<h2>Chapter 2: The Fading</h2>


    Morning light filtered through the cave''s narrow openings, turning rising salt spray into brief rainbows against the rough stone walls. Fen awoke to the familiar cacophony of seabirds, their cries echoing through the cave like mocking laughter. His muscles ached as he rolled over, he didn’t know what comfort was.


    His father''s silhouette was already visible at the cave entrance, hunched against the dawn. Einar''s claws picked listlessly at fish bones, each movement slower than it would have been even a month ago.


    More fur had fallen during the night; Fen could see new patches of bare skin through his father''s thinning coat.


    “Morning, Da,” Fen muttered, pushing himself up and stretching. He was in a bad mood, another day of this shite was his first thought, he didn’t think he could bear it much longer but the routine pleasantries were ingrained in him.


    “Popped ma head out earlier,” Einar said without turning. “Beautiful day out there. Could be one of the last good ones before winter sets in.”


    Something in his father''s tone annoyed him.


    "Aye, and what are we supposed to do again? Fish? Scavenge for shite that''s washed up on the rocks? Stare at the Sea?" His attitude stank as bad as his breath.


    “There’s no need to be so bloody grumpy,” Einar replied, his tone sharp but lacking the bite it once had. “I’m only sayin’ we should make the most of it while we can. We might not get many more days like this.”


    The statement held a deeper meaning than Fen would ever pick up on, Einar knew his days were numbered.


    “What’s the point?” Fen muttered under his breath, though he knew better than to say it too loudly.


    He stood up and paced around the cave. Einar watched Fen''s restless movement.


    "What''s goin'' on with ye, lad?" The boy''s anger and frustration seemed to grow with each passing day. He was spiralling out of control, and his father was afraid of what might happen if he didn''t find a way to help him.


    Fen stopped pacing and glanced at his father, his jaw clenched as he bit off the word “Nothing”.


    Even though they only had each other to rely on, relate to and confide in, there was still a wall between them where the important things went unsaid.


    Einar felt weak and anxious, he was afraid of seeing the last traces of respect fade from his son''s eyes when he learned the truth but he was fading fast and as the morning wind went through his bones he could feel his time being swept away.


    He couldn''t bear that look of pity anymore, couldn''t stand how his son had started moving more slowly to match his pace, how he''d begun taking on more of the daily work without being asked. Each act of help felt like another piece of his authority crumbling away. Today would be different. Today he would show Fen that the old Wulver still lived within him, that he was still worthy of being called Father.


    "Come on," he said, his voice a little stronger now, forcing confidence he didn''t feel. "Let''s go out for a bit. There''s no sense in sittin'' around here on such a good day. Today I want to climb to the top." He needed Fen to see him standing tall, needed to prove he could still lead the way.


    Fen hesitated, his frustration still bubbling beneath the surface, but he nodded. The boy''s eyes betrayed his doubt, and it cut Einar deeper than any physical pain. "Really, you sure you can manage?"


    "Aye, of course I can, I still got it in me," Einar replied with authority, and in that moment he desperately wanted to believe his own words but he saw the look of doubt on Fen’s face and it solidified his creeping doubt in himself.


    But he was adamant he would make it to the top of Out Stack today if it killed him—and maybe it would—but he had to show his son that he was still strong, still the father Fen needed him to be and once he had done that he would be able to tell the truth and explain himself.


    He couldn''t let his boy see that each step would be agony, that his heart was already racing just from standing up. He had spent so many years being invincible in his son''s eyes; he wasn''t ready to be mortal yet.


    They emerged from the cave into the bright morning. The wind was sharp and nipped at their faces as they looked up, but the sun was warm, and the sky was clear, save for a few wisps of cloud hanging low over the sea.


    Their clothing was a testament to survival: patchworks of seal skins, cured and softened by the sea''s salt. Feathers sewn between layers of hide acted as insulation, providing warmth against the northern chill. They had lived this way for years, salvaging what the island gave them.


    The ascent began at the base of Out Stack, where ancient Lewisian Gneiss rock had formed nature''s own crude staircase over billions of years. Fen watched his father place each foot with deliberate care, noting how Einar''s movements had lost their old confidence. The sea spray made the lower climb treacherous, each step having the potential to slip away.


