The door buckled. Splinters rained across the floor as the beast rammed again, its claws shrieking against wood. The cottage shook with each strike, rattling jars of herbs and vials until they crashed to the ground.
Kael planted himself before the entrance, sword raised, breath steady despite the chaos. His training had prepared him for battlefields, not cottages under siege—but instinct did not falter.
"Isolde," he said sharply, eyes never leaving the door. "Windows. Bolt them."
She obeyed, rushing to shutter the small panes, though fear clawed her throat. She had faced fevers and broken bones, but this was different. This was no sickness. This was darkness given flesh.
The door gave way with a crack, and the first shadow-wolf burst through. Its body was twisted, fur matted with darkness itself, its eyes two pools of black flame. It lunged for Kael's throat.
Steel met shadow. Kael swung hard, his blade slicing across its snout. The creature recoiled, shrieking, the wound leaking not blood but smoke. Another leapt through the shattered frame, and another followed, snarls filling the cottage until the small space seemed to drown in them.
"Behind me!" Kael barked.
But Isolde did not cower. Her dagger flashed as one beast lunged her way. She ducked low, slashing across its leg. It stumbled, snapping at her, jaws inches from her arm before Kael's sword cleaved it aside.
"You're reckless," he growled, even as he cut down another.
"You're welcome," she shot back, breath ragged.
The wolves circled, their forms flickering as if half-made of smoke. For every one Kael struck down, another seemed to press through the doorway. It was endless.
Panic surged in Isolde's chest—until her hand brushed the satchel at her side. Herbs, roots, tinctures… useless against shadow. But deeper, beneath cloth and glass, lay the small vial she had sworn never to use. Moonflower essence. A rare extract, volatile, bound to her bloodline.
She hesitated only a breath before pulling it free.
"Kael!" she cried. "Hold them back!"
He spared her a glance, his sword slick with smoke. "What are you—"
No time for questions. She smashed the vial against the hearth. A flare of silver light erupted, flooding the room with brilliance so fierce the wolves shrieked as if burned. The essence caught in the fire, spreading along the floor in radiant patterns like veins of lightning.
The creatures recoiled, their bodies writhing in pain. Smoke bled from their forms as the light scorched them. With a final snarl, they scattered—some collapsing into ash, others retreating through the shattered door into the night.
Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the hearth.
Kael lowered his blade slowly, chest heaving. His pale eyes turned to her, filled with shock—and something deeper. "That… was no herb."
Isolde's hand trembled, still clutching the shard of glass from the vial. She could not deny it. The silver glow lingered in her veins, betraying her.
"No," she whispered. "It wasn't."
The prince she had saved now knew more than he should. And outside, in the forest's dark embrace, shadows carried word of what had happened.
Far away, Chancellor Varrow smiled as the whispers reached him.
The game had begun.