Streets of Ravetham

Patch groaned as he pushed himself off the ground, the weight of his body feeling strange—like it wasn't his anymore. His surroundings were unfamiliar, lush with thick vegetation and the smell of earth. Glitch lay beside him, unconscious, a crystal shard embedded in her shoulder, shimmering faintly with residual energy.

As he staggered to his feet, a blob of something black and formless materialized in front of him. The air buzzed with static as the blob began to speak in a cold, mechanical voice.

“Lifeform detected. Scanning complete. Lifeform: deceased. Initializing restoration.”

Before Patch could react, a beam of light shot from the blob, enveloping him in a blinding glow. A warmth flooded through his body, spreading to every nerve and muscle, and suddenly—he felt again. He hadn't realized how numb he had become until now. It was like he had been moving through existence as a ghost, devoid of sensation, and now—now, his heart was beating again, his lungs expanding with breath.

The shock hit him like a wave. He stumbled, clutching his chest, feeling his pulse throb against his fingertips. He was alive, fully alive.

Before he could process any of it, the blob spoke again.

“Restoration complete. Lifeform: restored. Initializing inquiry. Lifeform origin? Waiting for response.”

Patch was too dazed to reply, too focused on the rush of sensation flooding back to him—his heartbeat, the sound of his own breathing, the pressure of his feet on the ground. It was overwhelming.

Then, without warning, a sharp prick jolted him out of his thoughts. He gasped, looking down to see a thin needle retracting back into the blob.

“Initializing blood test.”

A pause. The blob hummed with activity.

“Test complete. Lifeform DNA age: one billion two hundred fifty-four years old. Initiating proper procedures. Inquiry: lifeform return? Waiting for response.”

Patch barely heard the words. One billion years old? That made no sense. Was the blob malfunctioning? He looked around, his eyes drawn to the sky—and what he saw made his stomach drop.

Above him loomed a massive red sun, dominating the sky in a way no natural sun should. It bathed the forest in an eerie crimson glow, an alien sight that sent a chill down his spine.

“...Yes,” he muttered, barely processing the question the blob had asked. But the word had barely left his lips when another beam of light hit him and Glitch, and everything went white.

Rachel sat in her cozy living room, sipping her favorite jasmine tea while casually flipping through the channels. The soft murmur of the news in the background did little to distract her—until something caught her attention.

The news anchor, visibly distressed, began showing disturbing footage sent in by citizens of Ravetham. The blurry images looked off, but Rachel’s eyes narrowed as she saw what appeared to be Kaelen—her son—naked in the streets, holding a sign that read, “I’ll do anything for drugs.”

Her stomach twisted. This had to be some kind of trick, right? Her hand reached instinctively for her phone, fingers dialing Kaelen's number in a rush. But as she pressed call, nothing happened. No dial tone. No connection. The line was dead.

Rachel’s brow furrowed in confusion—her phone never malfunctioned. Not in this house. Something was terribly wrong.

A sudden chime at the doorbell broke her thoughts. One of the maids answered it, and Rachel’s heart skipped a beat when she heard a familiar voice.

Matron Zelyndra Nyxaris, stood in the doorway, flanked by another drow woman with jet-black hair and piercing violet eyes. Rachel recognized her immediately—Duchess Aelira.

Setting her teacup down with a soft clink, Rachel rose to greet them. But Zelyndra wasted no time with pleasantries. Her tone was sharp and commanding.

"Rachel, dear, I believe it’s time we had a talk with your son, Kaelen, about the importance of family and their duties." Zelyndra’s eyes flashed with a fierce intensity. "I don’t know if this video is some trick by that annoying pink fish or not, but we can’t let this slander tarnish either of our names any further. Now, let us be off—to set our boy straight or dispel this illusion of him."

Rachel’s heart raced. For the first time in her life, she felt an urgent, burning desire to get to the bottom of whatever madness was happening with Kaelen. And if it meant joining forces with Zelyndra to clear their family’s name, she was all in.

She wished she could inform Mason or Jason, but there was no time. She just hoped everything would be alright in the end.

Without another word, Rachel joined Zelyndra and Aelira, ready to set things straight—one way or another.

