger now. Undoubtedly, humans were near. And not the Springvale hunters, either– these humans had a different air to them, a strange aura. There were seldom few that dared set foot in Wolvendom in the first place, despite the area being so close to Dawn Winery.
However, during the off-season, desperate hunters sometimes would wander in the wolves’ domain, hoping to snag a boar or two before scurrying off. The wolves had never taken a liking to them. The hunters were akin to rats, stealing food and scraps, easy to chase off but hard to catch. Yet at least, Razor thought, when they left, they left forever, more frightened by the possibility of being ripped to pieces by an angry wolf pack than arriving back to Draff with empty hands.
A distant howl cut through the dense fog and Razor turned out of habit to the direction of the howl, dipping his head slightly to acknowledge the call of his leader. Just as he had resolved to give up the chase and head back to his waiting wolf pack, the rancid smell of smoke drifted lazily to where Razor was standing, permeating the cool, minty air. He let out an involuntary growl, mind going blank, body freezing. Smoke. Humans.
This wasn’t going to be like last time with that one hunter, a fool who had tried to venture into Wolvendom, during a night where only a sliver of the moon was hanging over the sky. Hoping the denizens of the forest were asleep, he had clumsily scattered a gathering of boars near the abandoned well in the dark while high on the belief that he'd make it back with pounds of meat.
He'd dropped his torch, setting the grounds alight in devouring flames, ones that rapidly consumed the wolves’ main source of food and disrupting their home. Many wolves had gone hungry that season. Others had died.
The rancid smell intensified. He growled again, anger and apprehension flooding through his mind, a spark of electricity flickering around him. A thunderstorm? He wondered, but that thought was quickly cast aside, erased, overwhelmed by a surging tide of hatred and the will to protect his family. Lightly hopping from foot to foot, he prepared himself to investigate the source of the smoke.
He started running towards the scent, ignoring the thorns tearing at his clothes and skin, driven by a sense of danger. There was a blinding flash. An explosion went off, a searing crack cutting through the mist. Light and shouts drowned out the natural sounds of the peaceful forest, followed by an eerie silence after. Razor froze, stunned, hands as white as ghosts and curled into shaking fists. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding and his throat tightened until each heavy breath was turned into high-pitched, whistling gasps. Rigid, frozen, mouth dry and words stolen.
The crackling of a fire and frantic shouts of those nasty humans filled his ears, a white static, then before he knew it he was flying through the forest, faster than he’d ever run before. Razor doubted if his feet were even touching the ground as he tore through the undergrowth and scraggly trees at a breakneck speed. That electrifying feeling was back, sending jolts of power and energy within, fueling his heart and causing it to flare up and pound nonstop. He ran and ran. A line of bushes came into view and he let out a howl, disturbingly similar to those of his wolven family. With a strange surge of power, he leapt over the hooked tangle of bush, crashing down into a roll.
The sight near the edge of the beach only aggravated him further, until his blood ran as fast as a stream, until it was as hot as lava. There was a fiercely burning fire, small but wild and hungry. Its flames ravaged the greenery and wood near the banks of Cider Lake and was spreading quickly, hungry, devouring his home.
He whirled around, hefting up his battered claymore as soon as he noticed the strangely dressed humans. They donned armor and carried swords, all surrounding a young girl with elven ears. The oversized backpack she wore reeked of smoke and danger. One man frantically shouted orders to another, the whole group babbling their heads off like chicken before they were going to be killed. He couldn’t understand their strange words, and even if he could, there wasn’t anything except the crackle of the flames and the pounding heartbeat in his ears that drowned everything out.
There was fire, there was flames. There was a weapon being drawn, an angry shout. A barrage of memories, a marred past. Razor leapt into the air, soaring up, up before slamming his claymore, down, down into the ground, causing the strange humans to stagger back. Razor lugged up the weapon again and shouted, “Leave my home!”
What came out almost caused him to drop his own claymore. An inhuman roar full of anger and fury, bloodlust and the thirst for revenge shook the surrounding area, its overwhelming presence looming over the others. A sword came down in a deadly arc and Razor braced himself for the eventual impact, trying to somehow dodge in the hopes of only getting a light cut.
Swinging, he lurched out of the way in time, raising his claymore and smashing its blunt end into the owner of the sword faster than he thought he ever could.
The man groaned and fell over, lying motionless in the sand. He wasn’t the only one in pain. Gasping, Razor dropped down onto his knees, not feeling the coarse sand, not seeing the four humans circling him with their sharp iron sticks. They were hostile now, their focus averted from the fire and now focused on Razor alone. He couldn’t die here, he had to leave… run away… The grating voice rumbled again and filled Razor’s head. Cowardice… fight.
Lightning crashed down and he jolted up, roaring. Something in him had awoken, something feral, new, natural. It felt like fire ants were crawling all over his arms, legs, inside him.
Purple and violet arcs danced up and down, miniature specks of electricity all over him. He brought his hand up, clenched in a battered fist that dripped blood and water, screaming out something he himself couldn’t understand. Time slowed down. The world paused. The sky darkened; horizon turning a stormy grey as lightning crashed, angry, relentless. “... Finish it,” the voice commanded and Razor obliged, smashing down his fist in a burst of electricity.
His vision went white, feet losing their grip and causing him to stagger backwards. Through the haze, he saw the humans lying on the ground, wounded, bleeding, groaning, one crying. A rush of emotions surged through his mind, almost knocking him out. He shook his head, confused, disoriented, and oh-so tired.
His mind barely registered the clanging coming from a sort of strange, pulsing purple locket attached to his torn cloak. It hadn't been there before. That was the sort of silly accessory humans wore, wasn't it?
A human... his wolven family... were they okay? His thoughts jumped in circles, so much like the brown brush rabbits he'd tried to chase when he was younger. No matter how hard he tried to keep his footing, the persisting, throbbing pain behind his forehead hurt too much. Razor wanted to run back, check on everyone else, but found it hard to keep even his eyes open. He let out one last weak howl before hitting the sandy ground, unconscious.