Lucius sat at his desk, lost in thought.The sound of footsteps outside his door broke the silence."Lucius?" Mr. Von Doom called."Yes, sir?" Lucius replied, rising from his chair.Mr. Von Doom entered, his expression serious. "I'm taking Marriate to the shop. We'll likely dine there tonight."Lucius nodded. "Alright, sir."Mr. Von Doom's gaze lingered."Remember to lock up the house at night. And avoid going into town after sundown."Lucius's thoughts flashed to the Darach. "The beast?" he asked, his voice low.Mr. Von Doom nodded. "The hunters are preparing. But we can't be too cautious.""I understand," Lucius said. "I'll be careful."Mr. Von Doom's expression softened. "I trust you, Lucius.""Keep an eye on things here.""I will," Lucius promised.As Mr. Von Doom departed with Marriate. Lucius watched from the window.The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the town. He felt a shiver run down his spine. The night was full of unknown dangers. And Marriate's r

Lucius got home before dawn. Thanks to the regenerative power of the werewolf, his wounds had stopped bleeding, but he was still weak and feeling sore all over his body. Although he had survived in the fight with the Darach, he knew very well that he had lost. If Marriate was serious about killing him, he would have been dead by now. And he knew Marriate was right when he said that he was weaker, and without his magic, he would be nothing other than an ordinary werewolf. Scoff! What gave him the courage to think he could defeat Marriate? Marriate had been a werewolf for God knows how long. Not to mention he once said something about being the destroyer of packs. Who knows how many Alphas have fallen in his hands. "Alpha! That's it!" Lucius sprang up. That he night he got turned, there was an Alpha battling Marriate. "If I can find him, then perhaps I can team up with him and take down Marriate!" Lucius thought to himself, but then sat down again. What's the possibility that the Alpha

The night sky split open like torn silk. Out of the jagged tear in the air, a deep violet light shimmered, and the portal bled shadows into the world. The ground shivered beneath the rift as cold winds blew, carrying whispers that weren’t words but sounded like screams caught in reverse.From that rift stepped Lyra Moonwhisper, the Sorceress of Shadows. Her long cloak flowed like liquid night, trailing smoke where it touched the ground. Behind her poured the first of her army, shadows taking the form of armored soldiers, their eyes glowing faint silver.She paused on a cliff that overlooked the sleeping kingdom below. The city’s spires rose like pale teeth against the moonlight, unaware of what had just arrived at its doorstep.Lyra tilted her head, a smile touching her lips.“Peaceful… too peaceful. They don’t deserve this quiet sleep.”From the dark ranks behind her stepped one of her trusted lieutenants, a tall, gaunt figure clad in black steel. His helm was shaped like the face of

The town of Rakeshire always smelled of bread and river water. Every morning the air was filled with the sound of fishermen calling out, merchants shouting prices in the square, and children running through narrow cobbled streets. To strangers, it seemed like a place far away from war, far away from the darkness spreading across the lands.But for King Eisblish, the quiet streets were a cage.He walked through the marketplace, his cloak drawn low, his silver-gray beard tucked into his collar. Every step reminded him he was no longer a king. He was a man in hiding. At his side strode his son, Prince Arin, tall and sharp-eyed, his hair the same pale gold that marked him as royal.“Father,” Arin muttered, glancing at a group of blacksmiths hammering iron. “Do you see the way they look at us? They know we’re not from here.”Eisblish didn’t raise his eyes. “Keep your voice down, Arin. The less people notice us, the longer we live.”Arin’s jaw tightened. “Living? You call this living? Hidin

The great meeting hall of Eryndor’s keep was built of stone and timber, decorated with banners of every tribe, clan, and kin who had sworn loyalty to him. Wolves’ heads, harpy feathers, goblin marks, elven leaves, symbols of unity that once seemed impossible. The torches burned warmly along the walls, but the faces gathered around the table were serious.At the head of the long oak table sat Eryndor, the blonde elf whose calm strength had drawn beasts and men alike under his banner. At his right hand sat Lucius, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, his armor gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Beside him was Grimp, the hobgoblin who had followed Eryndor since the beginning, his tusked mouth pulled into a permanent scowl that disguised his loyalty.Further down sat Isabella, the former princess of Kryptoria, her beauty regal even in her simple gown, her hand resting lightly on Eryndor’s arm. Across from her, a wide circle of representatives, a centaur chieftain, a wolfkin matriarch, an orc