The pit was silent except for Cathal's ragged breathing and the low growl vibrating in Elysia's chest. Dimitri's body lay in the mud, still and heavy, his lifeblood mingling with hers. The Alpha had fallen, and the pack above had fractured into pieces that might never mend.
The collector's pale eyes glittered. "So the prophecy was right. When the Alpha dies, the Ashen Wolf rises."
Elysia's claws dug furrows into the dirt. Her fur bristled, gold eyes burning with fury. "You'll regret speaking my name."
The Outsider wolves shifted uneasily, ears flattened. Even they felt the power in her voice, in the shape of her rage.
The collector smirked, though it was thinner now, wariness creeping through. "Perhaps. But words or no, you cannot fight war alone. Hand over the boy. Spare yourself."
Cathal pressed against her leg, his moonstone pendant still clutched in his fist. His voice was a whisper, desperate and certain. "Don't let him take me."
"I won't," Elysia growled, loud enough for every wolf, every traitor, every shadow to hear.
Before the collector could reply, a horn blared from deep within Shadowclaw territory. Not one note—but three. Urgent. Warning. A second front had been breached.
The collector's grin widened. "The war begins. Choose quickly." He lifted a hand, signaling his wolves.
Elysia didn't give him the chance. With a roar, she launched up the pit wall, claws sinking into earth, muscles tearing with effort. Outsiders leapt to intercept—she ripped through them, a blur of fang and fury, each strike fueled by grief and vengeance.
Cathal scrambled behind her, half-dragged, half-shoved, but his eyes never left her form—half-human, half-beast, a nightmare wrapped in firelight.
When they cleared the rim, the camp lay in chaos. Wolves turned on each other, confusion and betrayal bleeding into violence. Loyalists clashed with Kieran's faction, teeth tearing throats, claws carving into kin. The ground itself seemed to shake with the tearing apart of a once-mighty pack.
Elysia bared her fangs, her voice cutting through the din. "Kieran betrayed you!" she roared. "He let the Outsiders in! Dimitri is dead because of him!"
For a heartbeat, silence rippled. Some wolves faltered. But Kieran stepped forward, torch held high, blood splattered across his jaw.
"She lies!" he thundered. "Dimitri was weak. His death was his own making. The Ashen Wolf is no savior—she's the curse that brought the hunters down on us!"
Suspicion flared again, splitting the pack further.
Then Dimitri's healer appeared from the shadows, her face pale, voice sharp as steel. "I saw the wound! The poison was not Darkclaw's—it was crafted for the Ashen Wolf!" She pointed at Kieran, her eyes blazing. "And who but you had access to it?"
Gasps tore through the crowd.
Kieran's eyes narrowed, but his smirk returned. "You dare accuse your Beta without proof?"
"I dare," the healer spat.
The collector's wolves closed in, growls vibrating like drums. The choice hung in the air—follow Kieran's lies, or Elysia's truth.
Cathal's voice broke through, clear and piercing. "She saved me. Twice. My father is dead, but she kept me alive. If you won't follow her—then follow me!"
Every head turned. The boy, small but unbroken, stood clutching the broken moonstone like a banner. In his eyes burned the same steel Dimitri had carried.
The pack wavered, teetering between ruin and rebirth.
The collector raised his hand again, his smile cruel. "Enough games. Kill them all. Leave none alive."
The night exploded with violence.