The airfield hums with the roar of engines and
the clatter of wartime supplies. A pilot, newly
commissioned, steps into the cockpit of a
battered biplane. His instructor, a grizzled
veteran, warns him not to trust the men in the
shadows.
A moonlit meeting in the woods reveals the pack.
They speak in hushed tones, their eyes gleaming
with something feral. The pilot is marked by a
scar on his wrist—a sign of bloodpledge. He is
told he must train, not just in flight, but in
the ways of the wolf.
The first transformation comes at dawn. His
bones crack, his skin splits. He wakes in a
field, the scent of iron thick in the air. The
pack watches, silent. They do not help.
A raid on a whiskey distillery goes wrong. The
pilot’s plane is shot down. He flees into the
forest, pursued by men with guns and eyes like
wolves. He runs until his legs give out, then
claws his way up a tree. The pack finds him, not
to save, but to test.
He kills a man with his bare hands. His fingers
are still human, but his strength is not. The
pack names him “Skyborn.” He is no longer a man,
but not yet a wolf.
The war ends. The pack disperses, but the pilot
remains. He flies solo, carrying a secret in his
blood. The world changes, but the rules of the
pack remain: those who bleed together stay
together.
He never returns to the airfield. The last
sighting is of a lone figure, walking the edge
of a cliff, the wind in his hair, the moon above.