    It was Einar who, over the years, had navigated the best hand and footholds in the rocks to get to the top, so once again Fen followed him, watching his father''s movements carefully.


    When the climb became steep, Fen offered his arm without making a show of it. Einar, though struggling, accepted the help in silence.


    Fen knew what his Dad was trying to prove and he began to feel sorry for him. Sorry for all the trouble he had caused him lately and being so difficult, he knew deep down his Dad loved him more than anything, maybe his Dad was right about everything after all, how could Fen question the love that had kept them alive all these years?


    The wind grew stronger as they climbed higher.


    “Lets stop a second Son”.


    “OK Da, you sure you want to get to the top, we can just stop here if you like, we don’t need to go all the way”.


    “No, I said today’s the day we both get to the top, we haven’t done this in a while”.


    “I know”.  They hadn’t done anything together for a long time.


    They both sat down on rocks, Einar taking longer to position himself than Fen.


    "Remember when I first taught you this climb, Son? I carried you on my back all the way."


    "Aye, I kept my face buried in your fur the whole way up, I was so scared."


    They smile at each other, looking into each other''s eyes purposefully.  The last two Wulvers.


    The wind grew stronger, funnelling through the narrow channels between rocks, carrying the cries of seabirds that flew all around them.


    Below, the sea churned against the base of Out Stack, as if waiting to claim any who faltered, seals lounged on the rocks, their dark bodies sleek against the stone. Fen watched them dive and surface with effortless grace, free to come and go as they pleased. His muscles tensed with an old, familiar envy.


    "Look at that," Einar said, gesturing toward the seals with a trembling hand. "We could have them. A seal would provide us with a lot of things." But there was no energy behind the words, just habit—another lesson he felt compelled to teach while he still could.


    "Do you want to?" Fen asked, already knowing the answer.


    "No, not today, Son. Let''s leave them be."


    "Da, maybe we should turn back," Fen suggested, unable to keep the worry from his voice.


    "No," Einar’s legs shook as he stood up to continue.


    The final push to the summit forced them to their hands and knees, crawling over massive, weathered boulders. Fen stayed close behind his father, ready to catch him if he slipped. As they ascended, the views became increasingly spectacular. To the south, they could see the rugged coastline of Unst and the vast expanse of the North Sea to the north and east.


    When they finally crested the summit, the victory felt hollow. Einar collapsed behind a large rock, to get out of sight of the distant lighthouse, his chest heaving with exertion.


    On this clear day, the visibility was outstanding.


    "Worth every step," Einar managed between gasps, trying to summon his old enthusiasm.


    Fen knew his father had brought them up here for a reason, that much was clear in the way Einar kept glancing at him, then away, as if gathering courage.


    "I heard ye last night," Einar said finally, his voice barely carrying over the wind. The words hung in the air like storm clouds, heavy with meaning.


    Fen''s chest tightened. "Heard what?"


    "Yer howling," Einar replied with a chuckle, "Ye were howling at the moon like a bloody Werewolf."


    "I''m not a Werewolf"


    Einar''s chuckle held no humour. "Aye I know but that’s not how they see us" He shifted, wincing at the movement, motioning out towards Muckle Flugga before fixing Fen with a gaze that seemed to carry the weight of generations.


    “The people out there will look at you and all they will see is a Monster, they won’t ever see beyond that, what you really are,”


    “Och aye, and what’s that?”


    “A kind, strong, compassionate, deep hearted Wulver” Fen sat beside him and Einar looked deep into his eyes and put his hand on his shoulder.


    Fen didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t used to this kind of heart to heart.


    He saw the yearning love in his Dad’s eyes and smiled at him as he patted his Dad’s knee.


    “I’m sorry Son”


    “What for?”


    “I know this isn’t a life for you, I’m sorry for keeping you here.  I’m sorry for not telling you the truth…” Einar wavered as he kept lowering his eyes then looking at Fen to see what kind of reaction he was getting. “We haven’t been seeing eye to eye you and me lately but I want you to know…you’re everything to me, everything I did was for you”


    “I know Da..”


    “No Son, you don’t…” Einar hadn’ thought through how he was going to tell his Son the truth he had hidden from him, he skirted round it until he could muster the courage, “Do you know what it means to be a Wulver?”


