Prologue - The Great Extermination

The cold winds of the Valley of Peak were just beginning to stir as Aphael led his pack southward. The towering shadow trees loomed in the distance which marks the edge of enemy territory. The march had been long and grueling, yet silent determination filled the ranks of the moonlight wolves. Aphael, in his human form but feeling every bit of the wolf inside him, glanced at the thick forest ahead. His fur itched to shift, to let the moon’s power take over, but he held back. He needed to keep his mind sharp.

Aphael thought that this full-fledged war against the shadow wolves was necessary. The village heads had also made their voices clear — extreme action has to be taken after the recent kidnappings of moonlight wolves’ children. The pressure to retaliate weighed heavily on his shoulders, yet there was a nagging doubt in his mind. The shadow wolves had lived in their secluded darkness for centuries. Why now? Why break the silence?

Aphael missed the calm of his home. The Moon Palace felt so distant, not just in space but in spirit. He thought of Felice, his luna, and their children, Alrael and Priscine. It had been weeks since he’d held his son, longer since he’d last heard his daughter's laughter echo through the halls of the palace. The emptiness of their absence gnawed at him. Felice had been against this war from the start. She had warned him, begged him even, to seek another way. "The shadow wolves do not act without reason," she'd said. And yet here he was, marching toward battle with uncertainty plaguing his heart.

“A heavy head, Alpha?” Ren’s voice interrupted his thoughts, his playful tone standing in stark contrast to the grim mood around them. Ren, ever the joker, seemed immune to the tension that gripped the pack.

Aphael didn’t reply immediately, instead he watched the younger wolf trot beside him, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief. Ren had always been the light in the dark that his humor remains unshakable even in the gravest of times.

“You don’t seem worried about the fight ahead,” Aphael finally said, his voice carrying a hint of reproach, but not unkind.

Ren grinned, a wolfish smirk. “Worried? Why would I be? We have the Alpha, the greatest of the moonlight wolves. What’s there to fear?”

Aphael allowed himself a rare smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Confidence is good, Ren. But don't let it blind you to the dangers.”

“Blind? No, no. But I trust in the moon, Alpha. Besides, it’s been far too long since I’ve had a good fight,” Ren chuckled, stretching his arms above his head, the easygoing nature of his manner infecting those around him.

As the pack continued their march, the moon began its slow ascent in the sky. Though they were still hours away from the Valley of Peak, the oppressive presence of the shadow trees seemed to seep into the air, heavy and foreboding. Aphael’s steps slowed as the cool breeze brushed against his face, mingling with the steady warmth of the pack behind him. His thoughts drifted back to his last night with Felice where they shared a moment of tenderness that now felt distant, as if it belonged to another time.

Her voice had been soft, like the gentle glow of the moon as it crept through the window of their chambers. “Aphael,” she had whispered while her hands were resting on his chest as she looked up at him with wide, concerned eyes. “Do you really have to go? The war… it feels so wrong.”

Aphael had held her close, feeling the tension in her body as she pressed her cheek against his chest. “I don’t want this war either, Felice,” he had replied, his voice low and almost resigned. “But the village heads... they’re right. The shadow wolves have become a danger to our people.”

Felice had pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, her own filled with quiet worry. “I know… I understand why it must happen. But... promise me, Aphael, promise me you'll be careful. Don’t push yourself too hard. I… I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Her words had stirred something deep within him, a protective instinct that burned fiercer than ever. He had cupped her face gently and brushed a strand of her silver hair away from her eyes. “You won’t lose me,” he had assured her. “I’ll come back. I swear under the moon's light.”

Felice had smiled then, but it was a fragile thing, weighed down by the unspoken fear they both shared. She leaned into his touch and her voice barely a whisper. “Alrael and Priscine need you... I need you.”

