《The Wulver》


 The Edge of the World

    <h2>Prologue: The Breaking of the Wulver Stane</h2>


    Baltasound, Unst, Shetland Islands.


    Samhuinn Winter Solstice, 1743


    An unusual aurora painted the Shetland sky in ribbons of ghostfire as the twelve Wulver elders gathered at the entrance to ¡®Wulvers Houl¡¯, a cave carved into a steep knoll, its entrance partially hidden by ancient rowan trees that grew sideways due the perpetual Shetland winds.


    Unlike the cursed werewolves of mankind''s dark tales, the Wulvers were born of Shetland itself, ancient lupine creatures that walked upright, their bodies covered in short brown fur, while their wolf-heads held eyes that gleamed with both natural wisdom and human compassion. They belonged to this land with a deeper, older bond that was woven between beast and earth since the first fires of creation cooled to form Shetland''s bones. They were guardians, not rulers of Shetland, their magic flowing from service to the land rather than dominion over it.


    They were neither fully beast nor fully human, but something born of the space between.


    Already the whispers had reached them, tales of Men twisted by fear and hatred, who had begun hunting their kind along the mainland shores, other clans who had migrated to the mainland had been massacred . These weren¡¯t the humans Wulvers had lived alongside for generations, sharing the bounty of sea and land. They were something else, creatures of iron and smoke, whose hearts had become poisoned by fear and old stories of terrifying beasts and Monsters. With their ships drawing closer with each passing season and their iron and stone reshaping the wild places, the elders knew their time of living freely was ending. But they would not leave their children defenceless in this changing world.


    The Wulvers had chosen this place with care, where land and sea met, where the veil between worlds grew thin, where their kind had first emerged from legend into life, where the Wulver''s Stane rose from the deep waters like the crown of some drowned giant.


    It was a threshold place.


    The Stane itself was dark basalt, but shot through with veins of something that gleamed aquamarine and silver in the moonlight, like fish scales. When the tide was right, the stone formed a perfect seat, worn smooth by centuries of use. From certain angles, it looked like a wolf''s head in profile, its eye a perfect circular hollow that aligned with the rising sun during the winter solstice.


    At the front stood Clarhane Ceol, eldest of the elders, her silver fur catching the ethereal light of the aurora. In her furred hands she held Malmr, the singing hammer forged from star-metal in an age before memory.


    "The stone must be broken," Clarhane announced, her voice carrying over the wind to the gathered clans of remaining Wulvers.


    ¡°But know this, its power comes with price and limitation. Each shard will sing to its kin, but only when both wielders wish to be found.¡±


    As the drummers began their primal rhythm, Clarhane raised the hammer above her head. The others moved around her in patterns old, growling frequencies that humans could never hear but that Wulvers felt in their bones.


    This was the deepest magic, not spells or enchantments, but the simple, profound connection between creature and place, they emphasised the vibrations that form the very foundation of existence. Creating frequencies that align the spirit with cosmic energies, bridging the gap between the physical and spiritual planes.


    The others began their own vardlokkur - the ancient throat-singing passed down through generations. Their voices started low, a deep resonant growl that vibrated in their bones.


    Clarhane howled and then shouted the words so that all around could hear.


    "Trou stjarna-gaoth an'' bein-vargen, Whaur skuggi met tungr-licht, Vardlokkur calls da wolfr-seidr, Till ulfr-kind."


    The Stane began to glow, growing brighter until it rivalled the aurora above.


    Then it began to pulse with an inner light and emanate a sound The Wulvers voices matched in frequency.


    Clarhane raised Malmr and struck the Wulver Stane. The hammer rang like a bell, its note piercing reality itself with its unique reverberation.


    The stone shattered with an amplitude that rang throughout the island, splitting into shards, each etched with runes that seemed to write themselves in a fiery glow.


    "The vardlokkur will make them sing," she said, passing the pieces to her kin. "When the right voices call, when the right rhythms beat, these stones will remember their whole. They will build a bridge across any distance to guide our lost ones home."


