Chapter 1: The Kingdom of Shadows (Extended)
The moon hung in the sky like an icy dagger, suspended between drifting clouds. Its pale light tried to touch the castle, yet the moment it reached the black stones, it seemed to wither and die. The fortress was no ordinary place—it was built of darkness itself. Blood clung to its gates, and the howls of wolves still echoed in its walls like ghosts that refused to leave.
In the courtyard, hundreds of soldiers stood in rigid lines. None dared raise their heads. For in these lands, to lift one's gaze meant to risk meeting the King's eyes. And the King's eyes… were not amber like most wolves', but two abysses filled with endless night.
Inside the throne hall, silence pressed against the walls. Only the crackle of torches could be heard, and even their flames seemed trapped, unable to spread light. Kaelan sat upon his throne. The throne itself was so vast and jagged that it made the man seated upon it look less like a king and more like a creature born of shadows.
The black cloak that draped over his broad shoulders fell heavy to the ground. Shadows clung to his face, hiding most of his expression, but the soldiers knew well enough what lay beneath. Even when Kaelan was not looking at them, they felt seen, judged, weighed.
None of the soldiers breathed too loudly. Kaelan fed on silence. He thrived on fear. And fear, to him, was the only unbreakable bond. Love could shatter. Loyalty could falter. But fear? Once it sank into the veins, it never left.
Then the great doors burst open. A gust of cold wind swept into the chamber. Two guards stumbled in, covered in blood and sweat, and fell to their knees.
"Your Majesty!" one gasped, voice trembling. "At the northern border… a clan has appeared. They…" His voice cracked. His eyes never dared lift from the ground. "They refuse to kneel."
For a moment, deathly silence fell.
Kaelan's lips curled into a smile—sharp, cold, cruel. It was more frightening than rage.
"They refuse," he repeated softly, almost tasting the words. His hand clenched the armrest. Stone cracked beneath his grip, pieces falling to the floor. The soldiers flinched.
Rising from the throne, Kaelan loomed tall, his cloak sweeping behind him like a wave of darkness. The air itself grew colder. Torches flickered in protest.
"So they have not forgotten the prophecy," he said, his voice a growl that carried through the stone walls.
The word alone drained color from the soldiers' faces. They all knew the tale: the Alpha King would not be brought down by armies, nor by steel—but by a wolf not of his own blood.
Kaelan's voice thundered like a storm.
"Prophecies are not fate. My destiny is mine to carve."
Yet fate had already set its claws upon him. Even as he spoke, the first steps of his downfall echoed across the mountains. For from the north, the foreign clan was already moving toward his throne.
And among them walked a wolf with silver eyes—eyes that would pierce through his shadows and bring the first light he had ever known.