POV: Rogue King – Xalor
The sky above the Northern Wastes bled crimson. The Blood Moon had not yet risen, but even the stars seemed to shiver behind the heavy clouds that swirled across the mountaintops like omen-filled smoke.
Inside the dark stone fortress of Dreadspire, torches flickered violently against the wind howling through the cracked walls. It wasn't cold wind—it was ancient. Alive. Whispering things only he could hear.
King Xalor, the self-proclaimed Rogue King, stood shirtless at the edge of a jagged balcony, his arms outstretched as the wind licked across the deep scars lining his back—reminders of the chains he once wore as a captured wolf… before he had slaughtered those who thought they could tame him.
His crimson eyes flared open.
"She will awaken tonight."
He turned, stalking back into the hall where his generals waited—dozens of vicious, banished wolves, their eyes glowing in the dim firelight.
Xalor's voice was quiet, but it thundered in every corner of the fortress.
"There's a girl. Born on the Blood Moon. A prophecy older than Selene's temples."
He picked up a piece of ancient parchment from the table. The writing was faded, scrawled in blood-ink:
"The white wolf shall rise with Selene's breath in her veins. With the sword forged in blood and moonfire, she will be the death of kings… or the salvation of war."
"She is the key," Xalor snarled, eyes narrowing. "Selene's little puppet. Her precious avatar. I've seen her in my visions. A white wolf… with a red sword in her hands. She glows like the moon. And her eyes…"
He exhaled slowly, as if the memory burned. "Her eyes see straight through me."
General Rhazek stepped forward. "Do you believe she's in the Silverstone pack?"
"I know she is," Xalor replied coldly. "They've hidden her. But no longer."
He turned to his soldiers—rogues marked with tattoos of death and betrayal, beasts bound only by fear and his word.
"Go to the Silverstone borders. Take every she-wolf of age. Every girl turning eighteen beneath the Blood Moon. Bring them to me."
There was a pause.
"But… what if we take the wrong one?" one of the warriors asked.
Xalor smiled, fangs gleaming. "It won't matter. The moment I see her—I'll know."
His generals began to shift, growling, readying their armor and blades. The war drums started to pound like a second heartbeat across the stone.
The Rogue King walked to the center of the room and dropped to one knee before the massive red-stained altar of Selene—a mockery of her purity, now covered in ash and sacrifice.
"Tonight," he whispered, voice trembling with hunger, "I take what the Goddess tried to keep from me. Her sword. Her light. Her avatar."
He stood, fire flickering in his eyes. "She'll either bow… or burn."
He raised a silver blade and pointed it toward the blood-red sky.
"By the next moonrise, the girl will be mine."
His men howled, the sound shaking the fortress, echoing across the ravines and toward Silverstone's sleeping borders.
As Xalor turned back to the map of the territory, a slow, twisted smile curved his lips.
"I've been waiting for you… little wolf."