-The Narrator's POV-
Here we go!
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They broke from the mouth of the cave just as the last light of dusk bled into the icy ridges. The air was sharp with the scent of blood and panic.
Behind them, the howls rose—closer than before. They had left a trail of wounded behind them, and the pack was closing in.
Kael tapped the emergency rune on his wrist.Kael to Citadel. Emergency return. Three injured. One combatant. Multiple hostiles inbound.
They had fought through the northern slopes—half-frozen, half-blind in the snow, and overwhelmed. The envoys had been ambushed while crossing the ravine. They fought back—barely survived—and lost many.
Now, Kael was carrying the last hope of their mission on my back: a wounded Inner Hall disciple, barely breathing. Another envoy clung to Alan's side. She was limping, blood seeping from her leg, but her focus never wavered."We're too slow," she panted. "They're gaining.""They're feral," Kael said. "Starving. They've lost reason. They're hunting by blood now."Alan's voice was rough. "Let me stay behind. I can cover you. You'll move faster without me.""Shut up," Kael snapped. "That's not happening.""I'm slowing you down, Kael—""Your safety is also as much important."
They were approaching a split in the trail. The moonlight barely reached through the twisted boughs above, but Kael knew this terrain better than most. And he had to make a decision.
"We're not making it with all of them," he said, stopping. He glanced at Alan, then at the envoy he carried. "I'm going to draw them off."
Alan's eyes widened. "No. You can't—""I have to," He cut her off. "There's no time."She grabbed his hand, her fingers trembling. "Kael... you might not make it back."He squeezed her hand gently. "You get them to the citadel. You must live. I'll be back.""But—""I'll find you." He offered her a half-smile and turned. "Take the eastern path. Hide your trail. I'll meet you at the hidden corridor near the south gate. If I don't show up when you get there, go inside first. Ensure your safety and I'll come to you."
Kael didn't wait for a reply and was already running—back into the dark. Behind him, He could hear Alan whispering words of protection over the injured. And then He was gone—leaving them behind, drawing the scent trail with him.
He dashed into the ravine, coating his boots with swamp ash to mask their trail. Then, using an ancient rune to scatter wind currents around the rocks, he made sure the strongest scent—the trail of blood and sweat—led only to him.
The first growl echoed from the trees. Then the pack came.
Six. Maybe seven. Feral werewolves—blackened eyes, patchy fur, claws like broken blades. They had lost the will to think. They were nothing but hunger and rage.
And Kael was the bait.'
He sprinted through the forest, leaping between jagged stone paths, heart pounding. His blade sank through the air as the first beast lunged—and he twisted mid-leap, carving a gash across its flank before rolling down the embankment.
But there were more. Always more.
He bled on purpose. Just enough to keep them close. Just enough to make them mad.
He led them through the old battlefield ruins—where the cliffs split and the echo of screams still haunted the wind. It was isolated. High. He could end it here. For them, Kael thought. Then turned to face them.
...
The heavy gates of Chirosa opened just as the bloodied survivors stumbled through. Alan collapsed with a gasp, dragging the injured across the threshold. The guards caught them, stunned by the state they were in.
But no one dared move when the gold shimmered.A figure moved faster than light—blinding, golden-eyed fury slicing through the air like a curse.Alan was slammed against the wall. A hand tightened around her throat.
"Why do you have my brother's scent?" the voice growled, low and trembling.
Kael's scent. Golden eyes flared in feral rage as Kael's brother stood there, nearly uncontrollable, his aura screaming with threat.
Alan gasped. "I—he... told us to—run—"
The grip didn't loosen.
Then, from the shadows, a hooded figure stepped forward. She removed her cloak with calm poise, golden tattoos barely visible across her temple. Her violet eyes glowed under the moonlight, fierce and proud.
"I think that's enough."The werewolf woman stepped in front of Alan, placing a hand gently on the prince's arm."She's mine to protect."He froze. "Mother..." he murmured.She met his gaze, unflinching. "They made it back because of him. He's still out there.""And She has his scent on her. She is a werewolf." His grip tightened."I know. I am one of them too." She stressed.
The prince stared at Alan for a long moment then looked at the third queen who looked at him with conviction— he let Alan go.
