The next morning, Viana awoke with a body feeling frozen and pain gnawing at every joint. As she crawled out of Lycan's simple tent, the sky was already bright, flooding the Beastfolk settlement with golden light.
The camp was bustling with life. Beastfolk moved about busily, some carrying hunting spoils, water, or simply chatting and laughing. A few threw out friendly greetings – "Morning, Miss!" or "Awake, human?" – making her smile stiffly, her cheeks flushing with lingering embarrassment and a sense of alienation.
In the distance, the imposing figure of Lycan was seen approaching, his steps firm. In both hands, he carried something that made Viana's eyes widen: a wooden vessel more like a small keg, five times the size of a normal bowl, crammed full of smoked meat chunks still steaming and radiating the strong, characteristic aroma of raw meat.
"Here, eat," Lycan stated bluntly, thrusting the giant "bowl" right in front of Viana. The sharp scent of fat and blood immediately assaulted her nose.
Viana froze.
The inhuman portion size was startling enough, but seeing its contents only meat, fatty, and completely devoid of vegetables or carbohydrates, made her stomach instantly rebel. An intense and sudden wave of nausea hit her. She swallowed hard with difficulty, trying to suppress the powerful urge rising from her throat. Her head felt slightly dizzy.
Noticing Viana's strange response, just standing there petrified, Lycan furrowed his brow, the lines on his forehead deepening.
"Hey! What are you waiting for? Take it!" he barked, his voice booming as usual but with a note of confusion underneath.
Viana flinched, her wide eyes shifting from the bowl to Lycan's face. Nervously, she took the wooden burden. Her hands trembled slightly.
"Th... thank you," she mumbled almost inaudibly, her voice hoarse.
Lycan merely gave a short nod and turned, walking towards a quieter corner under the shade of a giant oak tree, also tainted by miasma. Viana followed like a duckling, her steps slightly unsteady. They sat side-by-side on sprawling roots.
While Lycan immediately grabbed a large piece of meat with his hand and took a hearty bite, his fangs tearing the flesh easily, Viana could only stare at the monstrous portion in her lap. The strong meat smell and the sight of glistening fat made her nausea intensify. Her face paled.
Though she had no appetite whatsoever and her body rebelled, Viana knew she needed energy. With steely determination, she tried to cut a small piece of smoked meat using the small knife provided. She chewed it slowly. The tough texture and the overpowering taste of smoke and salt flooded her senses. After just a few chews, her stomach revolted with full force.
"Urk!" Viana bent forward, vomiting up the half-chewed piece of meat. Tears stung the corners of her eyes.
Beside her, Lycan stopped chewing. He looked at the sobbing Viana, his eyes narrowed in question. "Is the meat not to your liking?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.
Without being asked, his large, muscular hand patted Viana's back gently, the movement stiff but sincere.
Viana shook her head while wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "No, it's not that..." she tried to speak between heavy breaths.
"I... I just feel nauseous..." She thought the nausea would subside after vomiting. But it didn't.
A second wave of nausea hit harder, accompanied by a stabbing headache at her temples. She remembered: since arriving in Eldoria yesterday, she had only managed to eat a few "kue cubit" (pinch cakes) when Whisper first appeared. The rest of the day was spent in chaos and high adrenaline, with no thought for food. Her stomach was utterly empty, and her body was severely exhausted.
Viana vomited again. And again. Her empty stomach only brought up bitter fluid. Her face grew deathly pale, cold sweat beading on her forehead. Her strength was completely drained.
Lycan, initially just confused, now began to feel anxious. His usually hard gaze widened with concern.
"Hey! Are you okay? Why are you vomiting so much? Is your stomach sick?!" he asked rapidly, his voice rising. His hand didn't stop patting her back, this time more rhythmically, trying to soothe her.
Viana couldn't answer. The world around her started spinning and blurring. She weakly grabbed Lycan's arm, seeking support. Through increasingly blurred vision, she vaguely saw Lycan turn his head and shout for someone.
"Shaman Elara! Someone, get the Shaman here, quick!" Those words were the last thing she heard before darkness enveloped her sight and she slumped sideways.
.
.
Lycan stood a little distance away, leaning against a tent pole, his eyes never leaving the figure of Shaman Elara, who was bent over examining the unconscious Viana on his bearskin bed. His body looked tense, though his face tried to remain neutral. Only the gleam in his eyes revealed the anxiety he was holding back.