The memory of her words lingered in Aphael’s mind as he walked, the weight of her concern is heavier than a mountain. She had always been the calm in the storm, the gentle voice of reason when his duties as alpha threatened to consume him. He had left that night with her kiss on his lips and her warmth still fresh in his memory. The thought of her now, waiting for him to return, filled him with a renewed determination — but also a deep, gnawing fear.

What if I can’t keep that promise?

He shook the thought away, unwilling to let doubt cloud his mind. But as the Valley of Peak drew closer, so too did the weight of his promise.

Ren’s voice cut through his memories once again. “So, what do you think they’ll look like? The shadow wolves, I mean.” He had that curious look in his eye, like a pup seeing the moon for the first time.

Aphael raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. “You’ve never seen one?”

“Not up close,” Ren admitted with a shrug. “They keep to their dark corners of the island, don’t they? And we keep to ours. Besides, they’re more myth than wolf, aren’t they?”

“They're very real,” Aphael replied, his tone growing serious. “And far more dangerous than the stories make them seem. Their strength is unmatched, but their sanity is… fragile. If you aren’t careful, they’ll tear you apart.”

Ren chuckled, though there was a nervous edge to it this time. “Sounds like a fun challenge.”

"Fun isn't the word I'd use," Aphael muttered, his gaze drifting ahead to the path. The shadow wolves weren’t a joke, and this war wasn’t a game. His mind flashed to the reports — children taken, families left devastated. And yet… why now?

Something didn’t sit right. It had been decades since the shadow wolves had posed any real threat. What had changed?

“Alpha!” Sanz, the captain of the first platoon, barked, drawing Aphael’s attention forward. “The shadow trees are near. We’re close.”

Aphael nodded and his senses sharpening. The time for reflection was over.

As the pack moved closer to the shadow trees, a heavy tension settled over them. The trees loomed like giants, their twisted branches spreading wide, blocking the moon’s light from penetrating the dense canopy. These trees were unlike any others on Lunular Island. Their bark was deep black, absorbing every sliver of light that touched them. The air here was different — colder, thicker. Even the sounds of the island seemed to disappear into the oppressive darkness.

Aphael raised his hand, signaling the pack to stop. The wolves around him halted immediately, their breaths visible in the chilling air. He turned to his captains: Sanz, Leo, Ephraim, Ren, and Persia. Each of them was in human form, but their postures were that of battle-hardened wolves, ready to transform at a moment’s notice.

“We rest here,” Aphael commanded. “The Valley of Peak is just beyond these trees. We’ll need our strength for what lies ahead.”

Sanz, the oldest of the captains, nodded. His grizzled face showed no fear, only calm readiness. “The platoons are prepared, Alpha.”

Aphael acknowledged him with a curt nod, then gestured for the captains to join him. They moved to a small clearing where the dim light was barely enough to illuminate their faces. 

“This is the last chance for us to plan,” Aphael began, his gaze sweeping over the group. The towering shadow trees loomed ahead, their twisted forms casting an eerie silhouette against the faint moonlight. “Once we pass through those trees, there’s no turning back.”

The atmosphere around the fire was tense, but Ephraim leaned forward with the calm certainty of someone who had seen his share of battles. His eyes, sharp and calculating, were already moving ahead, mapping the terrain in his mind. “I say we stick with the initial plan,” Ephraim said, his voice was soft but commands so much attention. “A direct assault from the front to draw their attention. Triton will expect us to charge, and he’ll prepare his strongest fighters to meet us head-on.”

Aphael nodded and was listening closely. He trusted Ephraim who had a sharp mind for war, often thinking several steps ahead. “Go on,” Aphael urged.

Ephraim's gaze flickered toward the map they had drawn earlier in the dirt. He traced a finger along the valley's edges, where the shadow trees grew thickest. “While we engage them directly, we should send two platoons to flank the valley. Sanz will take his men around the eastern ridge, while Leo leads the western flank. Their goal is simple: block the escape routes. The shadow wolves rely on the darkness of the valley, but they’ll retreat the moment they sense a disadvantage. We can’t let them slip into the forest where they’ll regroup or ambush us. We should force them to fight on our terms.”

