CAELAN

THE BETRAYAL

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CAELAN

The storm raged with an unnatural fury as if the heavens were enraged, spitting their wrath upon the earth. The wind screamed like a banshee, slicing through the air, and whipping at the faces of those standing in the rain-soaked courtyard. It wasn't just a storm; it felt like the world was screaming its disapproval at the injustice about to unfold. The bitter cold was almost alive, slashing through flesh and bone, making it impossible to stand still.

In the center of this furious tempest knelt Caelan, his face buried in the mud. The rain beat down upon him like the merciless hand of an executioner, each drop feeling like a lash against his skin. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones numbing him to everything but the burning in his chest.

As he tried to wipe the rain from his eyes, the clinking of chains around his wrists snapped him back to the grim reality. Chains. Shackles. For a moment, disbelief washed over him like the rain itself.

His eyes, bloodshot and stinging from both the rain and the pain, scanned the crowed surrounding him. Faces he once knew as friends and family, now twisted in malice and contempt. Their eyes were alight with rage, their hands curled into fists, shouting words he couldn't fully comprehend through the haze of pain and confusion.

His mind, fractured by the throbbing pain at the base of his skull, struggled to piece together the events that had led to this moment.

How did it come to this?

The last thing he remembered was leaving the gym after a brutal training session in the Manson's basement. He was weak, starving _he hadn't fed in over a month, an eternity for a nightwalker. He should have seen it coming.

The blow to his head had been swift, precise. Then, nothing but darkness.

Now, he was here, kneeling in the mud, the biting cold wrapping around him like a vice, his head pounding like a drum, and the taste of blood lingering in his mouth. The crowd's howls mixed with the wind, creating a cacophony of noise that reverberated through his skull. The biting wind only worsened the sting of the open cuts that lined his body.

Then, out of the swirling mass of bodies, he saw a familiar face pushing through, Aaron. His best friend. No, his brother. His only family after his father. For a fleeting moment, hope flared in his chest. Perhaps Aaron would explain, stop this madness.

but instead of solace, Aaron's fist collided with Caelan's jaw with bone-shattering force, snapping his head to the side. The shock of it made his vision blur. The taste of iron flooded his mouth, blood spilling down his chin and mixing with the rain as it hit the ground.

Caelan's body convulsed from the impact. A hiss escaped his lips, more out of disbelief than pain. Before he could recover, another fist cracked against his rips, knocking the breath from his lungs. He gasped, choking on the mud that splashed up into his mouth. His stomach twisted painfully as a vicious kick sent him sprawling onto the ground. He landed face-first in the muck, groaning as fresh waves of agony crashed through his body.

Aaron's betrayal stung more than any blow.

Caelan tried to push himself up, but his body rebelled. His limbs trembled, his muscles screaming in protest. Blood dripped from his mouth, mixing with the rain-soaked earth beneath him. He spat it out, each heave sending sharp bolts of pain through his chest. His body was starting to shut down, the hunger gnawing at him like a ravenous beast. But they weren't done with him yet.

The crowd surged forward like a pack of wolves smelling blood. A dozen fists and boots came down on him, raining blows that threatened to break his bones with every hit. His world turned to a blur of pain _ sharp, searing, unrelenting.