The Quiet Before the Storm
The scouts' return sent ripples through the Moonborn camp like a stone dropped in still water. Kael's maps, Mira's trap reports, and Lira's analysis confirmed the worst: the rival pack—Ironfang—was massing forces, not alone, but under secret alliance with human hunters from the southern barony of Darnholm. Worse still, the crates Kael had seen bore the crest of the Darnholm Regent himself.
The implications were grave. A direct alliance between humans and werewolves, especially of the bloodthirsty Ironfang, violated every unspoken accord of balance between the wildborn and the human world.
Inside the stone hall that now served as Alaric's war chamber, tension crackled.
"Darnholm seeks war," Seris spat, pacing like a caged wolf. "And they're using the Ironfang to do their bloodletting."
"They won't strike openly yet," said Rhaegor, brow furrowed as he studied Kael's sketches. "Not without testing us first. These positions suggest raids—probing attacks to weaken and scatter."
Alaric stood at the center, hands gripping the edge of the war table. His golden eyes flicked between faces—Seris's rage, Rhaegor's caution, Lira's thoughtful silence.
"This isn't just a border skirmish," he said finally. "It's a maneuver for territory, for dominance. And it's political. Darnholm wants a war that won't dirty their hands. They want us painted as savages again."
Silence fell, broken only by the soft crackle of fire.
"So we expose them," Lira said.
Alaric turned to her. "Go on."
"Send emissaries to the other baronies. Show them the crates, the sigils, the proof. Turn the court of man against Darnholm before they can turn it on us."
Rhaegor nodded slowly. "Clever. If we can fracture their support, we isolate Darnholm. They may still strike—but without allies."
"And in the meantime," Seris added, "we fortify. We train. We prepare the pack for a war we didn't ask for but cannot avoid."
Alaric's jaw clenched. He had been reborn into this world to protect it, not plunge it into ruin. But leadership wasn't a path of peace—it was a crucible of hard choices.
"We will fight in shadow and light," he said. "Mira, Kael—scout deeper. We need to know how many Ironfang warriors they've recruited. Lira—draft the reports and prepare a diplomatic envoy. I'll speak to the baronies myself if I must."
Then he turned to the fire and whispered a vow only it could hear:
"They want the beast? Then let them see what happens when the beast has purpose."
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Later That Night...
As the camp settled into uneasy rest, Alaric stood alone under the stars. The wind brought the distant scent of steel, ash, and fear. He didn't need the fire inside him to know that the world was shifting—and that his rebirth had been timed for more than vengeance or survival.
It was time to step out of the shadows and into the role fate had carved for him.
King. Alpha. Warrior.