    The pieces were distributed among the twelve, to be passed down through generations, waiting for the day when they would be most needed.


    <h2>Chapter 1: The Edge of the World</h2>


    Out Stack, Shetland Isles


    Present Day


    The waves of the Northern Sea ebbed and flowed against the jagged rocks of Out Stack, the last piece of land at the most Northern edge of Britain. The horizon stretched into nothingness, as if the world simply fell away into an infinite expanse of ocean.


    Here, at the edge of everything known, life felt simultaneously vast and confined, limitless and utterly desolate. The isle itself was barely more than a fang of rock thrust up from the sea bed, but its caves and crevices held secrets that the mainland had never discovered.


    Winter was nearing. The sun cast a fleeting glow over the water, perhaps its last show of strength before the long, dark days ahead. But for now, the sea was calm, the sky clear, and the air, though cold, was still. It was the kind of day that some would call a gift, one to be savoured before the brutal winter rolled in.


    A small, weather-beaten boat floated idly near the rocks, heaving with each rise and fall of the tide. It was a patched-up wreck of a vessel, cobbled together from pieces of other boats that had perished on the rocks over the years. Strange carvings covered its hull, runes and symbols that seemed to shift and change when viewed directly, as if refusing to be properly seen.


    Inside, lying as still as the sea around, was a hulking figure covered in worn seal skins, breathing slow and deep as they slept. A crude fishing rod jutted out from the side of the boat, its line lazily bobbing in the water.


    Above, seabirds circled, their cries sharp and raucous as they swooped lower and lower, eyeing the fish in the boat. One particularly daring gull swooped downwards to the boat, its beady eyes gleaming with intent, as it prepared to pluck one of the fish from the basket.


    But the figure stirred before the gull could strike. In one fluid motion, a massive fur covered hand shot out, claws glinting in the weak sunlight as they gently closed around the bird. The gull squawked in alarm, its wings flapping frantically, but the grip was careful, almost tender. The bird, eyes wide with fear, quickly fell still, as large fingers stroked its head with surprising delicacy.


    "Not today, Mr. Gull," a voice growled softly, the words carrying a deep, rumbling Scottish brogue.


    "Those are my fish."


    They released the bird, which shot into the sky with a final indignant squawk before disappearing into the flock above.


    As they sat up, the large hood fell back, the weak sunlight caught his features, illuminating what made him neither fully wolf nor fully man. His rust-coloured fur glowed in the afternoon light, thick and wild around a face that somehow married human intelligence with lupine ferocity. His pointed ears twitched, alert to the subtle shifts in the world around him, while his sharp, golden amber eyes gleamed with a mix of wild wisdom and a gentleness rarely seen in the eyes of either beast or man,


    He was a Wulver and his name was Fen.


    He looked down at his catch, a modest haul of one wrasse, two pollock, and a coalfish. Not terrible, but not enough to impress his father either. Einar would likely chide him for dozing off, for not paying attention. Fen had heard it all before, could practically recite his father''s lectures, recited from memory: ¡®We are the Last Wulvers, we must always be vigilant, always aware¡¯. The words echoed in his head, accompanied by the constant undertone of fear that coloured all of his father''s teachings and the bedtime rhymes he always recited to him as a boy..


    With a sigh, Fen turned the boat toward the island.


    The sea, though calm now, still held the promise of danger, and Fen¡¯s heightened senses were on alert as he navigated through the rocks that surrounded their home. There was no visible shoreline to land on, no safe harbour. Out Stack was a fortress, its jagged cliffs rising straight from the sea, and Fen knew every inch of it.


    He steered the boat around to the northern side of the island, where a hidden fissure, veiled by a curtain of bladderwrack seaweed, offered just enough space for his boat to slip through. It was a secret passage, one known only to him and his father, and Fen guided the boat inside with practised precision.


    As soon as he entered the cave, the fresh, light outside was replaced by the shadows and the damp of the island''s interior.


