The witch true war…..
….
The truth did not arrive with the rumble of thunder.
It came quietly, like a knife sliding through shadows, cutting straight to the heart of everything Lorenzo and his pack had built.
Dawn was just beginning to stain the sky in bruised purples and pinks when the scouts returned. They stumbled through the gates, bloodied, hollow-eyed, and shaken as if the forest itself had tried to swallow them whole. Their clothes were torn, their faces streaked with sweat and grime. One scout's leg was cut open, another had a burn along the arm. None of them spoke at first, only shuffled forward, the weight of what they had seen pressing down on every bone in the room.
Lorenzo's chest tightened before a single word was spoken. He could feel it in the pack bond,the ripple of dread that spread through the veins of every wolf under his command.
"They're gathering," one scout finally said, voice raw, cracking like old ice. "Rogues… hundreds of them. And the… the undead…" His throat went dry. "…Thousands, Alpha. Thousands."
Silence fell like a stone.
Marcus, already tense from the night's restless hours, stepped forward, jaw tight, eyes dark. "She's not moving them together," he said slowly, deliberately, and everyone's stomach sank. "She's dividing them. The rogues toward the outer borders. The undead toward the lowlands. If we respond as one force, we leave others exposed. If we split… we weaken ourselves."
Lorenzo's hands clenched into fists. His claws pressed into his palms until the metal beneath them groaned. "She's… splitting them?" His voice was low but lethal, each word a whip of rage.
Elena's fingers tightened around his arm, grounding him, holding him even as the bond quivered like a living thing beneath the tension. Her silver eyes flickered with light, moonlight threading through the veins of her skin, reflecting the rising storm in his chest.
"She's forcing us to choose," she murmured, voice trembling but strong enough to cut through the panic sweeping the room. "Choose between lives… between people… between us."
A cold, invasive shiver slithered through the pack bond. Wolves whined. Some barked. Others dropped to all fours and braced themselves instinctively. The White Wolf inside Elena stirred, restless and angry, silver light flickering, licking at her skin like molten steel.
Then, soft but cutting, a voice sliced into the silence,ancient, cruel, deliberate.
"Choose, Alpha."
It echoed in every corner of Lorenzo's mind, every fiber of the pack bond. The words carried centuries of malice, a promise of death, and a challenge to the very heart of his dominance.
And with the voice came visions.
Villages burning. Wolves torn apart. Innocents screaming. Elena standing alone beneath a moonlit sky, silver light radiating from her, shadows of undead wolves crawling closer, claws reaching.
The world constricted. Blood pounded in his ears. His chest heaved. Rage boiled, mingled with panic, and a primal, impossible urge to tear the world apart overtook him.
"You want war?" he growled, voice low and dangerous, vibrating with alpha power. "You dare threaten my people… my mate… you will have it."
Elena stepped forward. Just a step. But enough to anchor him, enough to pull the wild storm in his chest back into something resembling control.
She slid her hand into his. Warm, steady, grounding.
"We don't split," she said, soft, unwavering. "We don't run. We don't choose between lives. If she wants to tear us apart… she will find she cannot."
The bond between them pulsed, silver and golden threads entwining, connecting every wolf in the pack with unspoken command, unshakable resolve.
Elena lifted her chin. Moonlight touched her hair, her eyes, and the faint glow along her skin burned brighter. She did not speak loudly. She did not scream. She merely radiated authority, calm, and an ancient promise that transcended fear.
"We stand together," she continued, voice carrying over the stillness. "Every pack. Every Alpha. Every wolf who breathes. If she wants everything… she will get nothing."
Lorenzo's chest rose and fell rapidly. His wolf's growl softened, replaced by a reverent hum of recognition. He had seen power before, but nothing like this. Elena,his mate,was not fragile. She was a force.
He leaned down, brushing his forehead to hers. "Together," he rasped.
The howls began almost immediately.
Not one. Not two. But dozens, then hundreds.
From distant mountains, across raging rivers, over forests and ridges, packs answered the call. Alphas who had refused alliances for decades lifted their heads, nostrils flaring, ears pricked. Wolves who had slept in isolation for generations howled back in recognition of the White Wolf, in recognition of Elena.
And the sky watched.
The moon, pale and swollen, seemed to tremble with anticipation.
This was no ordinary war.
This was a reckoning.
The undead wolves still stirred in the distance. Their blue eyes glimmered with unnatural malice, but now there was hesitation, faint but unmistakable, as the bond stretched out and connected, threading through every wolf prepared to defend life.
Far away, the witch shrieked, a sound that ripped through wind and stone alike, raw with fury and centuries-old vengeance.
"You dare! You dare challenge me!" Her voice shook the hills, her magic writhing through the lands, stirring shadows. "You will pay! Every Alpha. Every wolf. Every last breath!"
Elena's silver light pulsed, steady and unflinching. "We will not fear you," she whispered. "You will not win."
Lorenzo tightened his arm around her, both protective and possessive, a vow in motion. "You will not touch her," he said, low and deadly. "Not while I draw breath. Not while I live."
The war had begun.
Not quietly. Not with subtlety.
But with a roar that would shake every hill, forest, and mountain in their path.
And the Moon watched, patient, ancient, and merciless.