Lucian's boots crunched across the frost-tinged grass as he led the advance riders out of Silverclaw's main gate. Before him, the first light of dawn burned away lingering shadows; behind him, Aria tightened the straps on her saddle, every nerve alive with anticipation. The caravan of mounted scouts formed a loose V, horses' breaths steaming in the cold morning air. Though the chill bit at her cheeks, Aria felt an inner heat—her reporter's instincts ablaze with questions and unspoken dread. Rumors of a breach within Silverclaw's ranks had spread through the council like wildfire. Now, they would seek answers on the borderlands.
"Keep pace," Lucian instructed, voice low but carrying authority. He spurred his horse forward, a powerful midnight-black stallion bred for speed. The scouts followed, armor-clad warriors silent as shadows. Aria glanced to her left where Nova rode, silver hair catching the pale sun. The bar owner's keen eyes scanned the terrain like a hawk. Nova's presence here, among warriors, underscored the gravity of their mission.
The group rode into a narrow valley flanked by ancient pines. A single trail wound through dense undergrowth—an artery connecting Silverclaw territory to the contested lands beyond. Aria's pulse quickened. This was where the Blackspire raid had originated, where the first signs of sabotage had been detected. If someone within Silverclaw had leaked intelligence, these paths would reveal clues.
Lucian halted on a small rise overlooking a clearing. "Disperse and search for tracks," he ordered. "The incursion happened here." He turned to Aria. "Remain close. Your role isn't to fight—yet your eyes must see everything."
She nodded, gripping her reins. Nova slipped to her right. "We'll find something," Nova said, her tone steady but urgent. "I've questioned locals—rifters and foragers. They saw lights moving through the trees the night before the attack. Not Silverclaw or Crescent. Strange uniforms. Blackspire sigils on charred tents. They withdrew through an old logging path east of here."
Lucian frowned. "Blackspire using decoys. Classic misdirection. They'll flank us soon." He wheeled his horse. "Aria, Nova, come with me. The rest canvass south and west. Report any anomalies—tracks, camps, discarded gear. We regroup at noon."
They spurred down the slope into the clearing. Aria dismounted and pressed her boot against the soft earth. She knelt, brushing aside a layer of frost to reveal muddied impressions: boot soles stamped with the Silverclaw insignia—a leaping wolf surrounded by runic script. But these prints were older, worn smooth at the edges. Someone had used Silverclaw boots to move through here. Her breath caught. A leak.
Lucian joined her, peering at the prints. "These are days old. Who had access to gear and maps?" He frowned, voice edged with disbelief. "This suggests an insider. Someone provided Blackspire with our routes."
Aria traced the prints, heart pounding. "And then they cleaned the tracks up to a point—see here? These impressions stop abruptly, replaced by smaller, unrecognizable prints."
She stood and scanned the undergrowth. "They switched to different horses or footwear. Trying to conceal their origin."
Lucian's eyes darkened. "This isn't just reconnaissance. It's a deliberate leak. They wanted us to commit forces here while they struck elsewhere."
A sudden rustle drew their attention. Nova raised a gloved hand. "Scouts!"
Two riders emerged from the trees, faces drawn. One dismounted swiftly. "My lord, Lady Nova," he panted. "South flank—enemy forces breached the line. Blackspire raiders attacked a Silverclaw supply convoy. They've taken hostages."
Lucian's jaw clenched. "Hostages? Who?"
"Rangers and pack families—noncombatants. They were escorting food and medical supplies to the southern outposts. They fell into an ambush."
Aria's stomach tightened. Innocents used as pawns—her blood burned at the injustice. She rode to Lucian's side. "We have to help them."
He nodded, fury flaring in his silver eyes. "We split. Nova and I will rescue the hostages. You join the supply wagon's trail behind us. Document the convoy's status; gather evidence of Blackspire's atrocities."
Nova drew her glaive—a slender, rune-etched blade—and snapped it closed behind her back. "I'll lead one group. We move fast." She looked at Aria. "Trust your instincts. If you see an opening to aid them, take it."
Aria swallowed, adrenaline surging. "I will." She vaulted onto her horse and fell in beside Lucian, the scouts fanning out behind them. Each rider's posture spoke of grim determination.
---
The southern approach was steep and rocky, tree roots twisting like serpents beneath their horses' hooves. The late-morning sun filtered through the canopy, casting shifting patterns across the path. Aria's fingers tapped against her notebook, mind racing with strategic possibilities. She recalled the supply convoy's manifest: fifteen carts, each laden with crates of preserved meat, medicinal herbs, and winter blankets. The hostages included women and children, bundled against the cold. Blackspire's cruelty was chilling.
Abruptly, a scout galloped toward them, waving frantically. Lucian reined in. "Report."
"They set an ambush at the river crossing." The scout's breath came in ragged gasps. "But they left spikes—iron shards coated in toxins—beneath the planks of the bridge. The convoy's lead cart passed over; the wheels shattered, and several horses collapsed."
Aria's eyes widened. "Toxins? They intended to kill our people."
Lucian's fist tightened on the reins. "A message. Fear will fracture Silverclaw faster than any blade. We must still the fear." He turned to Aria. "We'll circle downstream and intercept them from the flank. Nova, take half the scouts to the bridge—clear the toxins and secure the survivors. I'll lead the rescue party."
