The night had fallen over Silver Pine Valley like an imperial cloak, every fold stitched with countless stars. Beneath that vast, pitiless sky, the fortress of House Aldric Moonbane stood — a black stone leviathan wrapped in frost-kissed banners, its walls scarred from a thousand battles and yet unbowed. Great wolf statues lined the ramparts, their eyes catching the glow of braziers like silent sentinels judging all who dared trespass.
Within the keep, the war hall burned bright with life, the torches flaring like tongues of a hungry dragon. Soldiers moved through its vast chambers in perfect, disciplined lines, the shuffle of their leather boots and the clink of their polished armor merging into a steady, unstoppable rhythm. They were born of the wolf, these warriors — men and women whose ancestors had knelt before the Moon Goddess herself — and now they carried that ancient legacy into the coming storm.
At the center of it all stood Luceris Aldric Moonbane. His presence was so powerful it seemed to bend the firelight itself. Long silver hair spilled past his shoulders like moonlight poured across night water, the color so pure it bordered on impossible. A few wayward strands fell over a face chiseled with a sculptor's precision, touched by handsome tragedy. Silver eyes burned with a quiet, lethal resolve — the eyes of a man who had bled, lost, and risen from the ashes stronger than fate ever intended. Thin scars cut across his cheeks and jaw, subtle enough not to mar his beauty, but savage enough to warn any challenger of what he had survived.
His ceremonial armor glimmered with dark steel scales forged in the Underforge, each plate etched with lunar runes that pulsed faintly, as if alive. A wolf-shaped pauldron rested on his right shoulder, its fangs bared, the symbol of a lineage both feared and worshipped. A dark cloak edged in white fur trailed behind him like the shadow of a predator, giving every step he took a terrifying grace.
He was the One True Alpha — but tonight, he was also just a son of wolves preparing for the final reckoning.
The table before him was a black slab of obsidian shot through with veins of starsteel. Carved on its surface was a topographic map of the kingdom, so detailed it showed even the rivers as thin, curling blue veins. Flickering markers represented troop movements: their enemies, treacherous allies, mercenaries driven by coin rather than honor.
Luceris placed one gauntleted hand upon the cold stone. The air seemed to tighten, drawn into the orbit of his presence.
"They will come," he said, voice as deep as a winter sea, each word weighted with centuries of prophecy. "The sons of the betrayers, the hyenas who fed on my father's corpse — they will come for my kingdom. They will come for my mate."
His tone cracked ever so slightly on that last word, a tiny fracture in his indomitable aura. Only Rowena, standing just beyond the candlelight, noticed it.
Rowena stepped forward, the train of her sapphire gown flowing like water over marble. Her hair, dark as midnight, was twisted into a regal braid pinned with tiny silver wolves. Around her neck, the Moon Goddess's blessing glowed faintly, a halo of protection.
"Then let them come," she said, voice steady. "They will find you ready."
Luceris's eyes softened, if only for a heartbeat, before hardening once more.
"No," he corrected. "They will find us waiting."
He turned to face his gathered war council: veterans in battered armor, young bloods with their eyes still bright, and battle-hardened generals with scars crisscrossing their throats.
Kaelor, the old general who had pulled him from the forest so many years ago, was among them, his white hair tied back, eyes sharper than any blade. The old man stepped forward with a respectful nod.
"My king," Kaelor rasped, voice like gravel, "the enemy's scouts are testing the river crossing. They will breach the eastern bank by dawn if they are not stopped."
Luceris studied the markers, mind as precise as a blade being whetted on stone.
"How many?"
"Two thousand, no more," Kaelor answered. "Mercenaries. Not even worth a wolf's snarl."
Luceris's eyes glinted dangerously.
"Then let them be the first to remember why this kingdom bows to the House of Moonbane."
He straightened, the great wolf-shaped pauldron catching the firelight in a brilliant, predatory gleam.
"Send the Bloodguard," he commanded. "The ones who wear my sigil. I want no survivors."
Kaelor grinned, a dark expression worthy of a wolf in the deep woods.
"As you wish, my king."
The tension was nearly physical, humming through the air like the charge before a lightning strike.
As the men dispersed, Rowena crossed the chamber to stand close to Luceris. She laid a slender hand upon the battered steel of his breastplate, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart.
"Do you ever doubt yourself?" she asked, so softly that only he could hear.
For a moment, Luceris allowed himself honesty.
"Every night," he admitted, silver eyes fixed on hers. "But doubt is the wound that makes us stronger. It teaches us to never falter."
She smiled, warm and heartbreaking.
"Then don't let it devour you."
"I won't," he promised, leaning close enough that their foreheads nearly touched. "Because you are here."
A horn wailed from the gate tower, tearing them apart.
"They approach," Kaelor shouted, voice echoing off the ancient stone.
Luceris's entire demeanor shifted in a blink — from a lover to an apex predator. He strode to the nearest window and flung it wide, letting the cold wind whip his hair into a silver halo.
Down below, through the torchlit mist, came the first ranks of the enemy — mercenaries in ragged iron, clutching pikes and rusty swords, a river of steel trudging toward the walls.
Luceris drew his great sword, Moondrinker, from its scabbard. The blade rang out like a wolf's howl, its keen edge shining with runic light.
"Rowena," he said, voice distant, almost sacred, "if I fall, protect them. If I fail, you must survive."
Rowena's chin lifted, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to let fall.
"You will not fall," she told him, iron in her voice. "You are the Lone Lycan King. The prophecy is yours."
He managed the ghost of a smile.
"Then let's remind the world of it."
He stepped out onto the ramparts, the night wind slicing through him like the breath of the gods themselves. His warriors fell silent at the sight of him, every eye trained upon their king.
The war drums began, slow and terrible, shaking the very stones beneath their boots. Luceris raised his sword high, its runes flaring with the power of the Moon Goddess herself.
"Wolves of the world!" he bellowed, his voice rolling through the night like a chorus of ten thousand howls. "Your Alpha calls you — HUNT!"
They answered him, voices crashing like a tidal wave, a roar of loyalty so fierce it seemed to split the sky.
And so began the battle that would write their names into legend.