    “I don’t have a clue”.


    Einar cleared his throat and began, “A long time ago, in the early days of Shetland, before men claimed these lands as their own, Wulvers lived side by side ....”


    Fen cut him off.


    “I’ve heard it before…many times”.


    “You haven’t heard this version,” Einar said, his tone firm. “Sit down and listen, son. This story’s important.”


    Fen reluctantly sat on a rock, folding his arms like a petulant teenager, even though he didn’t know what one was.


    Einar leaned forward. His voice lowered to his storytelling tone that Fen used to always welcome.


    The wind died down, as if nature itself paused to listen.


    “A long time ago, Wulvers lived in harmony with Humans, we weren’t seen as beasts, if anything we were seen as…kind, benevolent is the word.


    We shared the land, our strength and senses were a gift to the people. We fished, hunted, and tended the wild places, while the humans tilled the soil and raised their villages. We lived in peace because they knew us, knew our ways.”


    Fen raised an eyebrow. “But they were still scared of us, weren’t they?”


    “Aye, but not at first,” Einar nodded. “ At first, they respected us and respect is everything in any relationship.” He looked at his Son purposefully.


    “The Wulvers had a connection to the natural world that men admired, that they themselves had lost long ago… Our instincts, our power, our knowledge—it was something the humans couldn’t fully grasp, but they saw it as part of nature, something to be respected. We weren’t savages, but we weren’t tamed either.”


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “The Wulvers kept their animal side in check, living peacefully among the humans. But there were always whispers. Men can be easily frightened by what they don’t understand, and our strength, our beast nature, it unsettled them. Still, for generations, we were trusted. Wulvers could protect villages, share our hunts, heal the sick with our knowledge of the wild. There was harmony.”


    “So what changed?” Fen asked, his scepticism tinged with curiosity now.


    Einar sighed, his eyes clouding with memory. “It started when the tales of werewolves reached Shetland from the mainland. They were nothing like us, true monsters, cursed men who would turn into savage beasts under the full moon. Those stories twisted how humans saw us. Slowly, people began to confuse the werewolves in the tales with the Wulvers who lived among them. They began to fear what could happen if our beast side ever got out of control.”


    Einar’s voice grew more serious, the weight of history heavy in his words. “Humans started watching us differently. They’d see the yellow glint in our eyes or the way we moved, and instead of seeing friends or protectors, they started seeing the shadow of a predator. The very instincts that had once helped us protect their villages now made them uneasy. They began to wonder, what if we lost control? What if the beast inside us became like the monsters in their stories?”


    Fen shifted, listening more intently now. “But we’re not like that, are we?”


    “No! No, we’re not,” Einar agreed. “We never were. We are protectors not Predators but fear doesn’t care about truth. It only sees shadows and imagines danger. We would never hurt anyone Fen, violence goes against our nature but saying that if we are pushed…” He paused, searching for the words to explain what he has kept secret.


    “You see, son, we Wulvers carry something inside us, a curse, no, not a curse but a power, a strength that is more than any human can wield and if you push us or threaten us then…And he stopped, his eyes fixed on some point beyond the horizon.


    “Violence leaves a mark on our souls…one day…”


    The wind was picking up.


    “One day what?”


    “Something happened…”, his voice trailed.


    Einar sensed something.


    “What happened? Is there something you’re not telling me?”


    Einar narrowed his eyes.


    He saw the clear blue sky being polluted with dark clouds far to the West, a storm was coming.


    Then Einar felt it first, a vibration in his bones that had nothing to do with the approaching storm. His ears twitched, catching something beneath the wind''s howl, a rhythm that spoke of danger. Years of hiding had honed his senses to anything unnatural, and this sound struck deep into old memories, stirring terrors he''d tried to forget.


    “We need to be careful, you need to be able to look after yourself ”


    “What’s that supposed to mean?”


    “You’re stronger than you think, Fen. You’ll survive, just like Wulvers have for generations.”


    Fen didn’t know what his Dad was talking about.


    “What are you saying?”


    Einar’s heart ached as he watched his son’s composure crumble. The fear in Fen’s eyes, the fear of being left behind, of being truly alone, cut through him like a knife.