Aphael furrowed his brow, contemplating the plan. “And if they anticipate this? Triton isn’t a fool. He’ll have scouts, and he’ll know the terrain better than us.”

“That’s why we move with precision,” Ephraim replied and his voice calm but laced with an edge of determination. “We need to be faster and smarter. Sanz and Leo will take only half their men to keep the platoons light and mobile. If the shadow wolves have scouts, we take them down quietly before they can raise the alarm. By the time Triton realizes what’s happening, we’ll already have him surrounded.”

Ren who was lounging lazily against a tree, cut in with a smirk. “Always thinking three steps ahead, aren’t you, Ephraim? What if the shadow wolves decide to fight to the death? We’ll be charging headfirst into a death trap.”

But Ephraim didn’t flinch. “If they stay and fight, that’s exactly what we want. Triton’s forces may be powerful, but they’ve never had to face an organized offensive from us. Their strength comes from chaos, from ambushes and surprise attacks. If we can force them into open combat, where their movements are restricted and their numbers don’t give them an advantage, we have the upper hand.”

Aphael looked over at Ephraim, impressed by the clarity and depth of his thinking. His strategist had thought through every potential outcome, at the same time balancing risk and reward with precision. “And what about the terrain itself?” Aphael asked. “The valley is filled with shadow trees. It will be difficult to navigate, especially for our larger platoons.”

“We can use the terrain to our advantage too,” Ephraim replied, tapping the map. “The shadow trees give them cover, yes, but they also slow down movement. If they try to retreat, they’ll be funneled into narrower paths where our platoons can trap them. We use their own hiding places against them.”

Aphael’s gaze flickered to the captains gathered around the fire. Sanz was listening intently, while Leo nodded in agreement, already planning his men’s movements in his head. Ephraim’s logic was sound. If they executed the plan correctly, they had a chance to corner the shadow wolves and finish this once and for all.

"We'll proceed as Ephraim planned. But remember," Aphael said, his tone growing somber once more, "this isn't just about winning. This is about understanding. We need to know why they’ve changed. What’s driving them to attack us after all these years."

The captains exchanged glances, their expressions hardening. The recent kidnappings, the aggression — it was as if something had awakened within the shadow wolves, something darker than ever before. Aphael couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing a vital piece of the puzzle.

“Get some rest,” Aphael concluded. “We’ll move at dawn.”

As the captains dispersed to relay orders and check on their platoons, Aphael remained seated, his eyes locked on the shadows. The weight of his decision hung heavy in the air. He had led his pack into this... into the heart of the unknown. But why now? His instincts told him there was more to this than a simple clash between wolves. Something was stirring, something far more dangerous.

He leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes briefly. For a moment, he allowed himself to think of Felice, of the warmth of her presence, the softness of her touch. He missed her fiercely, more than words could express. I’ll come back to you, he promised silently. I’ll return to you and our children.

The night dragged on slowly, and Aphael found himself unable to rest. The soft rustle of the wind through the shadow trees seemed to whisper doubts and fears he couldn’t shake. He stood, pacing along the edge of the camp and his senses keenly attuned to every sound. The howls of distant wolves echoed faintly, but none from his pack. The Valley of Peak was near — too near for him to let his guard down.

As he walked, his mind drifted back to Alrael and Priscine. His children had been growing quickly and each had been showing signs of the strength and intelligence. Alrael, bold and full of questions, had started training with the younger wolves, though Felice often worried about his safety. Priscine, younger and more cautious, clung to her mother, and had been observing the world with quiet intensity.

He had never told them how much this war weighed on him, how every decision felt like a step toward an uncertain future. How could he? They were children, innocent and full of life. He didn’t want them to carry the burden of his doubts, not yet. Someday, they will understand. But not now.

A crack of a branch behind him snapped Aphael back to the present. His hand reflexively shifted, his claws elongating as he turned to face the noise. But it was only Ren, strolling toward him with his usual swagger and a grin was plastered on his face.

