Selene and Damon moved swiftly through the moonlit forest, their bonded wrists still faintly glowing from the First Flame's blessing. The cold night wrapped around them, but within their chests, a heat pulsed—a connection stronger than magic, stronger than blood.
Damon's senses were sharp, every rustle of leaves, every broken twig echoing like thunder in his ears. "They're coming. The Bloodfangs won't wait long."
"Let them come," Selene said, her voice laced with a quiet fire. "I'm tired of running."
They emerged into the clearing where the Crescent Witches once held their gatherings. The altar stone still stood, worn by time, but the scent of old spells lingered.
"We need allies," Selene said, her gaze firm. "And we need them now."
Damon nodded. "Who can we trust?"
"The scattered packs. The outcast witches. The ones who never belonged."
As if summoned by her determination, a shadow appeared at the edge of the clearing. Raven-haired, with silver rings lining her ears, a young witch stepped forward.
"I heard whispers," she said. "The First Flame chose two. I had to see it for myself."
"Who are you?" Damon asked, his hand instinctively resting on his blade.
"Lira," she introduced, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "A witch with no coven, no chains."
Selene sensed the edge in Lira's magic—a survivor, like them.
"Why are you here?" Selene asked.
"Because you just painted a target on your backs. The Bloodfangs will burn villages to find you. You won't stand a chance alone."
"What are you offering?" Damon narrowed his eyes.
"A pact. I know others like me. Rogues, outcasts, those who would rather die fighting than kneel. You need an army. I can help you build one."
Selene exchanged a glance with Damon. "And your price?"
"When this is over, I want the freedom to choose my own path. No oaths, no collars."
"Done," Selene said, sealing it with a nod.
Lira stepped forward, slicing her palm and offering it. Damon did the same, and their blood mingled on the altar stone, sealing the oath.
The days that followed were filled with preparation. Damon traveled to hidden wolf enclaves, speaking to alphas who had no love for the Bloodfangs. Some rejected him. Others, those with mixed blood or cast-out kin, agreed to fight.
Selene and Lira summoned witches from forgotten corners, those who had fled the strict laws of the Witch Council.
Each night, Selene felt the weight of the future press harder against her shoulders. The First Flame whispered to her in her dreams, showing glimpses of battles soaked in blood, of Damon falling, of choices that would tear her apart.
"Do you see it too?" she asked Damon one morning as the camp stirred.
"Every night. Visions of what could come."
"Can we win?"
"We have to."
On the fifth night, their camp was attacked. Bloodfang scouts tore through the outer defenses, their leader a towering wolf named Kaelen, his fur streaked with ash.
"You're the cursed prince," Kaelen sneered at Damon, circling him. "You carry power that belongs to us."
Damon unsheathed his blade, stepping forward. "Then come and take it."
Their clash was brutal. Kaelen's strikes were fast, relentless, his claws leaving deep gashes across Damon's arms. But Damon fought with desperation, with the weight of every soul depending on him.
When Kaelen lunged, Damon feinted, driving his blade through the wolf's ribs and ending it.
Selene and Lira repelled the remaining scouts with fire and shadow spells, their coordination flawless.
"We need to move," Lira said, panting. "They know where we are."
"No more hiding," Selene said. "We take the fight to them."
They set their sights on the Bloodfang stronghold—a fortress deep within the Blackthorn Mountains.
Damon gathered the wolves who had joined them, addressing the growing army. "You fight not just for freedom, but for the right to exist. They call us mistakes, curses. But we are not weak. We are not less. We are more."
Selene raised her hand, the mark of the First Flame glowing fiercely. "We burn together, or we fall alone."
Their forces moved like shadows, striking outposts, freeing villages enslaved by the Bloodfangs. Each victory drew them closer to the heart of the enemy.
But the Bloodfang King, Fenrik Blackthorn, awaited them with a power unlike any Damon had seen.
One night, as Selene prepared for the final march, the First Flame's whispers turned urgent. Images of Damon in chains, of betrayal, of Lira standing over a fallen ally.
"What is it?" Damon asked, sensing her tension.
"The flame is showing me... choices. Betrayals."
"You think Lira—"
"I don't know. But the flame doesn't lie."
Selene knew the road ahead would be treacherous. Alliances were fragile. Shadows moved where trust should be.
"We'll face it together," Damon promised.
"No matter what?"
"No matter what."
As dawn broke, their army descended upon the Blackthorn Mountains, the blood oath binding them, the rising shadows waiting to test them.
The final war had begun.