Prior to its rechristening as Capital City, under the newfound dominion of Capital Corporation, a lesser-known historical tidbit is that the city was originally named Arcadia, founded under the auspices of Lykaon Industries.

Unlike most Corporate States, Arcadia City did not receive funding from Lykaon Industries. The Corporation had not even existed back then. No, the city built itself, on the wealth and efforts of the people themselves, it was just that it was centered around the Lykaon Estate.

Not out of bleedings hearts or enforced slavery, but rather, due to rumors. That the Fae harbored an inexplicable fear of the bloodline of the Lykaon, coinciding with a notable decline in documented Fae attacks or invasions in the nearby region, compared to the world at large.

Whether these rumors held kernels of truth or were a strategic maneuver by the Lykaon's to establish a city, remains uncertain.

Even the origin of the Lykaon Estate itself is shrouded in mystery, with the earliest available records indicating the ancestral abode had existed many centuries before the advent of the Fae.

Few may know this truth, yet despite numerous setbacks in recent years, even fewer dares provoke the ire of the enigmatic Wolves of Arcadia.

– Excerpt from "The Wolves of Arcadia," by Alexandar Tomolov, former Head Butler of the Lykaon Estate, left unfinished and unpublished, following the author’s unfortunate death in an accident involving Capital City Knight [Redacted].

***

Miles awoke, head groggy and body aching, drenched in a pool of his own sweat, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin.

His vision blurred, his senses marred by post-whatever the hell he’d gone through.

Darkness enveloped his eyes, while the faint but rhythmic plop of water dripping onto stone thundered in his ears.

He couldn’t see, but this had to be the decommissioned basement underneath Lykaon mansion, his intended destination.

For a moment, Miles caught a glimpse of towering silver columns stretching up to impossible heights, reaching towards the ceiling of a massive cavern as if the hands of giants holding the weight of the world, but he ignored what was obviously a product of his delirious mind.

He was more worried about what the Werewolf and Vampire would do once they recovered, and he attempted to move, but overwhelming pain struck him down even before he could act. Miles groaned, feeling as if he had been roasted in dragon-fire.

Even to attempt to escape, he could not move.

The pain was excruciating, reaching a point where Miles could no longer form coherent thoughts.

As if to make a point, he heaved, and a globule of thick blood spewed from his mouth, black, ichorous like a dread pixie’s.

Smelled like it too as the putrid scent of decay and rot filled his nostrils, causing him to gag and retch. Miles tried to move, at least move his face out of the foul mire he had vomited out, but his body refused.

He could only lay there, engulfed in the stench of his dying blood, tasting it even, as he waited for death to just hurry up and free him of this horror.

And then, death did come.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw them, a pair of pale feet, so pallid he wondered whether they were even real, or a figment of his delirium imagining death into existence.

But the feet never faded away. They continued to walk over, morbidly silent.

Whoever or whatever the feet belonged to, they helped him up, their touch icy cold, yet comforting. In fact, that moment of contact alone soothed his pain, granting him a moment’s reprieve, just enough to focus.

Miles blinked his eyes. It was a– a pale woman?

If he had to define her with a single world, it would be stunning. Miles wasn’t sure if he truly was delirious, but nothing about her was constant. Her features shifted and morphed every second, changing, never the same, but always unspeakably gorgeous.

Actually, it was constant, in a constant state of flux that is, which made her unreal, ethereal and… terrifying.

Miles couldn’t help but be transfixed by her eyes, bright pools of light, moons in the darkness.

Oh, and there was also the fact he could see right through her. She was transparent. Like a wraith from the underworld.

Miles had had enough surprising revelations for one day, ‘Either I’m seeing things or she’s a bloody ghost! Werewolves, Vampires, and now Ghosts! What next, Frankenstein’s Monster?!’

The woman smiled, a formless shifting smile that graced her lips and a sense of peace washed over him despite her ghostly appearance.

Her voice a haunting whisper in an unseen wind, she spoke, “Miles, the last true son of Lykaon, I welcome you to the Oldest Den. It gladdens me to see you awake for I feared you never would.”

Miles opened his mouth in an attempt to reply, yet all that came out was a raspy garble. A sharp pain in his chest forced him to turn to the side, coughing out another globule of black blood.

His senses were dull and he could feel his body failing, his mind slipping. Although this ghost of a woman had helped, all it had done was lessen the pain.

He could feel it, he was running out of time.

The ghostly woman raised her head, “Indeed, your body has become a vessel to poison incarnate. Divided in two, one poisoning the other. The Wurkao, as honorable as they were, are in essence at odds with all that makes a… Kindred. Your very being opposes itself, as two sides wage an endless war within yourself.”

She seemed to hesitate, her contorting features becoming still for a moment. But eventually continued nevertheless, “The result is set in stone. The two will annihilate each other, leaving nothing, and you with them. As is, you do not have much time left for this world.”

It took Miles a moment to even register what she had said.