    “I never wanted this for you,” Einar whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I never wanted you to carry this burden alone. But you won’t. You’re not alone…” Einar stood up and looked towards Muckle Flugga, “Look”.


    Fen turned around to look at what his Dad had sensed and was now looking at.


    Far away a small black dot was moving towards them.


    "Get down," Einar said, the words barely audible over the strengthening wind.


    The wind’s howl was constant, but beneath it, a new sound emerged, a rhythmic thrumming that grew louder. Fen narrowed his eyes, scanning the horizon.


    “What is it?” He asked, his body tensing.


    Einar knew exactly what it was, he’d seen them before and knew the danger.


    Many times he had hidden himself and Fen from them.


    “Something’s coming…”


    At first, it was nothing more than a speck, a mote of darkness against the storm clouds. But it grew with frightening speed, a black slash that cut through the sky with unnatural precision. The sound built with its approach—whump-whump-whump.


    From the hills behind Muckle Flugga, a black shape rose, cutting through the clouds, moving towards them.


    The storm and the machine seemed to race each other toward the island—nature''s fury against man''s creation. Rain began to fall.


    The black shape resolved itself into something Fen had never seen before: a metal beast that defied the wind, hovering like some monstrous insect against the darkening sky.


    "Get down!" Einar finally managed to roar, his voice breaking with desperation. "It''ll see you!"


    But Fen stood frozen, caught between awe and terror.


    Thunder rolled across the water, drowning out even the mechanical beast''s roar for a moment. Einar saw his worst fears materialising—their sanctuary discovered, their isolation breached, all his careful years of protection undone in a single moment.


    But Fen wanted to stay, to see it, to confront it.


    It swooped above the lighthouse then descended, its enormous blades slowing to a blur. The air and rain around it swirled.


    With a sense of urgency, Einar shouted at Fen


    "Son! Move!"


    The rain came down heavily as the light beam from the helicopter pointed at them.


    Fen stood still as Einar pulled at him to crouch behind a rock.


    Once it had landed, two figures emerged from the machine, tiny at this distance but clear enough to trigger that deep, instinctive fear Einar had bred into him.


    Einar grabbed Fen''s arm. "We need to go, now!" The words were nearly lost in a deafening roll of thunder. His father''s grip trembled, whether from fear or exhaustion, Fen couldn''t tell.


    Fen turned to run, but found himself transfixed by the scene at the lighthouse. Even from this distance, something about those figures'' movements sent a jolt of primal fear through his blood. They moved with purpose, like hunters.


    Einar was already moving as fast as he could back down to their Cave.


    "Don''t look back, Son!" Einar shouted, his voice barely audible above the storm.


    But Fen did look back, unable to stop himself.


    He heard a screaming shout and looked ahead but could not see his Dad anywhere.


    Einar had slipped on the slick rock face, and by the time it took Fen to turn, his father was already falling.


    Time seemed to stretch, as if ungoverned by the usual rules of relativity—Fen''s hand reached out and caught nothing but rain; Einar''s eyes met his for one terrible moment, filled not with fear but a profound sadness.


    Then time snapped back with brutal force. Einar''s body hit the first outcrop with a sound that would haunt Fen''s nightmares. The impact sent him spinning, tumbling down Out Stack''s merciless face with cracks of bone against stone.


    Fen watched, paralyzed, as his father''s body ragdolled down towards the sea from rock to rock.


    "DAD!" The cry tore Fen''s throat.


    His body moved before his mind could process what was happening, he scrambled down the treacherous slope with no thought for his own safety.


    The rain made every foothold a gamble.


    He saw his father''s body come to rest on the lowest ledge, where the rock met the sea. Dark waves reached for Einar, each surge threatening to claim him. Blood matted his father''s fur. One of Einar''s legs dangled at an impossible angle into the churning water.


    Time was measured now in heartbeats and waves. Each surge of the sea brought it closer to claiming his father''s broken body. Fen had to reach him before the next big wave would drag him away forever. Had to save him. Had to—


    The drop to the ledge was too far for safety, but Fen didn''t hesitate. He launched himself into space, his body remembering every lesson his father had taught him about falling. The impact into the Sea drove the air from his lungs, sent shock waves of pain through his legs, the ice cold water almost stopped him dead but he forced himself forward, fighting against wind and rain and terror.


