The box arrived wrapped in heavy, oil-stained parchment, smelling of ancient cedar and wet wool. Inside lay the Kindred masks—Lamb’s porcelain white and Wolf’s obsidian black.
The world exploded into a crimson hunt. His living room felt like a vast, dark forest. Every shadow was a trail; every breath he took felt like a lungful of iron and adrenaline. He wasn’t just Elias anymore; he was the chase and the end, the arrow and the teeth.
Elias felt a sudden, frantic urge to complete the set. He reached for the Wolf mask, but his hand trembled. The black wood felt warm, almost vibrating with a low, predatory growl. He pressed it to his face, overlapping the first.
“Never one,” a voice whispered in his ear, soft as falling snow.