POV: LUNA SILVER
The red dots settle on Finn's chest like tiny evil fireflies.
My heart beats so loud it drowns every other sound.
The white-coat lady's finger curls around the trigger.
I squeeze Finn's paw.
Crystal dust from the blast still sparkles on our fur, sticking to every hair like blue sugar.
The dust tingles.
Then it burns.
Not hurt-burn—power-burn.
I feel the babies inside flip, excited.
The chip in my pocket hums louder, joining the burn.
A thought pops: maybe the dust does more than shine.
Finn's eyes meet mine.
He feels it too.
He shifts his paw slightly, brushing more dust into my fur.
Sparks jump between us—small, quiet, hidden from the humans by our bodies.
The red dots flicker.
One blinks out.
Then another.
The guns glitch, tiny lights flashing error.
The lady frowns, taps her weapon.
"Static surge," she mutters.
She doesn't know the surge is us.
I take a slow breath.
The dust answers, lifting off our fur like tiny stars.
It clings to the air, invisible in the night, drifting toward the trucks.
It lands on metal, on cages, on the nets.
Every place it touches turns blue for a heartbeat, then fades.
No human sees.
Vex inside the cage snarls.
"Shoot them already!"
The lady lifts her gun again.
This time the red dots don't appear.
The screen stays black.
She curses and waves the others forward.
"Manual capture!
Nets first!"
Four men rushed us.
Finn steps in front.
I grab his sleeve.
"Wait," I whisper.
I press my free paw against the crystal chip in my pocket.
I picture the big crystal downstairs, the beam, the power.
I beg it silently: help.
The chip answers.
A soft wave of blue light rolls out from under my hoodie.
It looks like harmless glitter.
It touches the first man's boots.
His laces knot together mid-run.
He trips face-first into the dirt.
The second man's net handle zaps him with his own static; he yelps and drops it.
The third slips on nothing, legs flying, head hitting the ground with a thud.
The fourth skids to a stop, eyes wide, unsure what just happened.
Pack wolves wake from shock.
Mara shouts, "Now!"
She throws a handful of moon powder into the air.
It bursts into bright silver mist, blinding the humans.
Milo darts between legs, biting ankles, stealing keys, unlocking cages before anyone notices.
Other pups join, small and fast, creating chaos.
Finn pulls me toward the trucks.
"Free the others first," he says.
We sprint.
Crystal dust follows like a cloud.
I slap the side of the nearest truck.
The dust races along the metal; locks pop open with tiny clicks.
Wolves inside—captured scouts—rush out, snarling, grateful.
They dive into the fight, chasing white-coats back toward the gate.
The lady leader stumbles out of the silver fog, face red.
She grabs a backup pistol—old style, no fancy lights.
She points it straight at Finn's back.
I see her over his shoulder.
No time to shout.
I yank Finn sideways.
The gun fires.
A dart whizzes past his ear, missing by a breath.
The dart lands in the truck tire behind us.
Hiss—air escapes.
The truck tilts.
More darts fly.
We duck.
Finn's paw lands on my fur again, more dust swaps.
The dust forms a thin shield, invisible but solid; darts bounce off and clatter to the ground.
We keep moving.
Vex crawls from his tipped cage, eyes wild, no fur left, just skin and scars.
He grabs a dropped net wand, swings it like a whip.
It cracks across my arm.
Pain burns.
I yelp.
Finn roars—an eleven-year-old king roar still fierce—and tackles Vex.
They roll in the dirt.
Vex is weak now, no match.
Finn pins him, panting.
"You lost," Finn growls.
"Stay down."
Vex laughs, high and cracked.
"I might be down, but humans still win.
They have backup coming.
Trucks two miles out.
You can't beat them all, pup."
Finn's face hardens.
He looks at me.
I feel the same thought: we need more than tricks.
We need the whole pack.
I climb onto the hood of the tilted truck.