    "Dad! No, Dad!" The words were lost to the storm, but Fen couldn''t stop them pouring out as he made it to the ledge. His hands found his father''s fur, matted with blood and seawater. With strength born of desperation, he climbed onto the rocks and dragged Einar''s body back from the sea''s grasp.


    A massive wave crashed against the ledge, its spray stinging Fen''s eyes. The next one would be bigger. They couldn''t stay here. Through the haze of rain and fear, Fen''s mind latched onto one clear thought: the cave. He had to get his father back to the cave.


    More waves crashed against them, each surge threatening to tear them both into the depths, but Fen''s grip only tightened: ‘Not like this. Not today. Not my Dad.’


    His claws dug into whatever purchase they could find, as he hauled his father''s deadweight upward.


    A massive wave slammed into them, nearly breaking his hold. Fen stumbled, his feet sliding on the slick rock, but he snarled his defiance into the storm''s face. He could taste blood in the salt spray—his father''s blood—and something primal rose in him, something that refused to let the sea claim what was his.


    Fen forced himself to focus only on the next move, the next handhold, the next breath. His father had taught him that—to break impossible tasks into smaller pieces, to keep moving forward no matter what.


    A faint groan escaped Einar''s lips, so quiet Fen almost missed it over the storm''s rage. "Hold on, Da," he gasped, adjusting his grip to keep his father''s head above the spray. "Just hold on."


    The ascent became a blur of burning muscles and freezing water, of terror and determination so tightly wound together that Fen couldn''t tell them apart anymore. Time lost all meaning—there was only the next step, the next surge of waves to brace against, the next burst of strength he didn''t know he had.


    Finally, the cave''s mouth loomed before them, its darkness a promise of sanctuary. With one last monumental effort, Fen pulled them both over the threshold, his legs finally giving out as they reached safety. He collapsed to his knees, still cradling his father''s broken body, gasping for air that didn''t seem to want to stay in his lungs.


    The dim light inside the cave wasn''t enough for human eyes, but Fen''s sharp vision caught every detail he wished he couldn''t see. Blood darkened his father''s fur in patches, deep cuts were still oozing. One leg lay at an unnatural angle, and Einar''s chest rose and fell in shallow, irregular gasps that seemed to catch on broken ribs.


    "Dad?" Fen whispered, his voice hoarse from exertion and fear. He pressed his ear to his father''s chest, straining to hear past the wet, rattling breaths. The heartbeat he found was faint and erratic, a faltering drum beneath cold, wet fur.


    Einar stirred, a weak cough bringing a spray of blood to his lips. His eyes fluttered open, clouded with pain but somehow still alert. "The... helicopter..." he managed, each word a battle against his failing body.


    "What? What''s a helicopter?" Fen''s mind raced frantically. His father was delirious, speaking nonsense words from some hidden part of his past. "Dad, you fell. You''re hurt bad. Just... just stay still."


    But Einar''s trembling hand found Fen''s arm, gripping with surprising strength. His eyes cleared for a moment, burning with desperate urgency. "Go... get help."


    "Help?" The word was almost a laugh, bitter and frightened. "From who? We''re alone here!" The truth of those words hit Fen like a physical blow. They had always been alone—that was the point, wasn''t it? That was what his father had wanted. And now that isolation might cost him everything.


    "Your... Ma..." The word was barely a breath, but it struck Fen like lightning.


    "What?" His mind reeled, trying to grasp at something just beyond his understanding. "What''s a Ma?" The word felt foreign on his tongue, yet somehow familiar, like a half-remembered dream.


    Through blood-flecked lips, Einar tried to speak again. His trembling hand moved to his neck, fumbling with something beneath his fur. "Son..." he gasped, the effort clearly costing him.


    Fen watched as his father''s shaking fingers worked at the leather cord around his neck. An ancient stone disk hung from it, etched with symbols Fen had glimpsed throughout his life but never been allowed to study. Dark metal traced patterns across its surface that seemed to shift in the dim light.


    "Take it,"


    "Da, don''t try to talk," Fen pleaded, but Einar''s eyes had taken on a fierce intensity.


