Chapter 6: Raven's Gambit
While Jean's name began to echo across the frontier as the "Radiant Wolf," far to the west, in the darkened halls beneath Luther Keep, Raven Luther watched from the shadows.
She stood before the shattered statue of Martin Luther in the old crypt—the one place the clan had abandoned to time. Her black hair hung damp across her face, her pale fingers curled around the hilt of her jagged blade.
She was pureblood. A true Luther by birth.
But not by recognition.
"I saw it," came a voice behind her. "Your assassins failed."
Raven didn't turn. "Of course they did. Jean isn't weak."
The man behind her leaned against a pillar—tall, lean, a cruel grin carved into his face.
Loric Duskvale. A distant cousin from a disgraced branch of the family. Banned from the Academy. Banned from honor.
"You sound proud of her," Loric sneered.
"I'm not." Raven's eyes glinted. "I'm measuring her."
Loric chuckled. "You should've sent me. I'd have brought back her head and the wolf's pelt."
"You don't kill her until I say." Raven turned now, her voice iron. "The succession is a chessboard. And Jean is no pawn. She's a queen in the making."
She paced the length of the crypt, torchlight casting her in shifting shadow.
"Charles favors her. The people whisper her name. But they don't know her. Not yet." Her blade scraped across the stone. "They will."
Loric folded his arms. "So what's your move?"
Raven smiled—cold, calculating. "If the world sees her as a saint, then I'll become the storm."
---
The next night...
A village burned along the northern ridge. Screams echoed in the hills. And carved into the ground with the bodies of the slain, in letters scorched by aura fire, were three words:
"Light is hollow."
It was signed with a symbol Jean knew well.
A black raven.
---
Meanwhile, at Fort Duskmoor…
Jean stared down at the report brought in by a scout. Her fingers clenched.
"A massacre," Freya muttered, scanning the page. "North village. Thirty dead. Marked with your name."
Jean's jaw tightened. "It wasn't me."
"I know," Freya said. "But they won't."
Jean looked up. The fire in her eyes was cold now—like steel drawn under moonlight.
"Then I'll go to the village," she said. "I'll bury the dead. I'll face the people."
Freya studied her for a long moment. Then nodded.
"But know this," she warned. "Raven doesn't want to beat you in battle. She wants to make the world hate you."
Jean turned to Whitney.
"Let her try."
---
At the edge of the cursed battlefield...
Ryan Magus watched through a floating mirror of liquid starlight, his hands behind his back.
"She moves well," he said aloud. "Too well."
Beside him, his mother—Erin Magus—flicked her fingers, altering the view to show Raven's handiwork.
"Let them destroy each other," Erin said coolly. "When the dragons rise again, it is not light nor shadow that will save this world."
She smiled.
"It will be magic."
---