The creature slammed into the iron gate like a storm.
Metal screeched.
Stone cracked.
Soldiers stumbled backward, shields raised. Wolves shifted shape with violent snaps of bone, claws striking sparks off the ground.
Their transformations were fast — one heartbeat of Lunir Blood, and human bodies became weapons of fur and fang.
Riven's breath caught in his throat.
This wasn't a wolf.
It was something wrong.
Larger than a normal werewolf.
Fur black as tar, dripping like liquid shadow.
White eyes glowing with hunger and hatred — eyes with no Lunir Blood at all.
Garrick's roar cut through the panic:
"HALBERDS UP! HOLD THE LINE!"
Steel lowered. Shields locked.
Silver tips glimmered — silver slowed healing, the only metal besides Nullstone that could wound wolves deeply.
The beast lowered its head—
then jumped, clearing the line of halberds and slamming onto the courtyard stones with a roar that sent lanterns crashing.
Screams rippled through the air.
Wolves attacked, blades flashed, fangs tore.
The creature swatted a wolf aside like a child kicking a toy. Three soldiers flew backward, armor denting against the wall.
The torches flickered out.
Riven's blood went cold.
Is this what ferocious form looks like…?
A monster with no mind?
No control?
Only destruction?
His hands shook.
Something inside him answered — a heat, a pulse of Lunir Blood begging to shift, to grow claws and tear back.
"Riven! MOVE!" Rowan grabbed his arm, voice cracking.
Riven forced himself to breathe.
Lyra was behind them.
Rowan was unarmed.
If they died, it would be his fault.
He stepped forward.
One step.
The creature's head snapped toward him.
White eyes met gold.
Something ancient shivered inside Riven—
a pulse under his ribs,
a heat behind his eyes,
Lunir Blood awakening for the first time.
A voice in his blood whispered to let go.
No.
Not here. Not now.
He forced it down.
Garrick charged first, silver armor gleaming under moonlight — silver armor was rare; only commanders wore it, handcrafted to resist claws.
"ON ME!"
Garrick collided with the creature like a battering ram.
Claws screeched across his armor.
He drove a shoulder strike into its chest, pushing the monster back several steps.
Still—
the beast did not fall.
King Edran joined the front, blade flashing like silver lightning.
His strikes were clean, controlled, every cut carving deep into black fur.
For a moment, the courtyard believed they might win.
Then the creature inhaled.
A deep, unnatural breath — not Lunir Blood… something corrupted.
It opened its mouth—
—and a wave of blackened air blasted outward.
Lanterns shattered.
Flames died.
Soldiers choked.
Wolves stumbled — their shifting faltered, Lunir Blood choking inside their veins.
Lyra screamed.
Rowan dropped to one knee, coughing.
The beast locked eyes on them—
and charged.
Riven moved without thinking.
He stepped between the monster and his friends, arms raised, ready to be torn apart.
But the killing blow never landed.
A blur of movement struck the creature from the side, hard enough to crack bone.
Silence slammed across the courtyard.
A man stood between Riven and the monster.
Hooded.
Unarmed.
Calm.
Riven recognized him instantly.
Valen.
He didn't roar.
He didn't transform.
He simply fought.
A twist of his wrist snapped the beast's elbow.
A knee shattered its ribs.
A palm strike to the chest sent it sliding across the stone.
It wasn't strength.
It was precision — perfect use of Lunir Blood without shifting form.
The monster staggered, coughing blood.
Rowan whispered, voice shaking,
"W-what is he…?"
Riven didn't reply.
Because every wolf in Wolfheart knew.
Valen Wolfhart could kill monsters without becoming one.
The creature lunged for him, claws extended.
Valen stepped aside, caught its arm, and slammed it onto the courtyard stones.
The impact shook dust from the walls.
The beast writhed, trapped beneath his boot.
The courtyard went silent.
Then Valen spoke—quiet, controlled.
"Who did this to you?"
His voice wasn't loud.
Only Riven, closest to him, heard it.
The creature's white eyes trembled — just for a moment —
as if someone trapped inside begged for release.
Then the eyes turned black.
Its body convulsed — veins bulging like dark ropes.
Lunir Blood collapsed — replaced by something unnatural.
Valen stepped back instantly.
"Everyone—MOVE!"
Soldiers dove for cover.
Riven shielded Rowan and Lyra.
The creature burst — not into flesh or blood —
but into black ash that scattered into the wind.
Corrupted wolves didn't die human.
They died empty.
Silence followed.
A terrifying silence.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
Riven's knees shook.
Turning to ash… shouldn't be possible.
King Edran approached, sword dripping.
"Valen."
Valen didn't turn. "Bloodfang."
Gasps spread across the courtyard.
Garrick's fists tightened. "They're experimenting again."
Edran sheathed his sword. "Then something has changed. And war may be closer than we thought."
Valen finally faced Riven.
Sixteen years of distance.
Sixteen years of silence.
His voice was low.
"Riven… go home."
Riven swallowed hard.
"Is it happening again? Another war?"
Valen didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Everyone understood.
---
In the Trees
Far outside the castle walls, a second pair of white eyes watched from a high branch.
Not beast.
Not corrupted.
Human.
A girl lowered her hood, revealing crimson-black hair and red eyes glowing faintly beneath moonlight.
Nyra Bloodfang.
Pure Lunir Blood in her veins — stronger than most wolves, but hidden behind a gentle face.
She whispered to herself:
"So… this is the boy."
Without a sound, she disappeared deeper into the forest —
long before any wolf sensed her presence.
War was waking.