Crystal dust swirls around me like a storm of blue fireflies.
I raise both paws.
My voice comes out shaky but loud.
"Pack of Pine-Paw!
The dust protects us.
Touch it!
Use it!"
Wolves pause.
They see the sparkles on their own fur now.
They feel the tingle.
Hope lights their eyes.
Adults shift into wolf form, pups climb trees to drop dust onto trucks.
Every vehicle tire knots itself or slips on invisible ice.
Doors lock shut from inside.
Guns spark and die.
The white-coat leader screams orders, but no one listens.
Her team retreats step by step toward the broken gate.
She is the last to leave, shooting angry darts that fall short.
She points at me, a promise in her eyes: this isn't over.
Humans jump into the one working truck.
The engine roars.
They speed away, leaving cages open, tools scattered, lights blinking.
The pack howls victory.
But I hear tires on distant roads—more engines, just like Vex said.
Backup coming.
Finn jumps beside me on the hood.
He grabs my paw and raises it high.
Cheers rise.
But his voice is low for only me.
"We need to close the road."
I nod.
I look at the crystal chip.
It pulses fast, urgent.
I look at the mountain above town.
I remember the prophecy vision: crystal beam sealing the pass.
I point.
"The big crystal downstairs can blast the pass shut.
I felt it."
Finn's eyes widened, then firm.
"Then we go now."
Mara runs up, breathless.
"Time?" she asks.
"Minutes," I say.
She nods and starts gathering wolves to carry the little ones uphill, away from roads.
Milos tosses me a map.
He circles the old mine shaft.
"Fastest tunnel to the heart of the mountain.
But it's narrow.
Only kids fit."
Finn and I exchange looks.
We are kids.
We know what we must do.
We jumped down.
We race across the yard.
Pack parts like grass.
We reach the trapdoor.
We drop inside.
Dark swallows us again.
We run by crystal light alone.
Dust clings to our fur, lighting the way like blue sparks on a birthday candle.
The tunnel twists down, steeper, tighter.
Walls hum louder the deeper we go.
We squeeze through a crack so narrow our shirts scrape.
We pop into a round cave.
In the center, the giant crystal stands, taller now, blazing like a star pulled from the sky.
We step close.
The hum shakes my bones.
Finn places his paw on one side, I place mine on the other.
Crystal dust on our fur jumps, connecting, forming a bridge of light between us and the stone.
I feel the mountain listen.
I feel the road above, the pass, the cracks in rock ready to shift.
I close my eyes.
I think of safety, of home, of babies not yet born.
Finn thinks the same—I know because the crystal shows me his heart.
Our thoughts braid together like tails of two wolves running side by side.
We push.
Not with muscle.
With want.
With love.
With every hope we have.
The crystal flares.
A beam shoots upward, through stone, through earth, through the night.
The mountain answers with a deep groan.
Rocks shift far above.
Dust drifts down like gray snow.
We hold on.
The beam keeps going.
My legs shake.
Finn's hand tightens on mine.
Heat floods me.
The babies kick, adding their tiny strength.
I feel them inside the light, part of the beam.
A far-off boom echoes.
Then silence.
The crystal dims.
We slump to our knees, panting.
The mountain has closed the pass with a rockfall.
No truck can enter now.
We did it.
We smile, tired but glad.
We lean against each other, fur to fur, dust settling around us like quiet applause.
Footsteps echo in the tunnel behind—Mara, Milo, others coming to tell us the road is gone, the pack is safe.
I breathed deeply for the first time all night.
Then a new sound—metal clink, soft cough.
We turn.
From the darkest corner of the cave, a figure limps into the crystal's fading light.
Vex, bloody but alive, holds a strange black device in his shaking hand.
A countdown timer on it flashes red numbers: 05… 04…
Wires trail from the device into a crack at the base of the giant crystal.
He grins through broken teeth.
"If I can't have the mountain, no one can," he rasps.
The numbers tick to 03.