The day began like any other, with the same salty tang in the air and the cries of gulls echoing over the harbor. His father, though beginning to show the frailty of age, was already by the boats, preparing to sail. To anyone else, it might have seemed an ordinary morning.

It was Micah's birthday. He had turned nineteen, old enough to finally earn the title of fisherman and take his father's place to continue the legacy. The pack did not celebrate with cake or anything of the sort. Their traditions were far more meaningful.

"Another year stronger, Shark bait!" His father slapped him on the back proudly.

"My name is Micah, Dad."

"Come on, can't a father cherish his son?"

Micah sighed, though his chest swelled with pride. Any werewolf his age would envy his position. The new werewolf chief. His tail swished behind him as Nico, his little brother, barreled into his chest.

"Hi, big brother, can I come with you today?"

Micah hugged him tighter, patting his head. "When you're older, I'll take you myself."

"Yay! Thanks, Mics!"

Nico was seven years old, blond, with amber eyes just like their mother's. Unlike his brother, Micah had inherited both his parents' eye colors in heterochromia, along with his father's dark hair. Nico had always tried to sneak onto the fishing trips. He'd begged his mother so many times, but she'd always told him no.

He was far too young and very fragile, for that matter. She was right in her choice. Perhaps Nico would've been the lost one.

Micah headed to the docks where his father was waiting as usual, preparing the fishing nets.

"Hey, son."

"Hi, Dad."

That was all they said as they continued to work. Micah glanced over to his father's side and noticed that he was tying the knots differently than usual. Micah, the perfectionist that he was, gently reached over to fix it.

"Here, let me do it."

He twisted the knot properly, his hands moving swiftly and with skill. His father gave him a crooked smile.

"I guess I can really retire now."

"I hope not. I'll definitely need your advice on chiefly matters," Micah said, despite himself, with a smile.

"That's my boy." He paused just enough to watch his son work. "I'm so proud of you."

The village celebrated with freshly caught fish. Micah and his father competed in a cooking competition. It ended in a tie, and the food was soon eaten after that. Micah's mother had never looked happier. She was laughing nonstop, especially when both men burned their first attempts. Nico was cheering for both teams and kept sneaking pieces before Grandma Mae, the judge, could eat.

Micah and his father disappeared to the shore at the end of the day, bare feet on the cool sand and night air whipping through their hair. The chief had wanted to show Micah what it was like to be a leader, and they went out on one of the bigger boats. At first, the sky was clear, the moonlight shining over the sea as they roamed.

Suddenly, a storm broke, the sea turning against them. The winds seemed to rise stronger than ever before, howling like wolves on a full moon. The magic that once protected them from the dangers of the world cracked, weakening with every brutal pull of the storm. It was meant to be another bonding trip, just the two of them exploring the peaceful seas. Micah and his father gripped the net, trying to hold their catch.

They had underestimated the weight of the fish before it tipped the boat sideways, threatening to throw them both into the raging ocean.

"Don't let go, Micah!" his father yelled, pulling with all his strength.

Micah wanted to answer badly, but he was incapable. The ocean had already chosen.

The boat lurched sideways once again, more violently this time, and Micah slipped into the water with a loud splash.

Having hit his head on the deck, the water rushed over him, dragging him under and filling his lungs.

His father dove after him on instinct, his arms outstretched, but he was too late. The ocean pulled him back toward the surface, away from his son. For the first time in thousands of years, the magic barrier broke, if only for a moment, and that was more than enough time for one of its kin to be lost. Micah was swept thousands of miles from home in his unconscious state.

— A few days later —

Micah coughed, spitting out a mix of sand and seawater.

The last thing he'd remembered was hitting his head, and that was it. His clothes were soaked, and he was sitting on a pile of sand, so he assumed he must've fallen in the water afterward. His parents must be so worried about him.

He just had to get back, and everything would be okay.

The cold weather wasn't helping his situation either. The night seemed to press around him, adding to the bitter cold.

Snowflakes drifted from the sky, which would've been considered soft and delicate if they weren't so alien to his eyes. He'd never seen such a thing. It was warm year-round at home. This weather was truly uncomfortable. It was beautiful, of course, but it bit into his skin, numbing his fingers, and the cold rushed to his cheeks.

He staggered to his feet, almost falling down twice, and turned. When he did, his breath caught at the view. Behind him stood a city unlike anything he'd ever imagined. A vast, truly magnificent world with skyscrapers seemingly piercing the heavens and lights glowing against the dark night.

"Where the hell am I?" he muttered quietly under his breath, running a hand through his snow-covered hair. His ears twitched slowly from time to time, trying to adjust to the cold. So, he tucked his tail in and pulled his hood up.

Now he was truly starting to shiver from the cold and trudged toward the city, hoping for some kind of warmth. His vision blurred even more at the sides, and his steps turned heavier than the last. The best shelter he managed to find was a narrow alleyway. Although it offered no warmth, it somewhat protected him from the falling snow.

"Well... this is a downgrade from home," he said to himself, rubbing his hands against his shoulders.

As soon as he thought he was safe, a sound was heard in the pitch-black darkness. Something had moved. And if he was completely honest, the last thing he needed was something trying to eat him. His heart pounded in his ears, and, not wanting to deal with it, he bolted, absolutely traumatized.

Unfortunately, he did not realize that he had fled from nothing more than a mere stray cat.

It took him far too long to find anything, let alone anyone. His body was weakening even more, and he was sure he'd collapse. Before he could manage to reach safety, his body gave out. The world tilted for the second time that day, and he fainted from hypothermia.