    His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and he felt the cold stone beneath his hands as he pushed the boat inwards. The faint echo of dripping water bouncing off the cave walls welcomed him home, if home was the right word for a prison you''d never asked for.


    He pulled the boat into the centre of the cave, where his father, Einar, sat on his usual rock, wrapped in a thick cloak of Seal skins, strumming the strings of his Shetland gue, a two-stringed lyre carved from driftwood. The melody was soft, haunting, the notes reverberated off the walls.


    The once mighty Wulver was now bent in his weakening state. His fur, once deep amber of autumn leaves, had faded to the colour of winter grass, streaked with silver that caught what little light reached this deep into their sanctuary. Even in repose, there was something coiled and watchful about him, like a warrior who had seen too much but could never lay down his guard.


    Einar glanced up as Fen approached, his tired eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. His hands shook slightly as he set the gue aside.


    "You were out too long," Einar said, his voice a gravelly rasp that seemed to catch on every word.


    Always the warnings. Always the fear.


    Fen wanted to argue, to point out that nothing had happened, nothing ever happened, but he couldn¡¯t be bothered for another argument.


    "Now then, caught anything decent today, or were ye asleep the whole time?"


    "I got some fish."


    Einar nodded, though disappointment shadowed his face. "Aye that was the idea, what ya got?¡±


    ¡°Ya ken, some Pollock and coalies, usual shite¡±


    ¡°Three hours and that¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°And some Wrasse¡±


    ¡°You been nappin again Son?¡±


    "A wee nap, maybe," Fen admitted, forcing a grin that didn''t reach his eyes.


    It''ll do, I suppose. But ye''ve got to be more careful, lad. We can''t afford to be caught nappin''."


    ¡°I know, Da,¡± Fen replied, though he didn¡¯t meet his father¡¯s gaze. He busied himself with storing the fish, his mind already churning with excuses he might use next time. But as always, the truth was the only option. His father had drilled it into him from the day he was born, Wulvers never lied. It was their code, their way of survival, and Fen respected it, even if it was sometimes inconvenient.


    The cave was small, barely large enough for the two of them to move around comfortably. Years of habitation had worn smooth patches in the stone floor, marking their daily patterns like scars in the rock. The walls were lined with shelves carved into the stone, holding their meagre supplies, tools made from bone and stone, ornaments carved from driftwood, and scavenged bits of wool and fur they used for bedding.


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    ¡°Ye should get out there, Da,¡± Fen said as he stored the last of the fish. ¡°The sun¡¯s out. It¡¯s warm.¡±


    Einar waved a hand dismissively, but the gesture lacked its former authority. "Not today, Son."


    They both knew it was more than just the cold keeping him inside. Lately, every movement cost his father more than he could afford to spend. The warrior who had once wrestled seals from the surf now struggled to climb the cave steps. Each new day stripped another layer of strength from him, his spirit weighed down by the isolation and the harsh conditions they had endured as well as the secrets.


    But even in his weakened state, Einar¡¯s mind was sharp, and his senses were as keen as ever. He watched Fen with a critical eye, always reminding him to be cautious, to stay hidden, to never forget that they were the last of their kind.


    ¡°Next time, keep ya wits about ya¡±


    Fen is ruffled by the tone of the comment. For years his Dad has been gettin digs in when he can.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t seen Da, there¡¯s nobody about, at all¡±


    ¡°How do ya know? We have to be careful, we cannot be seen, at all, you know that, right?¡±.


    ¡°Aye, of course I know that. But there¡¯s nobody out there, just birds and fish, what are they gonna do? I have a wee nap one time, what¡¯s the problem?¡±


    Einar surged up from his seat, teeth bared, a shadow of his old strength flaring. "If you were to be seen, that would be the problem! They would kill us both and that would be the end of the Wulvers!"


    Fen''s eyes rolled before he could stop himself. The gesture hit his father like a physical blow.


    "Honestly boy, what''s the matter with you?!"


    Being stuck on this isolated island, cramped together in this small cave, with nothing to do, that was what the matter with him was.