‘I’ll die? Even after all that? No, no, no, I don’t want to die! I can’t!’

As if she had heard him, she gracefully gestured to the side.

Miles, with great effort, managed to turn weakly.

He didn’t know how he had failed to notice it before, but there, floating in the air, bound by luminescent energy that shimmered like moonlight manifest, were two familiar monsters - the Vampire and the Werewolf.

The Vampire, as if waiting for this moment, bellowed out, “Kid! I must admit I have had a change of heart! I apologize for my actions, but your death is now inevitable! Get this crazed spirit to free me and in return, I shall gift you a favor! Be pragmatic! A Kindred Lord’s favor outweighs any form of petty revenge!” and forced out a loud, manic laugh.

The Werewolf however remained silent; her gaze frozen upon the ghostly woman.

It was only after a moment that she spoke, her eyes shifting towards Miles, “Do what you will Lykaon nayaka. Strength is the law of the world and you… this deva, are more than expected. But I shall stand with my decision, for I did what I thought was most just.”

The ghost woman ignored them entirely, merely gesturing at their incapacitated forms as she explained, “These two, the very same responsible for your current state, could perhaps stabilize your condition.

By grafting their essence into you and each of the poisons placed within, it may serve to deceive and bring a momentary balance. The poisons will not war, as they will be blind to the other. They will believe they are where they were meant to be, and thus, not toxic.

Their lives, the price for yours.

Yet I shall leave the choice to you, for this process will corrupt and spoil the purity of the Lykaon within you. You will no longer be who you were, and never become who you could’ve been.

It may not succeed and even if it should, there will be… complications. But I will also admit, without, your death is definite.

So, decide. As a true son of Lykaon and the wearer of his ring, what shall be your choice? Will you die as a true Lykaon, as he did, or will you struggle for a fighting chance, even if it shall change you to the core?”

Miles had a multitude of questions.

‘Who… is this woman? How, why is she a ghost? No, a… spirit? And why is she going out of her way to help? What is her relationship with the Lykaon Family? What does she mean by the true son of Lykaon? I’m the only one, right? Are there imposters pretending to be from my family? And where in the holy hells is this place!? It’s definitely not my basement!’

But in the end only one mattered. Whether he would live or die.

The pain he was in was already too much to bear. If he were to wait any longer, he wouldn’t even get to decide… he would die.

But he couldn’t, he couldn’t let himself, not when he had so much left to do. If there was a chance, he would struggle and fight, no matter the consequences, no matter what he lost.

As for the Vampire and the Werewolf, he frankly couldn't care less. Their reasons and intentions were irrelevant. At the end of the day, he was in this situation because of them. They had sought to kill him and for that, there would be no mercy.

Miles could not speak, he could barely even move, but with a slow, resolute nod, he made his decision.

Even as the ghost woman’s features continued to contort and warp, eternally in flux, her form… solidified. Miles could swear she was less transparent, her presence more tangible.

She however didn’t seem to notice or care.

With a nod she leaned forwards, “Let it be as you chose,” and murmured, her words carrying a hint of reverence, “Let us pray that my sahodari will bless us with fortune.”

With that she closed her eyes and the moment she did, her hands and her very being began to move, flowing in fluid rhythmic motions. The air seemed to shimmer in response, as if ripples in water. It was a hypnotic dance, a dream made reality. An offering to something greater, a call to something that lay beyond. A coalition of the real and the unreal.

The world around her seemed to flicker like a dying lamp, and for a moment, Miles caught glimpses of a different world, a different reality, where vague figures of all shapes and sizes walked, dashed and flew. All of them were right beside her and neither the figures nor the world was stable. Just like her, they changed and morphed with every flicker.

The woman continued to dance, her movements like a wraith in the icy winds. And that was when the lunar bindings holding the Vampire and the Werewolf began to tighten, causing both creatures to writhe in pain.

A faint glow formed around them, as if being squeezed out of their very existence. From the Werewolf, a peaceful yet unrelenting white and from the Vampire, a bloody, shifting red, twisted with malice and insanity.

The Werewolf bit her lips, drawing blood, as she held herself back from screaming.

The Vampire had no such reservations. His blood-shot eyes glared at Miles with endless, ruthless fury, “FUCK YOU, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT! FUTUE TE IPSUM! NO, FUCK YOURSELF AND YOUR GHOST WHORE!

DO YOU BELIEVE THE GREAT LORD NATHANIEL KNOWS FEAR? BOVIS STERCUS! I AIN’T AFRAID OF NO GHOST!

ONCE I ESCAPE, I WILL SUCK YOU DRY! I’LL SUCK THE LIFE OUT OF YOU! I’LL SUCK–”

The Vampire’s frenzied outburst was met with an almost insulting dismissal, “Hush,” as the ghost woman summoned pulsing moon light to form a gag that silenced the dread creature's profanity-laden outburst.

The Vampire continued to struggle but it was a futile effort.

