The news spread like wildfire through the forests and mountains, carried on the breath of every wind and whispered by every shadow that belonged to the wolf kind.
The Moonfang Alpha was dead.
Lucian Blackthorn, the cursed Alpha King, had fallen at the parley of Valehart.
At first, the words were spoken with disbelief. Then came the echoes, traveling across rivers, through valleys and over ridges until every pack in the realm had heard.
The Fourteen Packs that once bowed beneath the Moonfang's moon were divided by their own hearts.
From the north came the Frostveil Pack, their Alpha Roderic smiling coldly when the message arrived. He had long coveted the seat of the Alpha King.
The Stonefang Pack to the west feasted that night, their warriors roaring in drunken joy. Their Alpha Korran declared that the age of cursed leadership was over.
In the east, the Silverpine Pack lit no fires at all. Their woman Alpha Maelis, who had once fought beside Lucian and also a friend to him, turned her face to the moon and wept. Some of her pack members that know Alpha Lucian very mourn also.
The Nightbloom Pack, the Ashclaw Pack, the Stormvale Pack, the Ironpelt Pack, the Redfang Pack, the Shadowmane Pack, the Windscar Pack, the Bloodthorn Pack, the Mournwood Pack, the Fangridge Pack and the Duskrun Pack all received the same tidings.
Some howled in celebration, already scheming for dominance. Others bowed their heads in silence, mourning the one leader who had carried the burden of their shared curse without ever turning his rage upon them. The one who has protected every pack from going to war at each other in own way. Keep peace among all werewolves kind.
Even the old forests seemed to grieve. Some pups that the gamma and some warriors once took out for hunting under Lucian's command refused to eat. The air hung heavy with the scent of sorrow and betrayal.
In the Moonfang stronghold, the heart of the pack was breaking.
Luna Seraphina Blackthorn, mother of the fallen Alpha, knelt in the center of the great hall. Her silver hair fell wild across her shoulders, her eyes empty and red from tears that no longer came.
She had been the first to hear the news.
When Caius returned, speaking of Lucian's death, the world had stopped spinning for her. The fire in the hearth had flickered and died and for a moment she had forgotten how to breathe.
Now, she sat in the same place, unmoving, her mind drifting through memories.
She remembered the night he was born. The storm had raged across the mountain peaks, the full bright moon turn to black and the midwives had whispered that no birth under such a moon could bring peace. But when she had first held him, she had seen only light in her son, her little wolf, his tiny hands clutching her finger.
She remembered the elders who came to bless him, their faces solemn when they saw the mark on his chest, the sign of the curse. The whispers had begun then, the cursed heir, the dark moon child.
She had prayed every night that they were wrong.
But as he grew, the curse showed itself. The moments of rage that he could not control, the nights when the moon's pull drove him to isolation, the sorrow that never left his eyes. The days he will shift andthe shifting processing won't complete. Half human, half wolf. The days he will went feral, out of range. She had watched him bear a pain no child should ever know and she could do nothing to lift it.
Now they said he was gone.
Her hands trembled against the cold floor. "I gave you everything," she whispered to no one. "I gave you my life, my blood, my soul. And you the moon goddess still took him from me."
Her voice cracked. The servants tried to lift her, but she struck them away, her grief a storm no one could calm.
Above her, the great banners of Moonfang hung limp and black, as if even the walls were in mourning.
She went to touch her husband Malvick Blackthorn, the former alpha's portrait on the wall, she roar and curse his ancestors... For they are the ones, who committed abomination and atrocity, which his son was suffering from till the day of his last breath.
In another wing of the stronghold, Lucian's sister, Lyra, sat curled against the wall of her chamber. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight. She had not eaten in two days.
Her hands clutched one of Lucian's old tunics, worn and faintly smelling of pine and smoke.
She remembered how he used to play with her in the gardens, chasing fireflies under the moonlight, laughing when she tripped and scraped her knee. He would lift her in his arms, whispering that she was safe as long as he lived.
He had given her the first charm she ever wore, a small silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon. She still wore it now, the metal pressed against her heart.
Her sobs came softly, broken by silence.
"Brother," she whispered, "you promised you would never leave me."
Her voice trembled, but somewhere deep inside, she refused to believe the promise was truly broken.
---
Beyond the keep, the village mourned in their own way. Some gathered around the fires, whispering stories of the Alpha who had fought against his own curse to protect them. Others, poisoned by Caius's words, muttered that perhaps his death was fate.
Caius moved through them like a shadow in daylight, his charm smooth, his lies sweet.
He spoke of duty, of strength, of the need for a new leader to protect them from the wrath of the humans and the greed of the other packs.
He went from house to house, hand to shoulder, voice low and persuasive. Some believed him. Others looked away in disgust.
But in every word he spoke, his eyes gleamed with hunger.
In his mind, the throne was already his.
---
In the healer's den, Alora, the pack's doctor and Darius's mate, sat beside the fire with trembling hands. She had tended to the wounded who returned from the parley, but her heart was elsewhere.
Her connection to Darius still pulsed faintly through her spirit, fragile but alive.
"He is not dead," she whispered, clutching the bond mark at her wrist. "I can still feel him."
The others looked at her with pity, believing grief had made her delusional. But she knew. She could feel the heartbeat that was not her own, weak but steady, somewhere far away.
"He is with him," she murmured. "He is with Lucian."
Tears filled her eyes, but they were not tears of despair. They were of defiance.
---
Far away in Valehart, King Aldred sat upon his golden throne, the corners of his mouth curved in cruel satisfaction. The messenger's report had pleased him greatly.
"So the cursed Alpha has fallen," he said, raising a goblet of wine. "The moon loses its hound."
The courtiers laughed. The king leaned back, content.
He took up a parchment and sealed it with his signet. "Send this to the Moonfang pack," he commanded. "To the one called Caius."
When Caius broke the royal seal later that night, his heart swelled with triumph. The letter's words were simple but filled with venom.
"If the cursed Alpha is dead, then rule in his place. You will have my favor, and my armies will not march upon your lands."
Caius grinned in the flickering candlelight.
He took up his quill and wrote his reply, every word dripping with deceit.
"Lucian Blackthorn is no more. The curse has ended with his blood. I, Caius of Moonfang, will take his place and lead our kind to peace."
When he sealed the letter, his laughter filled the empty room.
Outside, thunder rolled over the mountains.
The storm had not passed.
It was only gathering strength.