    It was starting to take a toll on their relationship. Now that Fen was fully grown, his father''s strict and overbearing rules were becoming increasingly unbearable.


    In the past, Fen had always felt safe and secure under his father''s watchful eye. But as he matured, he began to question his father''s authoritarian approach. The constant nagging, the lack of freedom, the stories of the past were suffocating him.


    Fen dreamed of exploring the world beyond the confines of the island, to make his own choices, his own future and to experience life on his own terms.


    But he couldn¡¯t, it had always been told to him that this would never be allowed, they had to stay here on Out Stack, in this cave, forever. He yearned for independence, for the opportunity to learn and grow without the constant interference of his father but he also knew that to venture beyond Out Stack would cause their extinction.


    So again, he kept his thoughts to himself and acquiesced.


    ¡°Sorry Da, I¡¯ll be more careful in future¡±.


    The fire had already drained from Einar''s face, leaving him looking older and more frail than ever. He glanced at the fish, then back at Fen. "We''ll eat soon."


    Fen retreated to his nook, a nest of heather, dried seaweed, and feathers he''d built over the years. It was the only space that felt truly his, a corner carved out of their shared isolation


    He sat down and turned his back and sighed, just so that his Father could hear.


    He looked at the toy figures he and his father had made when he was younger. They were crude representations of the creatures from his father''s stories, humanoid but grotesque, deformed in shape and size.


    Einar called them the ¡°Mansters,¡± the terrors from the world of men, hunting Wulvers and destroying nature. Fen used to dream up elaborate games where he¡¯d do battle with the ¡®Mansters¡¯, the villains of the stories, alongside the carved Wulver figures.


    He picked up one of the ¡®Manster¡¯ figures, turning it over in his hands. He remembered how much fun he used to have with these figures, how his imagination could conjure entire worlds of adventure and excitement. But now, as he held the figure, that feeling was gone. The joy, the wonder, the imagination, none of it stirred within him anymore. He had outgrown those games, and it made him sad to realise just how distant those carefree days felt.


    The cave echoed with memories of better days. He could still hear his father''s gue weaving melodies through the air while he enacted epic battles. He could recall the fire crackling in the centre of the cave while Einar gathered him close, narrating tales of their ancestors, his deep voice taking on a mystical quality as shadows danced on the cave walls. They hadn¡¯t been able to light a fire in a long time, smoke would give away their hiding place and they had run out of the materials a long time ago.


    He glanced across the cave to where his father sat, hunched over on his rock. Einar looked old. Tired. Sad. The silence between them was thick, almost oppressive.


    He had been watching his father fade for months now, though neither of them spoke of it. The changes were subtle at first, a tremor in Einar''s hands when he played the Gue, a catch in his breath after climbing the cave steps, the way his fur had started falling out in clumps that he tried to hide, revealing skin mottled with sores that wouldn''t heal in the perpetual cold and dark.


    Their cave, once a sanctuary, was slowly killing him. The constant damp had settled into Einar''s bones, making his joints stiff and painful.


    What hurt Fen most was watching his father try to hide it. Einar would wait until he thought Fen was asleep before letting out the wracking coughs that echoed through the cave. He''d grip the walls for support when he walked but let go whenever Fen looked his way.


    He knew, with certainty, that his father was dying. The isolation that Einar had chosen to protect them was becoming his tomb.


    It was this knowledge, more than anything, that fueled Fen''s growing rebellion. They couldn''t go on like this. He couldn''t watch his father waste away in this cave, buried by fears that felt increasingly hollow.


    Fen tried to think of something to say, something to break the tension that had grown between them. But nothing came. It hardly ever did. He used to be able to talk to his father about anything, but now it felt like there was nothing left to say.


    ¡°Caught a gull today,¡± Fen said finally, the words coming out flat.


    His father looked up, though the usual spark of curiosity wasn¡¯t there. ¡°Oh aye? Where is it?¡±


    ¡°I let it go.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    The silence returned, heavier this time.


