Chapter 1: The Awakening

Blood of the Forgotten

The first thing Azhar felt was pain.

A sharp, dragging throb pulsed through his ribs as he gasped for breath, his body half-buried under a fallen tree. Rainwater soaked his shirt. Mud clung to his skin. He opened his eyes slowly, wincing as the dull gray sky spun above him. The forest was eerily silent—no birds, no wind, no life.

He had no memory of how he got here.

He had no memory of anything at all.

Azhar gritted his teeth and pulled himself out from beneath the tree. His fingers were raw, his knuckles bloody. The muscles in his arms tensed with a power that felt... wrong. Too strong. Too precise. When he stood, he staggered briefly, then caught his balance like a predator regaining its stance.

Something wasn’t right.

His mind was blank, but his body remembered.

He took in the unfamiliar terrain: tall, twisted pine trees stretched to the sky like skeletal fingers, and the ground was littered with claw marks and dried blood—not all of it his. A guttural instinct flared inside him, a warning. He wasn’t alone.

In the distance, a low growl echoed.

Not an animal. Not human. Something in between.

Azhar turned toward the sound, his senses suddenly alive. The scent of wet leaves, scorched bark, and... iron. Blood. It filled his nose like a warning. His heart pounded harder, but it wasn’t fear—it was rage without memory. A beast waking up inside him.

He moved without thinking—quiet, fast, like he’d done it a hundred times before. Every crunch of a twig beneath his boots seemed amplified, every gust of wind against his neck suspicious.

He wasn’t just someone lost in the woods.

He was being hunted.

Or worse—watched.

He reached a ridge and looked down. A clearing spread below, with broken stones in a wide circle—ancient, worn, like an abandoned ritual site. In the center, a pool of rainwater reflected the gray sky, and just beyond it, a figure knelt, gathering something from the earth.

A girl. Young, alert. Her body was tense, coiled like a spring, as if she, too, felt the weight of the forest’s silence.

Azhar took a step forward, but the girl didn’t flinch. She spoke without turning.

“You’re loud for someone trying to sneak up.”

Her voice was calm, low. Confident.

Azhar froze, more surprised by how quickly she sensed him than her actual words.

“I wasn’t trying to sneak,” he said, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The girl stood and turned to face him. Her eyes were dark and sharp, scanning him like a threat assessment. She had a dagger in one hand, the blade still stained with black blood.

“Then you’re either bold... or stupid.”

Azhar didn’t answer. He stepped into the clearing, raising his hands slightly—not in surrender, but to show he wasn’t here to fight.

“I don’t know who I am,” he said simply.

She blinked, watching him for a moment longer, then sheathed the dagger.

“That makes two of us,” she muttered, brushing dirt from her knees.

Azhar stepped closer. “What’s your name?”

“Mia.”

Just that—no last name, no explanation. She started walking past him, unbothered.

Azhar hesitated, then followed. “Mine’s Azhar. I think.”

She didn’t look back. “Doesn’t matter what you think. You either are or you’re not.”

---

They walked together in tense silence.

Azhar tried to focus, to remember—anything. Faces. Places. A home. But there was only fog, shadow, and instinct. He didn’t feel like a man trying to remember. He felt like a weapon waiting to be aimed.

“You’re not human,” Mia said suddenly.

Azhar glanced at her, surprised.

“Neither are you,” he replied.

She nodded, satisfied with his answer.

They made camp in a sheltered hollow just before nightfall. Mia moved with practiced efficiency—setting traps, lighting a small fire, and using her cloak to mask the flames from sight. Azhar watched her closely. She was experienced, tactical.

Survivor.

When the fire crackled low, he finally asked:

“You’ve seen people like me before?”

Mia didn’t look at him. Her eyes were on the treeline, alert.

“Once. A long time ago. He had eyes like yours. Not normal red... something deeper. And he tore through ten men like they were nothing.”

Azhar stared into the flames. “What happened to him?”

“Killed himself before he lost control again.”

Azhar said nothing. A chill ran down his spine.

That night, the dreams came—

Running through the woods under moonlight.

A pack beside him, howling in unity.

Blood on his claws.

A silver-eyed traitor laughing.

A burning tree.

Then—

Darkness.

He woke with a gasp. Mia was already up, sharpening a blade.

“You talk in your sleep,” she said without looking. “Kept saying one name: Beau.”

Azhar frowned. “I don’t know who that is.”

Mia stood and finally faced him. “We’ll find out. But if someone tried to erase you, they did it for a reason. You were dangerous. Probably still are.”

Azhar nodded slowly. His reflection in the pool nearby shimmered—and for a split second, he saw glowing crimson eyes staring back.

Not normal. Not forgotten.

Just buried.

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