He didn't remember the day he was born. But he remembered the day he was chosen.
The air had smelled of bleach and fear in the shelter. Metal cages rattled with whines and whimpers. He was the smallest of the litter, barely a month old, too quiet to cry. When the family walked in—bright smiles, fake warmth—he thought it was a miracle. He thought he'd been saved.
They named him Will—as in "willful," the mother had said with a smirk when she first laid eyes on the tiny, trembling pup in the shelter. A month old, ribs faintly showing, eyes wide with a hope he didn't understand was dangerous.
For the first week, they pretended to love him. Photos were taken, posted online. "New baby in the house," the caption read. Smiles stretched wide and fake.
But Will grew.
He dared to bark when hungry. He chewed a slipper, once. He peed on the corner carpet when left inside for too long. The father's hand came down on him that night—not a slap, a blow. The mother laughed.
"Disgusting mutt," she muttered when no one was listening.
Will stopped barking.
Their five-year-old daughter—quiet, pale, watching everything—learned quickly. She laughed when her father kicked Will across the kitchen. She giggled when he whimpered. It was a game.
Sometimes they left him outside all night in the cold. Sometimes they forgot to feed him, then scolded him when he begged.
He still wagged his tail.
Then came the drive. Will was older now, nearly grown, but thinner than he should have been. Scars marked his legs. His tail wagged weakly as they loaded him into the car.
The girl swung her legs in the backseat, eyes bored.
"Let's throw him away," she said flatly. "He's broken now."
Her mother smiled. "Good idea, sweetie."
They didn't stop at a shelter. They didn't even stop at a gas station.
They opened the door on the side of a country road. No houses. No cars. No one.
"Go on, Will. Run," the father said with a sneer.
Will jumped out, tail twitching with uncertainty.
The door slammed. Tires screamed.
And Will was alone. Again.
But this time, something broke.
The trust was gone. The wagging stopped.
A few days later
The rain came down like the sky itself was weeping.
Abhay walked toward his home. He was late, soaked through, and bitter. The storm had killed the last auto route, and now each step sloshed against his shoes, dampening not just his clothes but his mood.
The System Notification still lingered in his vision like a cruel joke:
[Reward: Werewolf Bloodline (Rare)]
[Eligibility: Any compatible creature. Host: Not compatible.]
"What's the point of a reward I can't even use?" he muttered, shoving the vial into his satchel. "So much for a prize."
As he entered the alley shortcut toward his apartment, something caught his eye. A shape. Shivering. Curled between two dumpsters.
A dog.
No collar. Covered in filth and fading hope. Ribs stretched skin taut, legs too thin to support a run. Bite marks marred his coat—old wounds and new ones, crusted in mud and blood.
His eyes met Abhay's.
They weren't angry. Not fearful, either. They were... tired.
Will didn't bark. Didn't growl. Just stared, waiting to be hurt again.
Abhay crouched down. Pulled out an old rusted can and the vial.
"Seems like this was never meant for me," he whispered. "But maybe… it was meant for you."
He poured the liquid into the can.
Will sniffed it. Then, hungry, desperate, he drank.
A shimmer. A spark of something divine. His wounds stitched closed with silver light. His fur grew thicker. Strength returned to his limbs. The storm couldn't wash this away.
For the first time, Will looked up—not like something broken.
But like something reborn.
Abhay smiled. "You want to come with me?"
Will stepped forward. Just a little.
And then leaned into his hand.
A pulse surged.
[System Notification]
A pact has been formed.
Creature: Will
Status: Awakened by Werewolf Bloodline (Mutated Variant)
Loyalty: Soul-Bound
Bond: Growing...
Abhay didn't need to read the rest.
He already knew.
The next morning
Will had changed.
No longer just in body—but in spirit. In trust.
He curled up on the rug, watching the door like a sentinel. Ears twitching, tail occasionally thumping.
And that morning, something new bloomed.
[Bond Skill Unlocked: Shifting Pact]
Will may now alternate between Human and Beast forms.
Restrictions: May only shift with Bondholder's permission.
Status: Bound (Obedient Mode)
Later, when Abhay gave him the signal, Will shifted—tentative, quiet. The boy in the hoodie stood uncertain in the hallway, silver-white hair wild like moonlight, eyes wide and filled with new, fragile hope.
They didn't speak much that day.
But they didn't need to.
Because Will no longer trembled at every sound. No longer flinched at every touch.
He napped in the sun.
He barked. Once. Loud and playful.
And Abhay laughed.
Just a boy. Just a dog. Just a beginning.
And for now… that was enough