    That went well, Fen thought bitterly.


    Fen stood up abruptly, the need to escape overwhelming him as he walked past Einar. ¡°I¡¯m going up to the top.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re what?¡± Einar¡¯s voice broke the silence, his tone wary.


    ¡°I need fresh air. I need to get out.¡±


    Einar¡¯s face tightened. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Fen¡¯s voice was sharp. He was tired of being told what he could and couldn¡¯t do.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know if you were seen today,¡± Einar said, his voice low. ¡°They could be out there, looking for us, especially after your little nap today.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t be,¡± Fen muttered.


    "How can you be so sure?" his father asked, his voice rising as he struggled to stand. The movement was painful to watch, each motion clearly costing him effort he couldn''t spare.


    Einar turned back to Einar, almost in his face ¡°How many years have we been stuck here?! I¡¯ve never seen anything! All my life, I¡¯ve done nothing but hide. Fish and hide. Hunt and hide. I¡¯ve been hiding all my life! You say men are out there, wanting to kill us, and I believed you but how do I know? How do you know?!¡±


    Einar stood, his eyes blazing with anger and something else, fear, perhaps. ¡°Because I¡¯ve seen them, Fen! You haven¡¯t! You have no idea what they¡¯re capable of!¡±


    Fen started walking away again. ¡°Aye, you¡¯re right, maybe I don¡¯t know because I¡¯ve never been anywhere apart from here or seen anyone, apart from you!¡±


    Einar¡¯s face hardened. ¡°You just don¡¯t think of the consequences, do you? You¡¯re still a pup, Fen. You don¡¯t know the world like I do.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a Pup! And I never will, will I?!¡±


    Einar¡¯s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. ¡°If you¡¯re going out¡­ don¡¯t be seen.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Fen said, already turning toward the stone steps made of stalagmites.


    ¡°The searchlight might¡­¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t,¡± Fen interrupted. ¡°I¡¯m not that daft.¡±


    This time, Einar didn''t stop him. Perhaps he couldn''t anymore.


    Fen climbed up through the cave¡¯s sinkhole, emerging onto the island¡¯s surface. The wind hit him, sharp and cold, but it felt good. Liberating. He climbed the rocks to the highest point on Out Stack, each step carrying him further from the suffocating safety below.


    A mile to the southwest, Muckle Flugga lighthouse stood, a white tower rising ninety-four feet from the dark rocks ,its glass dome catching the last of the sunlight as the sun sank below the horizon.


    The beam from the lighthouse burst to life against the dying day.


    Fen had imagined Men in there, sleepless giants scanning the darkness for any sign of Wulvers. He''d spent countless nights counting the seconds between each sweep, twenty of darkness, two of light, until the rhythm became a pulse in his blood, teaching him which movements could fit into those precious moments of shadow.


    But now, watching that same light arc toward him, Fen felt something shift. The familiar fear was there, yes, but underneath it stirred a different sensation - anger, maybe, or something closer to shame. All these years jumping at shadows, and for what? A mechanical eye swinging back and forth, as mindless as the tides. His father''s warnings felt hollow now, like stories meant to frighten him but like he said, he wasn¡¯t a pup any more. Let them see. Let them come.


    Fen stood tall as the beam arced toward him, heart pounding not from terror but from the surge of defiance swelling in his chest. This time, he didn''t flinch as the light washed over him, catching him full in its glare.


    He closed his eyes, expecting something to happen.


    And then... nothing.


    The wind howled around him, and the sea crashed violently against the rocks below as it always has done.


    Nothing else happened.


    The beam passed on, indifferent to his existence, leaving him trembling with a chill that went up his spine, he couldn¡¯t tell if it was terror or elation.


    No sirens screamed across the water. No boats came charging toward Out Stack. No flying machines appeared in the night sky. The beam simply continued its endless rotation.


    Fen stood frozen, waiting for the consequences that didn''t come. His mind couldn''t process it. This moment, this simple sweep of light, had been built up in his imagination for so long that its mundane reality felt impossible. Where were the hunters? Where was the army of Mansters his father had sworn would descend the instant they were discovered?