Despite the pain wracking his body, Miles couldn’t help but feel a sense of twisted satisfaction as he watched the blood-sucking monster receiving a dose of his own medicine. The curses, familiar yet unfamiliar, words he knew, were not entirely registered in his current state. Nor did he care to.

The faded energy being wringed out of the two hapless monsters was brightening, becoming more definite, more solid. And almost consequently, the Vampire and the Werewolf paid the price, beginning to fade in return.

The glowing energy was being made real, tangible, at the cost of the two creatures’ existence. Fainter and fainter they faded, until they were not so different from the ghost woman herself.

And that was when the ghostly woman flicked her hand, dissipating the bindings of moonlight that had ensnared the Vampire and the Werewolf. But before they could fall to the ground, at the end of that same hand motion, her hands paused– instantly clenching into fists.

The Vampire and the Werewolf screamed, or at least they tried to, their mouths ajar in silent terror. They were being crushed, contorting and warping, collapsing in on themselves as if sucked into points of singularity.

With a final, deafening silence, they imploded into two floating orbs of light, one a radiant silver-white and the other a dread blood-red.

The two monsters were no more, their existence traded away in return for these two ethereal energies.

Miles felt a burning heat surge within his body, a pulse of warmth that resonated with these sacrificial lights. His skin burned and rippled as a familiar black ooze began to leak out of his pores.

He couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust at the stench, but he was too weak to do much about it. Thankfully, the black ooze began to float the moment it touched the air, defying gravity, slowly forming into another orb before him.

Her eyes still closed, the ghost woman whose name he did not yet know, pushed the two globes towards Miles, silver-white and blood-red.

As they moved forth, nearing the sphere of black ooze, her eyes finally opened.

“Miles, last true son of Lykaon,” her voice was ethereal, otherworldly, whispered from the lines between reality and non-existence, “The only reason I could call you, was the She-Wurkan. The Oldest Den opened only for her. But I will wait, await the day when you may arrive of your own strength, of your own existence.

Rejoice, for the first step is before you, and her spirit shall be the catalyst.

Cursed by Vinasha, blessed by Upatha, but you shall be of the waking. Andha you shall not be, hence and forever.

An awoken Son of Lykaon, millennia later, is a blessing for the world, but one with a price for the guardians of the Den will seek you for their debt.

Be wary, be wise, but pay what is owed.

Things may have changed, but in change you will find new, perhaps even greater strength. You will have much to learn Son of Lykaon, but I… shall wait. I shall always wait.”

The three globes collided in a blinding burst of light that completely ruined Miles’ already weakened vision.

But through that intense light he still managed to see it. The globe of black ooze splitting and forming into two apparitions, a gray wolf and a beast of darkness. The wolf gracefully leapt into the silver globe, while the beast roared and struggled before being forced into the globe of blood red.

The brightness intensified so much so that Miles’s vision was entirely obscured. Now he could see nothing else. Not the ghost woman, not even himself.

His eyes began to waver, starting to close, the effects of all he had been through exerting its toll.

But before Miles fell to exhaustion through the blinding light, through his inability to see, he saw one last thing.

At the very center where the light was the brightest, a symbol so vague and faint it might as well have been a trick of the light.

A rippling circle, like a miniature, circular lake or sea, divided into two halves, one side blood-red and the other silver-white.

With nothing else but the intense light about it, this circle, this symbol, was reflected in his pupils.

Even as sleep threatened to take him, Miles couldn’t help but think, ‘So familiar…’

And that was when he heard it. The message.

Miles could make out the first few words but the rest of it was garbled and confusing. It was almost as if the messages were being played over each other.

[You have been blessed by Chaos with the Ankh, the Key of Life. The Kindred System has manifested.]

[You have been blessed by the World to see beyond and witness the Immaterial World. The Wurkao System has manifested.]

[Impossible! A phenomenon only seen once before has occurred! You have gained the attention of the World. The Vae-]

Perhaps because the combined messages were too confusing or perhaps because he was already on the verge of passing out, Miles promptly proceeded to do so.

***

She watched as strands of moonlight appeared and grabbed the young man, before he could truly collapse onto the ground. As her light wrapped around him, forming a homely hammock that granted him peaceful rest, she couldn’t help but smile.

A smile of sorrow and lost hope.

“Why? The last of your kin, an orphan to the world, alone if not for few, but still so much of how you used to be.”

Her voice trembled, “If the boy had let go, I could have as well. Finally followed after you, my duty complete.

But he did not.

Unlike you, he chose to fight, to struggle. He chose to live, and for that I find myself… glad.”

Her figure began to shimmer, growing faint, beginning to disappear, but her attention was entirely on the young man before her.

She leaned forwards and reached out, her hand faded to the point of non-existence were it not for a faint outline.

“But fret not Miles, whatever your fate to be, I shall look over you as I did him. Fret not, last son of Lykaon…”

She reached out and– caressed his hair.

“…and last son of mine.”