She coughed, stumbling back, tears in her eyes. But she didn't fall. She watched Kael's brother stagger back with his rage barely contained.
...The wounded had barely settled within the walls of the Citadel before the atmosphere grew heavy with anticipation. The great hall—usually a place of cold marble and hushed counsel—was now filled with tension, soft moans of the injured, and hurried footsteps echoing off ancient stone.
Alan stood quietly near the entryway, her long silver hair no longer hidden beneath her cloak. Her amber eyes flickered with the gleam of moonlight as she gave orders to the attending physicians, her voice calm, steady—unnaturally so.
"Get those two to the northern wing. The Inner Disciple needs specialized treatment. Use the moon bind infusion on the third envoy—he's still bleeding internally."A nearby healer hesitated. "But my lady, only the Temple Medics are trained in—""I trained them," Alan cut sharply, already kneeling by the envoy herself. Her hands were swift and sure, her expression steel. "Unless you want another death on your hands, do as I say."
Even the most hardened guards stepped back. It wasn't just her command that stilled them.
It was her scent—powerful, primal. A pure-blooded werewolf descended from the original tribes of Zevrah.
To see her standing here—revealed, unhidden, unafraid—was enough to silence even the loudest whispers.
Alan, bruised and exhausted, leaned against the stone pillar and watched her work in a daze."She... she's his mate?" She heard whispers. "Kael's mate?" Mevira asked while instructing medicines to the staff."Confirmed recently," someone answered behind her.
Alan turned sharply—only to find Agira, leaning on the door frame.
He was still pale, the silver-laced wounds on his back hidden under bandages. But he stood tall, his posture deceptively relaxed.His eyes, however, were anything but."You're not supposed to be out of bed," Mevira said without turning."And yet, here I am," Agira answered softly. "I had a feeling."Mevira paused. "He's not back yet.""I know."
The silence between them was intimate in a way only warriors could share—the kind forged through loss, loyalty, and longing.
A sudden knock echoed through the outer gates.Three sharp pounds. Then silence.Then— Thud. The door opened.Blood. Smoke. Moonlight.
Kael stood, barely on his feet, covered in blood and ash. His armour was torn, and claw marks ran deep across his chest. But he stood, holding upright the broken hilt of his blade—and one unconscious feral werewolf over his shoulder, bound in silver chain.
Gasps spread through the corridor. Mevira and Agira came running towards him.
He looked up slowly. "You forgot your recovery party."
Agira exhaled in relief—then winced immediately at the sharp pain in his side. "You're late."
Kael gave a tired smirk. "Traffic."
Alan ran forward and caught him as he stumbled, helping to lower the prisoner onto the floor. "You idiot," she breathed, "you're reckless."
Kael didn't reply. He was too busy staring at Alan.
Their eyes met—wild gold meeting silver twilight—and momentarily, the world's chaos seemed to halt.
Alan moved forward without a word and took him in her arms, supporting his staggering form as his strength gave out.
"You did it," she whispered. "I always do," he replied faintly. "They just never notice the dramatic flair."
Mevira gave him a dirty look and Agira simply sighed, exhausted.
"Shut up," she whispered into his hair. "You're bleeding all over me.""Worth it."
Agira moved forward slowly, wincing again. "You brought one alive."
Kael nodded. "Had to. They were different. Not all of them were turned. Some were being... experimented on." Alan's head snapped up. "By whom?"
Kael's eyes darkened. "I didn't get far enough to find out. But someone's tampering with the blood rituals that are the only way to control feral vampires and rogue werewolves. Forcing the shift... and infecting weak vampires and werewolves."
Alan stepped back, wide-eyed. "Then it wasn't a simple feral outbreak.""No," Agira said grimly. "It was planted."Alan looked at the unconscious werewolf. "Then we'll find out who."
The council chamber was reopened that night—an emergency session was called as the wounded recovered and the survivors rested.
But among them, a quiet presence watched it all unfold.
From behind the veil of her hood, the girl from the Temple of Sanctity—still unnamed to most—stood silently near Agira. Her eyes moved not in fear, but in calculation.
Every word was spoken. Every decision made. Every moment of loyalty and sacrifice... She was watching it all.
-To Be Continued-
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