Long before the moon cracked and the world learned fear, the Crescent Fang Pack lived in certainty.
Alpha Kaelion Moonrend ruled from the Stone Rise with unquestioned authority. His strength was not merely physical but absolute, a dominance so complete that rival packs kept their distance without challenge. Under his command, borders held firm, wars ended quickly, and peace endured longer than any elder remembered. At his side stood Luna Elyra Moonwhisper, whose bond to the Moon Goddess was spoken of in reverent tones. It was said the moon listened when she prayed and answered when she wept. Together they were called the Sovereign Mates, a union the elders believed would not be seen again for centuries.
That belief made them careless.
The night of the seasonal council was meant to be a celebration. Fires burned high in the great stone clearing, their glow reflecting off polished weapons and proud faces. Warriors laughed freely. Elders spoke of prosperity. Elyra, heavy with child, sat beside Kaelion upon the elevated stone, one hand resting over her womb as warmth flowed through their bond.
Then the wind died.
The laughter faltered. The fires dipped low as though bowing. A silence fell so sudden it felt forced, unnatural. The forest leaned inward, branches creaking as if something unseen had crossed its threshold.
An old man stepped into the clearing.
He wore no pack markings. His robes were grey and threadbare, clinging to a body bent not just by age but by burden. Long white hair framed a face lined deeply, his eyes clouded and unfocused as though sight had long abandoned him. Yet when he lifted his head, every wolf present felt it.
He saw them.
A murmur rippled through the council. Elders stiffened. Warriors reached for weapons.
Kaelion rose slowly, power rolling outward like a warning tide. "You stand on sacred ground uninvited," he said, his voice calm but edged with lethal promise. "State your purpose."
The old man did not bow. He did not flinch. His blind gaze passed over Kaelion, over the elders, and fixed itself upon Elyra.
The Luna inhaled sharply. The bond shuddered.
"The moon has already spoken," the old man said, his voice dry and cracked yet carrying effortlessly across the clearing. "You gather in certainty while fate sharpens its blade."
An elder stepped forward in anger. "You will not poison this pack with riddles."
The old man smiled. It was not kind.
"Two hearts beat where one fate should exist," he said. "One is born of ruin. One is born of restraint. Together, they will break the law of the moon before they learn its name."
A ripple of unease spread through the pack.
Kaelion's eyes burned gold. "Enough."
The old man raised a trembling hand.
The moon dimmed.
Not eclipsed. Dimmed.
Fear swept through the clearing, raw and instinctive.
"When the first howls, the world will tremble," the old man continued. "When the second stands, the shaking will cease. Calamity and Sentinel will share one blood, one bond, one beginning."
Elyra cried out as pain surged suddenly through her, sharp and undeniable.
"When the Calamity loses what anchors his soul," the old man said, his voice lowering, "he will tear himself apart. And when that happens, the Sentinel will walk alone through ash and grief, chasing a soul the moon refuses to let rest."
Silence followed, thick and suffocating.
Kaelion crossed the distance in a heartbeat, his hand closing around the old man's throat. The ground cracked beneath his feet. "You will leave," he growled. "Now."
The old man did not resist. "You cannot outrun what has already been born," he said softly. "Not even you, Moonrend."
The wind surged.
Ash and dust exploded through the clearing, fires extinguished in an instant. Wolves cried out, stumbling backward. When the air cleared, the old man was gone.
Eldric of the Withered Sight had vanished.
Above them, unseen cracks spread slowly across the moon's surface.
That same night, Elyra's labor began.
The birthing den shook as power surged through the air, ancient stone walls groaning under pressure no ritual could contain. Elders crowded the chamber, their staffs glowing faintly as they tried to steady what refused control. Kaelion stood near the entrance, fists clenched, blood sliding down his palms where his nails had bitten into flesh.
When the first child was born, the moon darkened completely.
The forest screamed. Roots split beneath the soil. The den trembled violently as shadows bent toward the newborn like living things. The child did not cry. Instead, a deep, resonant growl rolled from his tiny chest, vibrating stone and bone alike.
His eyes opened immediately.
Molten gold. Ancient. Aware.
An elder dropped his staff, which shattered against the stone floor.
"A calamity," he whispered. "The Moon has sent us destruction."
Kaelion felt it then. Vast. Untamed. Hungry.
Before panic could spread, Elyra cried out again.
The second child was born quietly, slipping into the world as though answering a call rather than forcing his way through it. The tremors slowed. Shadows loosened their grip. The air steadied.
This child cried softly.
His eyes opened steel grey and calm, watching rather than demanding.
Kaelion gathered both infants into his arms.
"Sammy," he said hoarsely to the firstborn.
"Sunny," he whispered to the second.
Outside, the moon rose once more, cracked between silver and shadow. The forest would never forget its shape.
As the boys grew, their differences sharpened.
Sammy burned through life like wildfire. He ran before he walked properly, fought before he understood restraint. His emotions shook rooms and bent shadows. When he laughed, the ground vibrated faintly beneath his feet. When he raged, the air thickened, heavy with pressure.
Sunny grew in quiet contrast. He watched. He listened. He learned. Where Sammy broke rules, Sunny understood them. Where Sammy charged forward, Sunny held ground. He lost fights often, but each loss carved patience and control into his bones.
They fought constantly. Elders scolded them. Kaelion punished them. Elyra prayed over them. The pack whispered. Some feared Sammy Nightrend. Others placed hope in Sunny Ashguard.
At six, training began. Wooden weapons splintered under Sammy's strength. Sunny learned angles and timing. Fire and ash. Chaos and restraint.
The rule was clear. No shifting until sixteen.
Sammy broke it at eight.
The fight started small. A shove. A word. Sunny told him to slow down. Sammy accused him of holding back. Anger snapped free.
When Sammy shoved Sunny to the ground, something inside him shattered.
Darkness erupted.
The sky blackened as clouds spiraled unnaturally overhead. Bones cracked as Sammy shifted, shadows tearing free with him. His wolf emerged massive and wrong, obsidian fur devouring light, molten gold eyes burning with fury.
Calamity of Destruction howled.
The world trembled.
Sunny stood.
His shift came smoothly, ash grey fur marked with silver lines, eyes steady and unafraid. His wolf planted himself firmly, power radiating outward not to dominate but to stabilize.
The shaking stopped.
Chaos met restraint.
Kaelion and Elyra arrived too late to stop it.
"They should be dead," an elder whispered.
But they were not.
Beneath a fractured moon, two children stood transformed into prophecy.
And somewhere beyond sight, Eldric of the Withered Sight opened his blind eyes and smiled.