    "Listen," he commanded, though the word was barely more than a breath. "When you''re lost..." His fingers pressed the amulet into Fen''s palm. The stone was warm, almost alive against his skin. "Home..."


    "Home? This is home," Fen said, confusion warring with fear as he felt the strange weight of the amulet in his hand.


    Then he remembered the Wulver duft.


    His hands shook as he scrambled through the cave, searching for the hidden cache he''d seen his father access so rarely. The small wooden box was tucked beneath a loose stone, its contents a closely guarded secret. As he pulled it out, the potent scent of the thick, green liquid filled the air, earthy and ancient.


    His father had always used it with such care, such precision. But Fen''s hands were trembling as he uncorked the vial, his mind clouded with panic,it exuded a potent, earthy aroma—sharp and almost intoxicating to the senses. One drop, his father had always said. Just one drop.


    He hesitated, torn between his father''s instruction for ''just a nip'' and his desperate need to do more.


    It was a rare and powerful substance, deeply rooted in the ancient traditions of the Wulver race. Derived from a combination of wild herbs, fungi, roots, and the essence of something secret found only in the rugged landscapes of Shetland, as if the natural world itself imbued it with a kind of primal energy.


    Because of its potency, Wulvers use it sparingly, often only in moments of great need. It is said that the duft taps into the raw, untamed power of nature itself, and as such, it must be respected. To Wulvers, it is more than just a medicine—it is a sacred gift, one that is handled with the utmost caution and care. Only the most experienced Wulvers knew how to prepare it, and even fewer understood how to properly use it, making it a closely guarded secret.


    His father had always kept it hidden, using it with restraint, often having to dilute it.


    "Hold on, Da," he whispered, carefully tilting the vial. A single drop of the thick, green liquid fell onto Einar''s bloodied lips. For a moment, nothing happened. Then his father''s body shuddered violently, his back arching as the duft took hold.


    Horror gripped Fen as Einar went still. Too still. The rise and fall of his chest became shallow, barely visible.


    "Dad?" Panic clawed at Fen''s throat. He pressed his ear to his father''s chest, straining to hear a heartbeat. The silence stretched for an eternity before he caught it—a faint, irregular thud that seemed to grow weaker with each beat.


    What have I done?


    He shook his father gently, then more urgently. "Da? Da, please..." The amulet pressed into his palm, its warmth now feeling like a brand against his skin. It seemed to pulse in time with his rising panic, as if trying to tell him something he couldn''t yet understand.


    Einar lay motionless, his breathing so shallow it was barely detectable. The duft had pushed him into a deep unconsciousness—or something worse. Fen''s mind raced. The medicine was beyond his knowledge, its powers as mysterious as the symbols etched into the amulet he now wore.


    A distant roll of thunder reminded him of the helicopter, of the men at the lighthouse. His father''s last coherent words echoed in his mind: "Go... get help." But where? How? Everything he knew, everyone he trusted, lay broken before him in this cave.


    The amulet caught the dim light, its metal inlays seeming to shift and change. It''ll show you the way home, his father had said. But home was here, wasn''t it? On this lonely rock in the sea? Or had that been another of his father''s necessary lies?


    Fen slipped the leather cord around his neck, feeling the stone settle against his chest like a promise—or a burden. He gathered up his father''s satchel, the one that held their medicines and most precious possessions, and slung it across his shoulder.


    "I''ll come back, Da," he whispered, "I''ll find help." The words felt hollow in the cave''s silence, but he had to believe them. With one last glance at his father, Fen emerged into the storm outside, the wind and rain battered him as he pushed his boat out, as if the the elements were trying to stop him.


    But he had to save the only family he had left, even if that meant going to the one place he was always taught to fear, the lighthouse. There were people there, now he would find out if they were the Mansters from his Dad’s stories—ruthless hunters who would skin him alive—or something else entirely. Maybe they could help. Or maybe they’d prove his father right, and this would be the last mistake he ever made.


    Fen pushed the battered boat out from the cave, the waves crashed against Out Stack''s rocks with thunderous fury. Nature itself seemed to be warning him away from leaving but he had no choice.


    For his father, he would die trying.