Chapter 1: The Howling Silence
The moon hung low, heavy and pale like a dying eye in the night sky. Mist licked the forest floor, curling around the boots of the man who stood still as stone on the cliff's edge. Below, the valley was blanketed in darkness — not the kind that came with night, but something thicker. Hungrier.
Draven stood alone, arms crossed over his chest, a black leather coat fluttering gently in the wind. His silver eyes — unnaturally sharp even in human form — scanned the distant treeline. He didn't need to see to know what had happened down there. He could smell it: ash, copper, and sorrow.
Burned homes. Broken families. Blood.
Another village lost.
A soft crunch behind him.
He didn't need to turn. The scent of pine needles, old books, and slow-burning incense announced Amoga's presence before the man spoke.
"They didn't leave survivors this time," Amoga said quietly, stepping up beside him. His face was lined with fatigue, and his robe was marked with dried blood near the cuffs. "Twelve dead. Three of them children."
Draven's jaw clenched.
"They were ferals?" he asked.
Amoga nodded grimly. "Eyes glowing red. Skin stretched. Half-shifted and foaming. Controlled, not turned naturally."
Draven closed his eyes. Rauthar. His brother's madness ha
d reached new depths.
"Where were the villagers' guards?"
"Dead before they could shift. Someone disabled their lunar sigils."
Draven's hands curled into fists. Only someone with deep pack knowledge could do that.
"We need to reinforce the outer settlements," Amoga said. "We can't be everywhere, but we can at least prepare them—"
"No," Draven interrupted. "Preparation is no longer enough."
He turned to face Amoga, silver eyes glowing faintly with a moonlit gleam. "We hunt him now. We bring the pack together. We stop waiting for him to strike."
Amoga was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded.
"I'll call the others."
By the time they returned to the Hollow — the Moonbound Pack's hidden base — the others were already gathered in the stone circle. Lit by braziers and moonlight, the ancient clearing thrummed with old magic.
Kira, barely twenty and fast as wind, leaned against a boulder, chewing on dried meat and looking bored. Thorne, towering and silent, stood with arms folded, face hidden in shadow. They were warriors, loyal and battle-scarred.
As Draven entered, they straightened. Not out of fear — out of respect. He didn't command it. He earned it.
He stepped into the center of the circle and let the silence settle like a blanket.
"Rauthar's pack struck again," he said. "This time, they left no one."
No reaction — just clenched jaws and tightened grips.
"He's not building a force. He's building an army," Draven continued. "And he's not just turning wolves. He's corrupting them. Feralizing them. Turning them into weapons."
Kira growled low in her throat. "So we fight back, yeah? Burn their nests. Kill them first."
Draven shook his head. "We don't fight like he does. We don't slaughter blindly. That's what separates us."
"And if they come for us?" Thorne rumbled.
"They will," Draven replied. "But not tonight."
He paused. Then added, "Tomorrow, we ride. We find the Northern ruins — the old moon shrine. There's something Rauthar is searching for there. If we get to it first, we may have a way to stop the Blood Eclipse."
The name hit like thunder.
Kira whispered, "That's just a myth…"
Amoga looked grim. "Not anymore."
Later that night, unable to sleep, Draven stood at the edge of the Hollow, watching the stars.
He didn't hear the newcomer until she was a few feet behind him.
"Nice speech," she said, voice low and sharp.
Draven turned.
She stepped into the moonlight.
Tall. Fierce. Wrapped in a dark cloak, mud on her boots, a silver scar trailing her cheek like lightning frozen mid-strike.
Fenra.
He didn't know her. But her scent told him enough.
She was a werewolf.
She was powerful.
And she was an Alpha.
"You're far from your territory," he said evenly.
"I have no territory," she replied. "Not anymore."
He studied her. She didn't flinch.
"Then what do you want?"
"To help you kill Rauthar," she said simply.
Draven didn't speak.
"I was part of his army," Fenra continued. "Before I realized he's not building a new world — he's burning the old one. He'll wipe out the humans. Then the wolves who disagree. Then everything."
Draven's fingers twitched.
"And why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't," she said, stepping closer. Her eyes gleamed — the same eerie, mirrored shine as his. "But if you don't, he wins."
Their gazes locked. Two Alphas. Two storms waiting to crash.
"I don't take orders," Draven said.
"Neither do I," she replied.
A pause. Then a smirk.
"But I fight real good."
Draven looked away, lips twitching.
"Fine. You run with us."
She raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?"
"No. Not 'just like that.' I'll watch you," he said, voice like steel. "One wrong move, and you'll regret it."
Fenra smiled.
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
Above them, the moon pushed through the clouds — glowing brighter, as if watching.
The storm had begun.
[END OF CHAPTER 1]