The night's breath was cold, a razor-sharp wind scraping against the stone walls of Frostfang's citadel. Inside the war council hall, lanterns flickered in a solemn vigil, their flames dancing over maps inked with the scars of too many battles. Every surface bore the weight of an empire holding its breath.
Aldric Moonbane stood alone at the head of the war table, the crested wolf insignia of his house glinting faintly upon his cloak. His presence was like a storm trapped within human skin, every line of his face drawn taut with a heavy nobility — and a rage that simmered beneath. His wolf, Luceris, pulsed just under the surface, a constant reminder that he was no mere Alpha, but the one Lycan of prophecy — the ruler destined to unite and break nations alike.
Rowena stood quietly nearby, her pale hair catching the light like spun moonlight, her blue eyes haunted yet strong. The connection between them was unmistakable, a bond neither distance nor war could break. She watched Aldric with a softness born of trust, even as the room was suffused with the scent of fear and coming battle.
"Will you send a messenger to the mountain clans?" she asked, voice low but certain.
Aldric's jaw clenched. "I will. They owe me a debt, and now is the time to collect."
He placed one finger on a village drawn in red upon the map, eyes darkening as memories twisted through him. The villagers there had once turned him away when his power slept, treating him as a pariah. But now, their only hope rested on his name. The irony cut deeper than a blade.
Rowena moved closer, her warmth breaking through his thoughts. "You cannot let their betrayal cloud your mind," she murmured. "If you stand divided, your enemies will seize the fracture."
His eyes found hers, the shadows of heartbreak and loyalty fighting inside him. "You speak as though you know my heart better than I do."
She smiled — a tiny, tremulous thing. "I do."
For a moment, the world felt bearable.
The doors to the hall burst open, and a voice rang through with the tremor of news born of terror.
"Your Majesty — assassins have struck!"
Aldric spun, Luceris awakening in his veins with a burn like wildfire. The messenger fell to his knees, breathless and sweat-soaked.
"Where?" Aldric barked.
"The training ground — one of the wolf-born warriors, my lord! They tried to poison the Second Queen!"
The words slammed into Aldric like a lance. Rage rose so violently in his chest that for a moment, he feared the wolf within would break free in an unstoppable fury. Rowena's hand upon his arm steadied him, but only barely.
"Where is she?" he growled.
"Safe," the messenger assured, eyes wide. "They failed."
Aldric did not hesitate. With movements like a rolling thunderstorm, he swept past the council table, drawing his sword — its silver-steel edges singing a promise of retribution. He stalked down the candlelit hallways, the shadows clawing at the edges of his rage.
As he reached the courtyard, the night exploded into noise — guards dragging a bloodied figure into the torchlight. The would-be assassin, barely more than a boy, snarled in defiance, eyes wild and unrepentant.
Aldric approached, his footsteps cracking against the stones like thunder. One glance, and the young wolf-born fell silent, a tremor of animal terror sliding across his face.
"Who sent you?" Aldric asked, voice low as the grave.
The assassin spat blood, refusing to answer.
Rowena stepped forward, her aura gentle yet steel-edged, like a blossom sprouting from winter ice. "Tell us, and perhaps you will live."
But the assassin only laughed, a wet, broken sound. "The King's Crown will fall, Lycan. Even you cannot save her."
Aldric's lips curled back in a feral snarl, Luceris rising through him with barely leashed violence. "Who sent you?"
No answer.
Rowena laid a hand on Aldric's shoulder. "Let him live — for now," she whispered. "His tongue may loosen in the dungeons."
Aldric hesitated, then nodded once. "Throw him in the Iron Hold," he commanded.
As the guards dragged the struggling youth away, Aldric turned back to the courtyard, staring into the night where storm clouds massed upon the horizon. The wind tugged at his cloak, whispering of prophecies and blood yet to come.
The next morning arrived with a cruel bite, frost glistening like shattered glass across the kingdom's ramparts. Frostfang felt poised on the edge of a blade, every wolf-born warrior holding their breath, waiting for a sign.
In the royal chambers, Aldric stood by the tall arched window, watching the sunrise. The dawn looked bruised, streaked in copper and crimson, a sign that violence had not yet spent its fury.
Rowena moved beside him, robes whispering over the polished floor. "You hardly slept."
Aldric nodded. "I cannot. The more I see, the more I fear we will never know peace."
She leaned against his side, breathing in his scent, a blend of pine and snow and something wilder, something eternal. "Then we fight for peace," she whispered. "We cannot run from war if the world was built on it."
Aldric's eyes closed for a heartbeat, feeling the ache of all he'd lost. Parents murdered, childhood stolen, kingdom turned to ashes — and yet, by some twist of fate, he had survived to stand here, crowned in vengeance.
When he opened his eyes again, resolve burned in them like a roaring star.
"We will gather every kingdom that bows to the wolf," he said, voice iron-clad. "We will break the men who sent knives in the night."
Rowena smiled, fierce and unshakable. "Then let us begin."
Together, they stepped away from the window, shadows and light twisting around them as they strode through the corridor — ready to rally wolves, kings, and empires alike under a banner that could no longer be ignored.