The first hunt wasn't for glory — it was for proof.
The rogues stood around me in the dying firelight, their eyes reflecting the embers like molten gold. Every face carried the same question: Was Kael still worthy to lead?
I met each gaze in silence. No speeches. No promises. Just purpose.
"We move before dawn," I said. "The supply caravans still run through the southern ridge. Ronan's pack uses them to feed his soldiers. We'll take one — quietly."
Marek snorted. "Quietly? Half these beasts don't even know what that means."
Selene smirked. "Then they'll learn. Or die."
The rogues chuckled darkly. Even laughter here sounded like war drums.
I stood, drawing my dagger — the same one my father gave me before his last battle. Its blade caught the faint light like frozen lightning.
"This isn't about stealing food," I said. "It's about sending a message. The Shadow Pack breathes again."
The murmurs faded. The forest itself seemed to listen.
---
By the time we reached the ridge, the moon had begun to sink, bleeding silver into the clouds. The caravan lights flickered in the distance — five wagons guarded by armored wolves, all marked with Ronan's crest.
"Positions," I whispered.
Selene vanished into the treetops, two rogues melted into the fog, and Marek crouched beside me, his claws itching.
"They don't even smell us," he growled.
"They will," I said, "when it's too late."
With a nod, I raised my hand. The mist around us thickened instantly — not natural mist, but something born of blood and memory. The spirits we'd awakened moved within it, invisible but near.
The first guard turned his head. "Do you smell that—"
An unseen claw dragged him into the darkness before he could finish. His scream was swallowed whole.
The others drew weapons, panic rising. That's when we struck.
Selene dropped from the trees like a shadow of silver light, slashing throats in a single motion. Marek charged through the side, his claws ripping through steel and bone alike.
I moved through them like smoke, fast, silent, merciless. Each strike was clean, every motion deliberate. Years of exile had sharpened me into something even I barely recognized.
Within minutes, the ground was silent again — only the crackle of dying flames and the smell of blood remained.
Marek kicked a body aside. "Well," he said, "quiet enough for you?"
I didn't answer. My eyes were on the wagons. Inside were crates marked with Ronan's crest — supplies, weapons… and something else.
Selene pried one open and froze. "Kael…"
I stepped forward. Inside the crate were silver chains and collars — enchanted, the kind used to bind wolves. Dozens of them.
"He's preparing to enslave the lower packs," I said quietly. Rage burned through my veins. "He wants control, not unity."
Selene's eyes met mine. "Then he'll come for us next."
"Let him," I said. "Now he'll know what waits in the dark."
Behind us, the mist shifted — the faint outline of spectral wolves watching. They had fought with us, unseen but deadly. The forest itself had bled for our cause.
I turned to the rogues, my voice steady, commanding. "Tonight we stole his silence. Next, we steal his fear."
They howled in answer — raw, feral, alive.
And as the first light of dawn crept over the ridge, I felt it — the pull of the moon, the whisper of power in my blood.
The Shadow Pack was no longer a myth. It was a storm.
And I was its wrath