The dense forest surrounding the summit was alive with the hum of ancient magic, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth. Daemon Blackwood moved silently through the shadows, his wolf senses alert to every sound, every flicker of movement.
He paused at a clearing bathed in moonlight, where a small campfire crackled softly. Around it sat a group of rugged figures—men and women marked by scars, worn clothes, and eyes hardened by exile.
These were the Lost Clans. Survivors of a purge long forgotten by most, carriers of forbidden magic and secrets.
Daemon's breath clouded the air as he stepped forward.
"Elders," he called softly.
An older woman with silver-streaked hair looked up, her eyes sharp but weary.
"Daemon Blackwood," she said. "We wondered if the stories of your return were true."
He bowed his head respectfully. "I come on behalf of the Alpha Queen. Selene."
A murmur passed through the group.
The woman studied him. "You speak of the Royal Blood?"
Daemon nodded. "The threat grows. The Abyssborn rise again, and the Shadow Fang stir in darkness. We need your knowledge, your strength."
A younger man spoke next, voice rough. "Why should we trust the Council? They cast us out, hunted our people."
Daemon's gaze was steady. "Because this war will consume us all if we remain divided."
He gestured toward the distant summit, where the flicker of campfires marked the gathering of packs.
"Selene fights not just for the throne, but for the survival of all."
The elders exchanged glances.
After a long moment, the woman spoke again.
"We will lend our strength. But on one condition."
Daemon waited.
"We reclaim our place—not as outcasts, but as protectors of the old magic."
Daemon nodded without hesitation.
"Agreed."
That night, beneath the stars, Daemon taught the Lost Clans the ancient rites—rituals of binding and protection that had been passed down through generations.
The air shimmered with power as the clans united their magic with Daemon's wolf spirit.
A bond was forged—one that would strengthen the Royal Blood's hold and ward against the coming darkness.
Back at the summit, Selene sensed the change.
The power of the Lost Clans was tangible—a beacon amidst the encroaching shadows.
She stood before the Moon Tree, clutching the amulet Kael had given her.
Her wolf stirred in harmony with the ancient magic flowing through the land.
Korren approached, eyes scanning the horizon.
"The clans have joined us," he said. "Our forces grow stronger."
Selene smiled, hope blossoming in her chest.
"Then we are ready."
Far to the east, Damien Thorn prepared his forces for the siege.
His eyes gleamed with cold fire as he surveyed his assembled warriors.
"Selene has grown stronger," he admitted.
"But so have we."
Elira stood beside him, her expression fierce.
"The northern border will fall tonight."
Damien's voice was a dark promise.
"And with it, the Queen's reign will begin to crumble."
The stage was set.
The war for the future of the packs had entered its deadliest chapter.
And Selene, the Alpha Queen, stood ready to face the coming storm.