Kieran felt it before the others. A shift in the air that wasn't sharp or sudden, but slow and creeping, like warmth leaving a room in silence. He stood on the edge of the cracked courtyard near the Sanctum's mouth, his body tense, claws half-extended and shoulders drawn tight. Dust floated around him, hanging in the orange light of the setting sun, casting long shadows between the skeletal buildings. It was quiet, but not peaceful. The silence stretched too far, like it was waiting to snap.
He had been pacing for a while, not because he was nervous, but because there was something inside him that wouldn't stay still. The feeling under his skin wasn't new, but it was stronger now, heavier. Something he didn't have words for, only instincts. The longer Lana stayed inside the Sanctum, the more that pressure built. He didn't know if she was still Lana anymore—or if whatever the Sanctum awakened had swallowed her up. And if it had, what did that mean for him?
Then it happened. A scent, strange and unfamiliar, reached him—not through his nose, but his entire body. It wasn't anything he could describe. It wasn't just a smell; it was a feeling. His skin prickled. His mouth tasted like static. His heart kicked hard in his chest, and he spun toward the Sanctum.
Lana stood in the archway.
She stepped into the open slowly, her bare feet touching cracked stone with calm, deliberate steps. The last light of day caught her from behind, outlining her figure in gold, giving her an almost ethereal glow. At a glance, she looked unchanged. Her eyes were still the same shape, her face still held the same soft lines—but something deeper had shifted. Something under her skin that hummed even across the distance between them.
Kieran took a cautious step forward. The scent clung to her, and it stirred something primal in him. It wasn't a warning or a threat. It was something worse—curiosity paired with instinct. His claws extended further without his asking them to. His body responded like prey recognizing a predator, but he didn't run. He just stared.
"You smell different," he said, his voice low and rough.
Lana nodded once, slowly. "I know."
Her voice wasn't colder, but it was calmer than before—too calm. Not distant, just balanced. Like a weight had been removed from her but replaced by something else, something heavier in its quietness.
"Different how?" he asked, taking another step closer. "What are you now?"
She hesitated, then spoke carefully. "I'm not sure yet. But I think I'm still me."
That answer should have calmed him. It didn't. His claws flexed involuntarily, and he curled his fingers into fists to control it. Kieran wanted to believe her. But whatever his body felt wasn't ready to listen to belief.
From nearby, Nyx walked forward, her long steps light and even as ever. She stopped just beside Kieran but didn't touch him. Her expression was blank, but her eyes sparkled faintly in the fading light.
"She hasn't changed the way you fear," Nyx said. "But you have."
Kieran flinched at the words. He looked down at his hands—knotted, sharp, stained with blood from too many fights. His jaw twitched, but he said nothing.
Before anyone could speak again, something shifted in the wind.
Lana turned her head slowly, already sensing it before the others. Kieran's body responded the moment she moved, his breath catching in his throat. A strange chill spread across the ground, though the air didn't grow colder. It felt like being watched, but worse—like something was measuring them.
The silence broke with a sharp sound: metal dragging over bone.
Kieran growled, low and quiet. Lana's hands tensed at her sides. Nyx's eyes narrowed slightly.
From the broken rooftops above them, shadows moved. One after another, fast and silent, they leapt. Not just figures—hybrids. Sleeker than before. Thinner, leaner, and faster. Their limbs were too long, their joints wrong, their faces covered in white bone masks etched with symbols that pulsed faintly. Their eyes glowed pale blue. They didn't scream. They didn't hiss. They moved like trained hounds, in formation, silent and sure.
The first hybrid landed hard on the ground just feet from Lana. Kieran launched forward before she could move. He slammed into the creature mid-lunge, claws tearing across its neck. The force of the hit sent both of them crashing to the ground, but only one got back up.
Kieran rose with blood on his arms. His face twisted, but not with rage—with hunger. Pure, primal hunger.
Another hybrid lunged for Lana. She ducked low, sweeping its legs and slamming her elbow into its ribcage. It buckled, but didn't fall. Before it could recover, Kieran struck again, grabbing it by the back of the head and smashing it against a wall.
More dropped from above. Lana grabbed a rusted metal pipe and turned just in time to block a slash aimed at her neck. The hybrid hissed, pressing down. She twisted her wrist and shoved the end of the pipe up under its jaw. It fell, gurgling.
The fight blurred into movement and sound. Metal, claws, bone on stone. Lana was fast. Precise. But Kieran was something else entirely. He moved like water through broken glass—fluid and sharp, beautiful and violent. He didn't just fight. He hunted.
He tore through one of the scouts, ripping its spine free. He bit into its shoulder, snarling, and something in him snapped. His pupils shrank. His mouth widened. He didn't see the others. He saw prey.
"Kieran!" Lana shouted, but he didn't hear.
Nyx stepped toward him, her voice soft and steady. "Let him finish. It's part of his change."
Lana turned to her, panicked. "He's losing himself."
"No," Nyx said. "He's meeting the part that's always been there."
The last hybrid tried to flee, but Kieran chased it. He slammed it against a wall and didn't stop. Blood spattered across the stone. It wasn't just killing. It was claiming.
When it was over, Kieran crouched in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by broken bodies. His hands trembled. His chest heaved. His claws were still out. His face was bloodied. And he wasn't standing.
Lana approached slowly. Carefully. She crouched in front of him, reaching for his face.
Kieran looked up at her, eyes wild, lips slightly parted.
"I can't turn it off," he said.
"You don't have to," she whispered. "You just have to let me stand here with you."
He didn't cry. He didn't nod. He just closed his eyes.
In the distance, above them, perched high on the tallest broken spire, a figure watched.
Tall. Covered in pale bone armor that reflected no light. A Sentinel.
It didn't speak. It didn't move.
It was there to witness.
Lana turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing, sensing it.
The Sentinel tilted its head slowly, then vanished into the shadows.
The wind returned, soft and tired.
The ground, wet with blood, grew quiet again.
But none of them would forget what Kieran had become.
And what he might still become next.