Kaelen watched intently as Loren knelt beside Ragnar Fang’s bloodied body, her hands glowing with a soft, ethereal light. The spell flowed from her fingertips, weaving a net of restoration over Ragnar’s wounds. His torn flesh mended, bruises faded, and the deep gashes sealed shut. Ragnar blinked, then rose to his feet, shaking off the weight of his injuries with a low growl as he shifted back into his druid form, the wolf vanishing in a shimmer of energy.

For a moment, he stared at Loren as if she were some divine figure sent to save him. “I am in your debt, Loren," he said, his voice rough with gratitude. "If Valerian were here, he'd be proud."

Ragnar then turned his attention to Kaelen, his intense gaze searching him. After a deep breath, Ragnar nodded. “Good. You are the real you,” he said, his words slicing through the air. Kaelen’s heart skipped—those words sent a wave of unease crashing over him.

Ragnar continued, confirming Kaelen’s worst fears. “My pack was slaughtered not far from here... by an imposter pretending to be you. Whoever she is, she's doing a damn good job at ruining your name.”

Kaelen clenched his fists, anger and frustration boiling inside him. He’d suspected something like this, but hearing it from Ragnar made it all too real. His jaw tightened as he moved to grab his wolf helmet, sliding it over his head—transforming into Lost Stray once more. It felt like eons since he had worn it. He summoned his soul weapon, the gun materializing in his hand with a crackle of energy.

"Show us the way," Kaelen said to Ragnar, his voice steady but laced with rage.

Seraphis, exhausted from her earlier transformation, was asleep on the couch in the club, so Kaelen left her behind. With Loren and Ragnar at his side, they made their way toward the site Ragnar had mentioned—the place where the imposter had struck.

As they got closer, Kaelen’s senses were assaulted by the thick stench of blood in the air. The coppery tang nearly overwhelmed him, stirring his vampiric urges, pulling at the beast within him. His fangs itched, and he felt a wave of primal hunger rise, but he gritted his teeth and pushed the instincts down, forcing himself to stay focused.

When they arrived, the sight hit him like a punch to the gut. Strewn across the ground were the bodies of fledglings and wolves—Ragnar’s pack, no doubt. The scene reeked of death and chaos. Ragnar shifted back into his lycan form, his fury boiling over as he let out a ferocious howl, a sound filled with pain and rage.

Before anyone could react, a loud explosion echoed from up ahead, shaking the ground beneath them. Without hesitation, Kaelen, Loren, and Ragnar rushed toward the source of the blast.

When they arrived, Kaelen’s blood ran cold. Nine fledglings stood in a circle, surrounding none other than Zelyndra, Aelira and Rachel—all of them blood-splattered and fierce. Rachel, of all people, was holding a grenade launcher, its barrel still smoking. Blood coated the alley walls and pooled on the ground in thick, glistening puddles.

But behind the fledglings stood the most horrifying sight of all—his imposter. She looked exactly like him, but naked, with a crude sign around her neck reading, “I’ll do anything for drugs.” Kaelen’s heart twisted in disgust and rage. He had never felt so violated. The sight of her, standing there shamelessly, almost pridefully, as if mocking him, sent a surge of fury through his veins. His face burned with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

He was so consumed by the flood of emotions that he didn’t even notice at first—his entire body was glowing white.

He raised his soul gun, his aim locked on the closest fledgling. He fired, expecting the familiar crimson blast that came from his blood. But instead, a brilliant white lightning bolt shot from the gun, crackling with an unnatural energy. It leapt from one fledgling to the next in rapid succession, striking each of them like a vengeful storm. The bolt was wild, indiscriminate, lashing out toward Aelira, Rachel, and Zelyndra as well.

Before it could hit, Zelyndra swatted the bolt aside as if it were nothing more than a nuisance. With a casual flick of her wrist, she redirected it toward the imposter. The bolt streaked through the air, but the imposter simply melted into the pool of blood at her feet, vanishing just as the bolt slammed into the wall behind her, scorching it.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the aftermath of the attack. The fledglings stood frozen, seemingly unharmed—but then they began to heave, doubling over and vomiting thick streams of blood onto the ground. The horrific sight continued for several moments, until finally, they stopped.

Kaelen could feel it—the bond between them had shifted. They were no longer under the control of the imposter. They were his now.