After a while, Shaman Elara stood up, her face calm.
"Nothing serious, Lycan," she said, her voice soft but reassuring.
"It's just symptoms of extreme stress and exhaustion. Her body is overwhelmed. Sufficient rest and quiet for a few days will restore her."
Lycan stepped closer, the furrow on his brow still present. "But, she was vomiting... badly," he whispered, still unable to believe how quickly the human had collapsed.
"It felt like something was wrong."
Elara smiled faintly, understanding the concern of the usually gruff Fenrir. "That's common in such conditions, Lycan. The body rebels from exhaustion and emptiness. Importantly, what she vomited wasn't blood." She emphasized the last point to calm him.
Lycan narrowed his eyes, gazing at Viana lying weak, her breathing even but shallow. Her face was still pale. Something felt unsettled in his heart seeing the fragile little human like that.
"Alright," he finally sighed.
"Let her sleep." He looked at Elara. "You watch her, okay?" His request sounded like an order, but the undertone was a plea.
"Of course. She'll be fine," Shaman Elara assured before turning and leaving the tent.
Now, only Lycan and the sleeping Viana remained. The space felt silent. Lycan let out a long sigh, the sound heavy in the quiet.
Then, a soft golden light radiated from his body. Jet-black fur sprouted, his body enlarged and changed shape. In an instant, Lycan the half-human, half-beast was gone, replaced by his powerful lupine form: a large black Fenrir with the same gleaming blue eyes full of watchfulness. The Fenrir, Lycan, approached the bed, then gently curled up on the floor beside it, like a loyal guard dog, his large head resting on his paws, his eyes never leaving Viana's sleeping face.
His deep, rhythmic snoring began to fill the space, a soothing sound in the silence.
.
.
However, that peace did not last long.
At the edge of the Fenrir encampment, far from Lycan's tent, the atmosphere suddenly shifted. The Fenrir warriors on guard lifted their heads, their ears pricked, noses sniffing the air. Low growls began to be heard, spreading like a wave.
Eldric, their leader, also in his massive, pitch-black Fenrir form, stepped forward. His fur bristled slightly, his body tense and ready. His sharp eyes fixed on the woods ahead.
From behind the dense trees, a silhouette emerged. Its form was thin yet distorted, walking with a dragging gait. A putrid stench—a mix of rotting flesh and grave soil—preceded it, making several Fenrir growl louder and shift their claws on the ground.
The figure stopped at the edge of the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Its skin was a sickly grayish-white and sagging, as if barely covering the bones. Its eyes, or the sockets where eyes should be, glowed with a malevolent pale green light. A wide, unnatural smile stretched its cracked lips, revealing jagged, yellowish teeth.
"Ohhh... such a warm welcome from the mighty Fluffy race..." the voice rasped, shaky and tearing, like ripping paper. The smile widened, full of sly mockery.
Grrrrrrr...
A collective growl from the Fenrir answered, louder, more threatening. Eldric growled the deepest, his voice vibrating the ground.
"Ghoul!" Eldric roared, his voice deep and authoritative even in his Fenrir form, yet clearly audible.
"What do you seek on our land? You are not invited! Return to your grave burrow, your true place is underground, not here!"
The Ghoul cackled, its voice like the creak of an old door. "I didn't come for *you*, Old Hound," it hissed, its voice piercing.
Its nose, mere cartilage now, sniffed the air exaggeratedly. "I smell something... something valuable... something new... and weak." The green light in its eyes flickered brighter.
Something that might make a perfect sacrifice... a precious offering for the ritual to awaken my Lord from the eternal prison wrought by the cursed Luthein... it thought inwardly, filled with unspoken malice.
It was an Emissary of Darkness, a Ghoul serving demonic powers. And it had not come without purpose.
The scent of a new, weak, and fear-filled human, Viana... had drawn it like flies to carrion. To the camp of the mighty Fenrir, a shadow of evil had just visited, bringing a threat far darker than mere nausea and exhaustion.
Meanwhile, inside the tent, the loyal black Fenrir pricked his ears, catching the sudden wave of tension and the stench of decay. His deep snoring stopped, replaced by heightened alertness. His blue eyes shifted from Viana's peaceful face towards the tent flap, the fur on his nape slowly rising.
His guardianship had just entered a far more dangerous phase.