    Was there something wrong with it?


    The light no longer held any power except what he gave it.


    A laugh bubbled up in his throat, slightly hysterical. Years of crouching in shadows, of making himself small, of living half a life, all because of this? This mechanical eye that didn''t even see him? The laugh turned into something else, something wilder. Rage began to replace fear, building in his chest like a storm. Every sleepless night, every missed adventure, every moment of childhood spent in terror, all built on nothing.


    The beam came around again. This time, Fen spread his arms wide, letting it illuminate every inch of him. The fear was still there, bred too deep in his bones to ever fully disappear, but now it was matched by defiance that grew with each passing second.


    His father was wrong.


    Or worse, his father had lied.


    The implications staggered him. If this wasn''t true, what else in his life was built on lies?


    The anger that followed was like nothing he''d ever felt before, not just at his father, but at himself for believing, for letting fear cage him for so long.


    Then as the beam came around again he HOWLED!


    In the cave below, Einar''s ears flattened against his head, recognition flickering in his raging eyes. He knew that sound, hehad made it himself once, in another life, before fear had stolen his voice.


    Above, Fen''s howl grew stronger, wilder. The lighthouse beam caught him again, and this time he bared his teeth at it.


    The sound rolled across the waters toward Unst, toward Yell, toward all the places that existed only in his father''s stories and his own dreams.


    It was more than rebellion. It was a declaration. It was becoming.


    His father had spent years teaching him to be less, less wild, less noticeable, less Wulver.


    But here, bathed in moonlight and lighthouse beam, Fen felt himself becoming more.


    In the cave, Einar sat motionless. For a moment, he was gripped by a surge of instinctive anger, a darkness he had fought so hard to contain. He nearly leapt from his mat, ready to chastise and bray Fen for exposing himself , for jeopardising the fragile peace Einar had struggled to maintain. But then, something stopped him.


    Einar''s heart wavered between pride and fear, the fierce love of a father torn between protecting his son and knowing he couldn''t keep him sheltered forever.


    He had taken Fen to the isolated Out Stack to shield him, yes, but also to shield the world from the curse Einar himself bore.


    But he knew in his heart that Fen couldn¡¯t remain here, gradually deteriorating like he was.


    The time had come to tell the truth.


    Einar had spent years teaching his boy the importance of honesty, yet he had been living a lie himself. He had convinced himself that his actions were noble, justified by some greater good, that he had done what he did for the right reasons. But now, doubt crept in. Maybe he had made a terrible mistake. In trying to shield Fen from the world and perhaps the world from himself, he had instead imprisoned them both in a prison of his own making. His love, twisted by fear and guilt, had become the very thing he''d sought to prevent: a curse passed from father to son.


    The isolation of the island had allowed Einar to dedicate every waking moment to his son, and this had fostered a deep bond between them. He had cherished their time together, working side by side to survive, just the two of them. Fen had been his most precious gift, and he would not have traded their life together for anything else in the world. But now Einar felt the weight of his choices crushing him.


    When Fen got back into the cave, he tried to avoid father''s gaze for fear of angry retribution but when he caught a glimpse of his father''s face looking up at him, what he saw was the pathetic face of pity and disappointment.


    In truth, Einar was looking up to him with a longing to reach out to his Son wanting to say something but yet again coming up short for words.


    Tomorrow. He will talk to him tomorrow.


    ¡°Good night, Son,¡±


    ¡°Good night, Dad,¡±

 The Fading

    <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¡ªand maybe it would¡ªbut 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¡ªanother 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¡ªit 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¡ªwhump-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¡ªnature''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¡ªtheir 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¡ªFen''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¡ª


    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¡ªhis father''s blood¡ªand 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¡ªto 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¡ªthere 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¡ªthat 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¡ªsharp 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¡ªit 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¡ªa 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¡ªor 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¡ªor 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¡ªruthless hunters who would skin him alive¡ªor 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.