PROLOGUE: BLOOD BEFORE THE MOON

Long before the cities knew of werewolves...
Before the Hunters sharpened their silver...
Before the Shadow Hunters whispered about balance...
There were wolves. Wild. Untamed. Free.
And among them, there was a legend.
The Alpha — strongest of the bloodline — was said to carry the authority of the Moon herself. With a single growl, he could command dozens. With one howl, he could summon every wolf within a hundred miles. Packs bowed. Enemies knelt. The True Alpha was the law and wrath of the night.
But even the Alpha had a shadow.
The Wolf Rider.
Not chosen by bloodline. Not bound by fate.
They were chosen by fire — soul fire — that burned through weakness and forged power from pain. The first was Smith McAll, a wolf who was never meant to be anything more than an outcast — until the Soul Engine chose him.
And from that moment on, the world changed.
Wolf Riders were unlike any other:
They could control their transformations.
They had the instincts of wolves, the precision of trained killers, and the cunning of shadows.
They didn’t walk with the pack — they rode alongside it, feared by enemies and respected by Alphas.

Once every few generations, one Rider would rise.
Never many. Never weak.
Always alone.
Passed from father to son, from brother to blood, the Rider’s mantle fell last to Stefan McAll, the final known descendant of Smith’s line. He served beside the True Alpha, fought against hybrid uprisings, rode through vampire fortresses, and bled in the war that tore the Old Council apart.
But power like that never goes unnoticed.
And it never goes unchallenged.
Stefan vanished after the Battle of Daggerwind. Some say he was killed by the Shadow Court. Others claim he rode into the spirit realm itself, taking his Soul Engine into the void.
For years, the world grew quiet. The Riders became myth. Packs rose and fell. Alphas warred. Vampires ruled cities. And the world forgot who it once feared most.
But legends do not die. They wait.
And somewhere, beyond the veil of human sight and supernatural law, a whisper has returned:
“The Rider is coming back.”
This time, the past is not enough to contain him.
This time... he won’t ride alone.

Not with vampires ruling the nightclubs in the north.


Not with hybrids selling enchantments out of stolen church crypts.


And certainly not with a new moon rising — red, thick, and wrong.


Far beneath the heart of the city, below the collapsed tunnels of Oldrail, a cage long buried began to crack. It was not forged by hands, but by memory — soul chains wrapped in shadow, sealed in silver, soaked in blood.


Somewhere on the surface, under a neon sky and the roar of night traffic, a man jolted awake inside a ruined church-turned-motor-garage. His hands were covered in oil and ash, but his eyes…


His breath came ragged. His back ached like fire. His fingers twitched toward the bike beside him — black, dormant, skeletal.


The voice came from the shadows. A woman stepped out — leather jacket, one silver blade at her hip, her eyes like stormlight. Rae "Bladewind" Voss.


Not since the night his soul tried to crawl out of his body and screamed a name he had never spoken aloud:


The bike beside him was Ruin Howl, dormant for years, its engine broken after Zane's last battle in the Shadow Pass. And yet, tonight… it thrummed softly.


"Something's coming," Rae said. "I scouted the North Sector. Vampires are hoarding soulstones. The Crescent Pack won't answer calls. And the witches? They're fleeing."


Zane ran his palm along the front fork of the bike. "The Wraithborn?"


"Maybe. Or worse. Someone's waking up old things again."


"Then they'll need a reminder," he said, voice like cracked stone. "Of what happens when the old things ride back."


And for the first time in years, Ruin Howl growled to life.


And deep beneath the earth, where ash mixed with ancient blood, a voice whispered from the void:


Chapter 2 - CHAPTER TWO: SOUL IN THE ASHES