The silence after her command still hung in the square like a weight too heavy to lift. Wolves, fae, shifters, even humans—all had sat where they were, as if her words carried chains none could resist. And Riven, the alpha himself, had lowered onto the stone block, golden aura dimming in shock.
Only Caleb had remained standing. His bewildered face was the last thing Elara remembered before her knees weakened, breath catching in her chest.
Then Riven rose. The moment stretched, the entire square watching him. His eyes, molten gold, fixed on her with a heat that could have burned through stone.
"It's time to get you trained," he said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "To understand your power. Before it destroys you—or all of us."
Whispers rippled through the gathered survivors. Torvee clutched Jonah tighter, Garrett and Amber exchanged a glance, and even the fae elders bowed their heads.
Elara swallowed hard, but no words came.
And then the alarm howls split the air.
--
The sound came from the gorge—raw, urgent, the kind of howl that snapped every wolf into motion. Within seconds, warriors in fur and flesh were sprinting toward the passes. The humans grabbed their weapons in panic, scrambling to the barricades.
Riven's voice cut above the chaos. "Ferals. Already pressing the gorge."
The words turned the air colder. The ferals weren't supposed to push again so soon.
Clint swore under his breath, fumbling to load his gun. Kara and Elise darted to the wall, crossbows in hand, their faces pale but set. Jonah clung to Torvee's arm, wide-eyed but refusing to be dragged inside.
Elara's heart hammered. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to hide—but instead, her hand closed around the haft of her weapon. She wasn't going to watch from the shadows.
---
The gorge mouth roared with snarls and shrieks as the first wave of ferals hurled themselves at the barricades. Claws raked wood, teeth gnashed, eyes glowed sickly yellow in the torchlight. The smell hit next—blood and rot, so strong it made the stomach turn.
The wolves met them head-on. Garrett shifted mid-stride, fur bursting across his skin, bones stretching until a massive grey wolf struck the first feral with crushing force. Amber wasn't far behind, a flash of tawny fur and white fangs. More of the pack followed, forming a living wall.
Arrows hissed through the air. Bullets cracked. A feral collapsed with a shriek as Kara's bolt buried in its eye. Elise fired cool and steady, her catlike grace already seeping through her movements. Even Clint's shaky shots began to land as the line thickened.
But for every feral that fell, more scrambled up from the rocks, snarling, foaming, snapping at one another in their frenzy.
Elara pressed forward behind the line, weapon gripped tight. Her hands trembled, not from fear alone but from something hotter—a pulse under her skin, a silver heat that built with every howl of the ferals, every cry of the wolves.
---
The line buckled when a feral smashed against a weak section of the barricade. Two humans dropped their weapons, panic in their eyes.
"No—no, I can't—" one stammered.
The wolves growled, struggling to hold back the rush. Fear surged like wildfire.
And then Elara shouted.
"Hold the line!"
Her voice cut through the chaos—and silver light flared. It spread from her like a wave, shimmering faintly in the air. Wolves stiffened, their snarls sharper, their claws cutting deeper. Garrett's wounded shoulder stopped bleeding, his strikes renewed. Amber leapt higher, faster, tearing through two ferals at once.
Even the humans felt it. The panicked men straightened, their eyes clearing, their grips steadying on their weapons. Fear bled away, replaced by resolve.
Elara gasped, realising it wasn't just words. It was her. Her aura.
Silver moonlight poured across the barricade, and the tide turned.
---
Garrett snarled with renewed fury, glancing back long enough to see Elara glowing faintly silver in the torchlight. His eyes widened, but he didn't falter.
Amber's gaze flicked to her as well, awe mingled with wariness. The whispers started among the fae watching from behind the line. "Lunara." The word passed from mouth to mouth.
Torvee's hand tightened on Jonah's shoulder. He whispered, "She's… making them stronger."
And Riven, standing a few feet from her, golden eyes locked on her every move. He hadn't joined the fray—he didn't need to. He was watching her, measuring her, as though the outcome of the battle depended not on the ferals, but on her.
---
Caleb was at her side, bow clutched in his hands. He didn't glow, didn't bend beneath her aura—but he felt it. He saw the way others straightened, the way fear evaporated, the way even hardened warriors fought like men possessed.
"Elara," he said hoarsely, between shots, "do you even see what you're doing?"
She shook her head, breathless. "I… I don't know."
But she couldn't stop. The silver inside her pulsed with every shout, every word. Her voice carried weight now, not just in command but in strength.
---
The ferals faltered. Bodies piled at the barricades, and still they snarled, but their charge slowed. A few turned on each other in frustration, tearing at throats with wild abandon. The wolves pressed them harder, unified by the silver glow that clung to their fur like mist.
One last feral lunged through a gap, jaws wide. Elara swung her weapon without thinking. The blow cracked across its skull, dropping it where it stood. The entire line held.
For the first time that night, the ferals pulled back, slinking into the trees, their howls echoing in retreat.
---
The defenders panted, bloodied and shaking. Wolves licked their wounds, humans leaned on their weapons, fae whispered in their lilting tongues. The silver glow faded, but its echo lingered in every chest—strength, resolve, unity.
Riven stepped forward at last. His gaze swept the barricade, then fixed on Elara.
"This," he said, voice carrying to every ear, "is Lunara's power. The moon strengthens us through her. And this is only the beginning."
Elara stood frozen, heart hammering. The pack, the fae, even the humans—all stared at her. Not with fear alone. With something heavier. Expectation.
And she knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same again.