"Alpha, you're as tense as a rabbit on a full moon," Ren teased, while stretching lazily. His golden eyes gleamed in the dim light. "A walk under these lovely shadow trees not doing it for you?"

Aphael huffed — he's not in the mood for Ren's playful banter, but Ren was relentless. The captain had always used humor to ease tension, and tonight was no different.

"You know," Ren continued, plopping himself down on a nearby rock, "I've been thinking. What if the shadow wolves aren't as bad as we think? Maybe they’re just misunderstood, like us after a bad hunt. Maybe they just need a bit of a— " He made a theatrical gesture, waving his hand in the air. "—conversation."

Aphael allowed a small smirk to touch his lips. "If you want to have a chat with Triton, be my guest. Just don’t expect him to invite you over for tea."

Ren chuckled and clearly pleased to have earned a reaction from his alpha. “Ah, Triton. Big, scary, probably doesn’t like jokes. I’ll pass on that one. But I’ll tell you, Alpha, all this serious planning and strategy stuff — it’s got the pack wound up tighter than a snake. Maybe what we need is a good howl at the moon, clear our heads before dawn.”

Aphael glanced at Ren, appreciating his captain’s attempt to lighten the mood, even if it didn’t quite settle his own nerves. Ren had a way of masking his own fears with humor, a trait that had both frustrated and comforted Aphael over the years.

“The pack will need more than a howl to get through tomorrow,” Aphael said quietly, his eyes drifting back to the dark horizon where the Valley of Peak lay waiting. “This fight — it’s not like the ones before.”

Ren’s grin faded slightly, though his eyes still held their familiar gleam. “You’re right, Alpha. It feels different. But don’t worry — whatever it is, we’ll be ready.”

Aphael nodded, but the weight in his chest remained. There was something in Ren’s casual tone that gave him pause, a sense that his captain was more aware of the danger than he let on. But Aphael said nothing. His pack needed his strength and focus, not his doubts.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Aphael said, his voice steady. “Get some rest. We move at dawn.”

Ren stood, giving a mock salute. “You’ve got it, Alpha. But don’t stay up too late — bad for the fur.” With that, he sauntered off and left Aphael alone with his thoughts once more.

The night was deepening, and the moon, though veiled by the shadow trees, remained a constant presence in the sky. Aphael stared at it for a long time, while feeling its pull, its distant power. The moon had always been his guide, his source of strength. But now, standing on the edge of a battle that felt larger than any he had ever faced, he wondered if even the moon’s light would be enough.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of the shadow wolves, faint but unmistakable. Aphael’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the distance. Tomorrow, he thought, we face the darkness. And I must be ready for whatever it brings.

The moon above shone faintly through the twisted branches, as though watching… waiting.

***

As dawn approached, the pack stirred. Aphael watched as his wolves moved about with a quiet efficiency, gathering their weapons — claws, teeth, and the primal strength granted by the moon. They were readying for war. The faint rustling of preparations echoed through the camp and the sound blending with the distant, ominous whispers of the shadow trees.

The time had come.

Sanz, the first captain, approached, his massive frame cutting an imposing figure against the pale light of dawn. His expression was solemn but determined and the weight of responsibility clear in his golden eyes. “Alpha,” he began while his voice low, “the pack is ready. We will march as soon as you give the word.”

The Valley of Peak was no ordinary battlefield. The shadow trees loomed like sentinels, their twisted, gnarled branches blocking out the moonlight and casting long, dark shadows that seemed to pulse with malevolent energy. Fighting here would be unlike anything his wolves had faced before.

But there was no turning back now.

“Let’s move out,” Aphael ordered, his voice steady. His gaze swept over his captains, each one giving a nod of acknowledgment before dispersing to their units.

