~ Prologue ~

Father… I'm sorry. I really am.

What I did cannot be forgiven.

But I am trying to make amends.

I hope you can forgive me for the slightest amount.

Though I do not expect it to happen.

My only wish now.

Is that you and mother can be happy again.

With

Or

Without

Me.

Walking down the stone path, a young man stares at the ground, each step creating a clear, crisp, crunching sound as the gravel shifts under his feet. With each sign, he raises his head and stares at the road before him. The night was cool, and the moon shone brightly in a bright orange hue.

"I've got a long way to go before I reach town," he muttered to himself after sighing, as he slung the large sack slung over his shoulder.

As he walks forward at an even pace, the sounds of a horse and carriage approaching travel through the crisp air. The young man takes a couple of steps to the left, allowing the full carriage use of the road. The driver gave a small wave as the horse and carriage passed by. The carriage is beautiful, a back body with graceful gold engravings laced and intertwined into the handles and window, which are covered in what appears to be smooth, fine, red silk. Suddenly the carriage stops just in front of the young man.

His feet slowly fill with sand, and a numbing sensation spreads from the tip of his extremities slowly across his limbs. The grip on his sack slackens, and it falls from his shoulders; landing on the ground with a thud.

Soundlessly, the carriage doors open. From within the inner chamber, a beautiful young woman steps out, her perfect body covered in a pitch black dress, the little light cast from the moon sucked into the pigments, as if they were hungry for light. Her features are sharp and frigid, her eyes a strangle crimson that slightly glowed in the night. Her hair was a similar colour to her dress, a black darker than the night itself. Her face is free from the taint of man-made concoctions made to elevate those whose beauty was lesser than she, for what does perfection need to change? Her face looks sculpted by the hands of a thousand-year-old elven craftsman, who has practised every waking hour to perfect his craft, and she was his final, greatest work.

She looked up at the sky and stared. Obediently, the driver leapt from his post and hurried over to his mistress. His words were spoken in a lowered tone, and yet from the speed, it was frantic. Something distressed him, that was for sure.

The young man's human brain thirsted from curiosity, but the strange sensation that kept him still won out. His muscles did not dare to move, but his brain churned with a thousand thoughts.

Why can't I move?

Who is that?

What's happening?

The seed of panic was planted when the carriage first stopped, and now it bore its vile fruit. These thoughts ricocheted in his mind at the speed of a newly forged dwarven crossbow's arrows.

Then, perfection stared him in the eye. Something in his mind clicked into place, and his brain concluded.

He was going to die.

Every cell in his body understood. He was going to be killed. This was no ordinary woman. Even simply comparing her to ordinary women would be an insult.

And the carriage driver. Something about him felt…wrong. A facade of calm, against something…sinister.

The carriage driver slowly began to contort, his limbs twisting as the cracking of bones and the ripping of flesh and sinew rang out in the silent night. The man's body contorts, expanding to twice its size, his head reaching the top of the carriage. Ash grey hairs sprouted from each and every inch of his skin, covering his entire body. The driver's uniform, a spotless set of priceless fabric that a lesser noble would salivate if you put it in front of him, lies in pieces, ripped beyond recognition, in the dusty gravel beneath. This man- no, such an abomination could not be called a man. This is a Lycan, an ancient spawn of the night. What such a beast was doing here, only the gods themselves knew.

The woman licks her lips and lets out a high-pitched giggle.

"Go get my snack, Lucius," A sultry voice pierces through the panic in the young man's mind. If he heard this in any other situation, he would have thought it normal. But now, he was the snack.

"As you wish…" A deep, short voice with polish expected from a professional servant comes out of the Lycan.

Cold sweat enveloped the young man's body. He wanted to scream, to run away, to do anything… But he could do nothing. He could not scream. He could not run. He could not make a single sound. He could only stand there, watching, as the Lycan charged at him. As the beast reached him, it raised its massive arm. At the end of his arm, glinting in the sickly moonlight, were five points of silver. Razor-sharp claws come down in a silver arc, ripping open the man's stomach. Pain erupts from the large hole in his stomach, shooting through his nerves. He wanted to scream.

Oh, he wanted to let the pain escape through his cries!

But he could not. No sound save for the ripping of flesh and the tearing of tissue could be heard in the dark night. Crimson blood flies through the air, staining the ground in scarlet paint. Not a second later, ivory bone, pink intestines, and green bile spilt across the gravel, creating a tapestry of gore.

The young man could only stare forward. The woman's smile contorts from that of an angel from the gates of heaven to a demon from the circles of hell.

The woman's lips move into the shape of words that the boy could no longer hear, never mind comprehend, as the pain and lack of blood caused his body to go into shock. A cloak of mist clouds his eyes as his brain ceases to function. He could feel his legs giving out and gravity taking over his body…

Thus, the heart of Noah stopped beating, though it wasn't the first time, nor will it be the last...