The moon hung at its peak, and the rain had eased to a gentle drizzle.
Far beyond the city, on cold, icy waters, a private shipyard came into view at the port.
Many ships lay anchored, swaying subtly with the waves.
Among them, one warship—larger than the rest—stood out prominently.
On its metallic decks, figures in tactical uniforms hurried toward the airstrip.
Helicopters waited there, their rotors thrashing the chilly wind into a deafening roar.
Amid the chaos, a gray-haired man was escorted toward one of the gunships.
"Hurry! We must secure the city before it's too late. Have the higher-ups enacted the curfew?" he shouted over the noise.
"Yes, sir. Everything is in order. But you still haven't told us what we're facing that requires all this," the officer beside him replied as they ducked beneath the spinning blades to board.
"Trust me—you don't want to know," the older man said with a grim shake of his head, slipping on noise-canceling headphones.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The city lay silent, as though abandoned.
An emergency curfew had been declared without warning. Radios broadcast urgent warnings of a viral leak and an impending epidemic. No one dared venture outside.
But something far more terrible prowled the darkened streets.
Lycans.
The outbreak story was nothing but a cover.
Atop a high-rise building, four figures stood in silence, watching the approaching helicopters.
Their trench coats whipped in the wet wind; their faces were etched with gloom.
"Were all our efforts in vain? Why is this happening?" Ivanov burst out, unable to contain himself.
He clenched his teeth, fighting an inner struggle as his body spasmed occasionally.
The others remained quiet, yet they felt the same torment.
Liam had already told them what had happened—though he hadn't needed to. They had all heard the howl.
Of anyone, they felt its consequences most deeply: the irresistible urge to join.
Anyone bound by the blood oath felt the pull.
*Drink of thy blood, eat of thy flesh, and ye shall become one.*
Ivanov glared at the moon in frustration and let out a low grunt.
"Dylan, how's the search?" Vij asked the man whose eyes were closed in concentration.
Among the forerunners, each possessed unique gifts granted by mysterious means. Dylan was the invisible thread binding them—the quiet one, yet deadly in the realm of the mind.
"Hmm." He opened his eyes, severing the connection. "Still nothing. It's as if he's deliberately evading us."
"How? He never hid before," Alexander muttered, frowning.
"Then was then; now is now. The lord is no longer the mindless beast that once failed to reason. Perhaps this gives us insight into what we've truly wrought," Vij replied.
The helicopters drew nearer, drowning their words in rotor wash. Wind tore at their coats as the aircraft descended.
"Is this some kind of game to you?" Ivanov snarled through gritted teeth. He was suffering the most tonight.
It was a full moon, and unlike the others, he had chosen the primal path and walked it to its extreme.
Every lycan kin felt the instinctual pull, but for him it was overwhelming.
The others watched as fur sprouted beneath his coat and his muscles shifted unnaturally.
"What if… what if they take him from us? They took him… they burned us out… they…" Ivanov's words dissolved into incoherent growls. His eyes darkened, widening in horror and grief as madness gripped him.
"They will do no such thing, brother."
Vijaya stepped forward, cradling Ivanov's trembling head firmly.
"Look at me!" he commanded.
The order cut through the lunacy. Ivanov stilled; his pale pupils focused on Vijaya's steady gaze.
"We shall never be weak again," Vijaya whispered.
Ivanov glanced at the others, who watched him with concern.
"Yes… never," he answered with a nod, composure returning.
"Never," Vijaya echoed, loosening his grip gently.
Some traumas never fully fade.
"I… I think I know where he's heading," Alexander said once calm had returned.
Realization flashed across the others' faces.
"Dylan."
"I'm on it," Dylan replied before the request was spoken.
Their attention shifted to the delegation disembarking from the gunships—figures hooded in trench coats.
The forerunners waited as the group approached.
"Great lords," the leader intoned, bowing his head and extending one palm from forehead to chest in the ritual gesture of their order, the others mirroring him precisely.
"Excellent," Vijaya acknowledged.
"Put the herd to sleep," he ordered.
Tonight was going to be a long night.