Chapter 6 The celebration that shouldn't exist
Back in the north, Kaelan poured over reports and sketches from the surviving Evermoon members. His hands hovered over the maps, tracing the burned villages and devastated lands. Entire settlements were erased, leaving only ash and silence. Survivors spoke of shadows moving with intelligence, as though a predator understood the terrain, the people, even the very heartbeat of the pack before it struck.
“This… isn’t a normal attack,” Rhylen said, voice tight. “They didn’t just fight they hunted. And they left messages… some of the survivors whispered words before they died. Words that don’t make sense… something about a girl. About her.”
Kaelan froze. “Her?” His mind raced through names, memories. “The girl… nine years ago? The one who vanished after Ashborne?”
Rhylen swallowed hard. “I don’t know. But the survivors say… she’s coming. Or they’re looking for her. Something about her.”
A shiver ran down Kaelan’s spine. He glanced out over the valley again. The shadows of trees shifted in the moonlight, though there was no wind. Something moved among them something deliberate, patient, and invisible.
The night deepened, and Kaelan and Rhylen worked through the hours, piecing together survivor statements. Small fragments painted a chilling picture: wolves disappearing before they could scream, entire villages burning with no sign of conventional battle. Even Kaelan’s most experienced scouts had never seen anything like it.
“The Evermoon pack is gone,” Kaelan whispered, tension tightening his chest. “And yet… I feel it’s only the beginning.”
Rhylen’s hand brushed Kaelan’s shoulder. “Do you think it’s… supernatural?” he asked quietly.
Kaelan shook his head, but his eyes betrayed unease. “I don’t know what it is, Rhylen. But I know one thing whatever this is, it’s intelligent. Patient. It’s waiting for the right moment.”
Far away, in the smoking ruins of Evermoon, a figure watched from the shadows. Tall, cloaked, the face hidden beneath a hood, its eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight. Survivors huddled in terror, sensing rather than seeing it.
A young wolf, trembling, whispered, “It knows… it’s looking for Elara…”
The figure tilted its head, as if acknowledging the name, and a voice a whisper that carried on the wind slithered through the night:
“Soon… she will understand.”
A scream cut off abruptly, swallowed by the shadows. And then silence. Only the wind stirred, whispering secrets among the ruins.
Kaelan clenched his fists over the northern maps. The pieces were falling into place, though the image it formed made his blood run cold. Someone or something was orchestrating these events. And their eyes were on Elara, even if she didn’t yet know it.
Rhylen looked at him, fear and awe mixed in his expression. “She’s alive… isn’t she?”
Kaelan didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the distant horizon. The stars above twinkled innocently, yet something dark and patient waited in the spaces between them. A predator that did not hunt for food. A hunter that marked its prey long before striking.
And that prey… was a girl no one knew yet how powerful she had become.
The wind carried a low, mournful howl through the northern forests a reminder that the past was not buried, the shadows were rising again, and a storm was coming that no one could yet escape.
The southern pack felt… wrong.
Not in the way danger felt, sharp and metallic.
Not in the way grief felt, heavy and sinking.
No this was something stranger. A buzzing, hurried, artificial excitement that didn’t match the undercurrent of dread whispering through the region.
Word of Evermoon’s fall had spread like a cold wind, slipping through cracks and corridors until every wolf in the southern territory whispered about it behind closed doors.
And yet Caius had ordered the grounds to be decorated.
Banners of deep crimson and silver colors representing unity and peace hung from the balconies of the training hall. Warriors carried crates of lanterns. Omegas set up long tables, laid out cloths embroidered with the southern crest. It looked like preparation for a grand festival.
A celebration.
In the middle of chaos.
Elara tightened the leather straps of her training gloves. “This makes no sense,” she muttered as she and Liora crossed the courtyard. “Why would he do this now? When an entire pack was just”
“erased,” Liora finished softly, her green eyes darkening. “I don’t know. But when Caius commands, the pack obeys.”
Elara watched a group of warriors hang a banner above the entrance to the central hall.
Her chest tightened with unease.
A celebration named after peace… happening when war whispered from the north.
Even her wolf, normally alert and steady during training hours, paced inside her mind, restless in a way she couldn’t name.
What are we walking into?
What is Caius preparing for?
Just as Liora opened her mouth to say more, a deep horn boomed across the grounds low, commanding, echoing against stone and forest. Every wolf paused. Warriors straightened. Apprentices stopped mid-task.
The summons.
Elara’s heartbeat picked up.
Caius rarely called the entire pack together unless the news was important… or dangerous.
Pack members hurried toward the central courtyard. Elara and Liora squeezed into the front row of trainees.
Caius stood atop the stone platform, tall and composed, his dark hair streaked with early gray, eyes carrying that unreadable leader’s calm. Beside him stood Selene, her presence a soothing contrast warm, graceful, and steady.
Selene’s hand rested lightly on her husband’s arm, grounding him.
Caius inhaled once, then spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly through the crowd.
“We stand in uncertain times.”
Silence deepened.
“Whispers travel from the north. Rumors of the Evermoon pack…” His jaw tightened. “…falling overnight.”
A ripple of fear spread through the crowd.
Elara’s fingers dug into her palm.
Caius continued, his gaze sweeping over his wolves.
“No one yet knows who struck them, or why. Reports conflict. Some claim it was a northern rival. Others insist no scent was left behind. Others still…” His voice lowered. “…whisper something more sinister. Shadows that moved like they were alive.”
Elara’s wolf stopped pacing.
It stood still.
Listening.
Liora exhaled sharply beside her.
Caius raised one hand.
“I will say this clearly: we will not involve ourselves in northern conflict. We did not start this. We will not fuel panic with speculation.”
Some warriors nodded, relieved. Others exchanged uncertain looks.
“But,” Caius continued, “fear is not our tradition. Retreat is not our nature. And unity must be shown especially in times like these.”
Elara frowned.
Unity? Now?
Caius straightened, voice ringing with finality.
“In seven days, we will host the Grand Concord Celebration. A southern tradition that stands for peace, alliance, and remembrance. We will show the region that the south will not cower.”
A wave of murmurs surged through the crowd.
Caius lifted his chin.
“This year, for the first time in a decade… I will invite every Alpha in the region.”
Elara’s breath caught.
Every Alpha.
Her wolf gave a sharp, resonant jolt inside her a pull she recognized all too well.
Kaelan.
Somewhere far beyond the southern borders, he would receive Caius’ invitation.
Her pulse hammered.