They spurred their horses downhill toward the riverbank. Aria's heart pounded, each beat echoing the urgency of the moment. A slate-gray river rushed alongside them, messy rapids hiding jagged rocks. Ahead, a battered wooden bridge spanned the churning water; broken planks lay scattered on the frozen earth. Beyond, the Blackspire banner—a black wolf surrounded by crimson flames—fluttered above a makeshift camp.
As they neared, Nova's contingent swept past them, disappearing into the trees near the bridge. Lucian slowed his mount. "Aria, stay here. I go in first."
She dropped into a crouch in the underbrush. Her camera—now reinforced with protective leather—hung at her side. She lifted it, lens trained on the camp. The firelight glowed through the trees, illuminating cages built from interwoven branches. Inside, huddled figures in tattered cloaks stared back, eyes wide with terror and hope.
She snapped a photograph. The shutter's click was loud in the still air. She clicked again and again, each frame a testament to Blackspire's atrocity. Faces blurred by low light but their agony clear. She fought back tears.
A guard patrol strode into view, sword drawn, nostrils flaring. Aria held her breath. He paused at a cage and prodded a prisoner with a boot. The prisoner—a young man with auburn hair—staggered, sweat mixed with frost on his brow. Aria trained the lens on the guard's face: crude tattoos, eyes cold as stone.
The guard turned, spotting movement at the perimeter. "Who's there?" he barked. He raised his sword. Aria's heart lurched. She ducked lower, lens clicking as she recorded his recognition of the flash's red glow.
"Get down!" Lucian roared, bursting through the trees. He surged forward, sword flashing in firelight. The guard barely had time to raise his blade before Lucian's counterstrike cleaved through the air. Steel rang against steel, then the guard crumpled under Lucian's strike.
Aria sprang from cover, heart thundering. She raced to the cages as Lucian dispatched another guard. Inside, bodies pressed against branches, faces turned toward her. She pressed fingers to her lips and whispered, "Hold on." With Lucian's help, they pried open the cages. Each prisoner stumbled out, legs weak but senses alive. One by one, they collapsed into Lucian's arms, sobbing relief.
Behind them, Nova's scouts secured the bridge, tossing broken planks and freeing horses tangled in the undergrowth. He nodded to Lucian. "Bridge is clear. Toxins neutralized. We'll escort survivors back."
Lucian turned back to Aria. "Finish your documentation; then we move. Blackspire won't linger once they realize we've taken their bait."
She lifted her camera again, capturing each freed prisoner's expression, details of the camp, the defiled bridge. She recorded evidence: scorched crates stamped with Silverclaw crests, twisted metal shards glistening with foul residue. When she finished, she lowered the camera and offered her hand to a trembling girl whose tears stained her clay-colored cloak.
The girl clung to Aria's sleeve. "Will we be safe now?" she whispered.
Aria reined in her emotions. "You're safe," she said, voice soft. "We'll get you home." She glanced at Lucian, who watched with solemn eyes.
A distant roar sounded—from the river's direction. Instinct drove her to spin around. Through the trees, she glimpsed a form moving against the current: a massive creature, tall as a man with lupine fur and glowing amber eyes, wading into the rapids. The camp's fires reflected in its gaze.
Aria's breath caught. "Another predator."
Lucian looked past her, expression tightening. "Not Silverclaw or Crescent." He turned to his men. "Form up! Protect the survivors!"
She slid from her horse, camera forgotten. With the freed hostages behind them, the scouts drew swords and took defensive positions along the riverbank. Aria pressed herself against a boulder, heart pounding so violently she feared it might burst.
The creature's form solidified: massive shoulders, elongated limbs ending in claws that glittered like ice, dense fur matted with river water. It held something in one hand—an object wrapped in tattered cloth. A shard of moonlight gleamed from it as it lifted its arm, and a low, earth-shaking growl rolled from its throat.
Aria realized with a shock: it carried the First Moon shard—stolen from Nova's vault.
The disaster she had feared was unfolding in plain sight. Blackspire's ambush was only the first strike; a greater threat had arisen—one that moved under moonlight with ancient purpose. As the creature stepped onto the shore, its eyes locked on Aria and Lucian, every instinct in her mind screamed of urgency and peril.
Before Lucian could issue his command, the creature's howl split the air—raw, defiant, and charged with power. Aria's heart seized. The rescued hostages huddled behind the scouts, their cries of alarm echoing through the trees.
A new battle was beginning—and at its center stood Aria with the shard of the First Moon glowing in the creature's grasp. She glanced at Lucian. He drew his sword in one fluid motion, stance ready.
The river's rapids churned around them as predator and pack prepared to clash. Aria's hands trembled, but her resolve hardened. This night had begun with a search for a saboteur; it had ended with an awakening of something far older.
The eyes of the beast burned into hers, and she recognized in that gaze a challenge: to reclaim the shard, to protect her pack, and to uncover the truth behind the creature's emergence. As the scouts tightened their formation and Lucian advanced, Aria laced her fingers around her camera and rode forward—ready to face the moonlit storm that threatened to shatter every bond she had fought to forge.