The pack set off in formation, the ground beneath their feet gradually darkening as they neared the valley. Aphael marched at the front, while his senses hyper-aware of every change in the air. The farther they went, the heavier the atmosphere became. The presence of the shadow wolves was undeniable now, a thick tension hanging like fog.

Ren, who had kept pace beside Aphael, broke the silence. “Ever wonder what it’s like for them, living in all this darkness?” His voice was light, but Aphael knew Ren too well — his question wasn’t just idle chatter. “I mean, we have the moon. They have… well, this.”

Aphael didn’t answer immediately, because his eyes focused on the path ahead. The ground here was different... the soil was darker and colder. The closer they got to the Valley of Peak, the more oppressive the darkness became, as if even the earth had been tainted by the shadow wolves’ presence.

“I don’t think they care for the light anymore,” Aphael said eventually. “They chose the darkness a long time ago.”

As they neared the mouth of the valley, the landscape shifted. The shadow trees grew denser, their trunks twisted and blackened, and the ground beneath their feet was soft and almost spongy. The moon’s light barely penetrated here, casting only faint, ghostly glimmers that did little to illuminate the way. Aphael’s heart pounded with anticipation, his instincts alert to the unseen danger ahead.

Sanz came to his side, his presence grounding. “We’re close,” he murmured, scanning the treeline. “And it's too quiet.”

Aphael’s eyes flicked to the horizon, where the valley opened into a narrow, winding path leading deeper into the heart of the shadow wolves’ territory. “They know we’re coming,” he said quietly. “They’ve been waiting.”

As if on cue, the faint sound of movement echoed from the distance — a shuffle of feet, the creak of a branch, the unmistakable scent of wolves lying in wait. The shadow wolves were near.

Aphael signaled to the captains, and the pack spread out, moving silently into position. Each platoon shifted into their wolf forms and their white fur were glistening faintly even in the dim light. They moved with precisionas they their eyes were glowing with the moon’s power. Aphael himself resisted the full transformation, his muscles tensed, poised for the fight ahead.

Suddenly, from the shadows, the first howl rang out — a deep, guttural sound that sent a chill through the air. The shadow wolves had made their move.

“They’re here,” Sanz growled and his hackles rose.

Aphael’s eyes scanned the treeline, and then they emerged — dark figures moving swiftly through the trees, their grey fur blending almost perfectly with the shadows. The shadow wolves, in their full bestial forms, were terrifying to behold. They were larger, more muscular than the moonlight wolves, and their eyes gleamed with madness, driven by their raw instincts.

The battle began in an instant.

The shadow wolves charged first, their howls filled the valley, and the moonlight wolves responded with equal ferocity. Claws slashed, teeth tore, and the air was filled with the sounds of wolves colliding, growling, snarling as the two forces clashed.

Aphael transformed halfway, his arms lengthened, claws sharp and ready. He launched himself into the fray while keeping his movements swift and deliberate. A shadow wolf lunged at him from the side, but Aphael was quicker, as he sidestepped and slashed with precision. His claws tore through the grey wolf’s side and sent it crashing to the ground.

Nearby, Sanz was locked in battle with two shadow wolves, his massive form barely holding them off. Meanwhile, Ren was fighting alongside Ephraim, their movements synchronized as they tore through the enemy ranks with savage efficiency.

But despite their best efforts, Aphael could sense the overwhelming power of the shadow wolves. They fought like rabid beasts as their strength unmatched by sheer numbers alone. Although the moonlight wolves were disciplined, they were struggling to hold the line.

Through the chaos, Aphael’s eyes sought Triton. He knew the shadow wolves’ leader would be here, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. And when that moment comes, I’ll be ready, Aphael thought grimly.

Suddenly, the ground beneath Aphael shifted, and he heard a low growl from behind him. He spun around just in time to see a massive grey wolf barreling toward him — Triton.

Their eyes locked, and Aphael’s breath caught. Triton’s fur was almost entirely grey, darker than any shadow wolf Aphael had ever seen.

Triton wasted no time and launched himself at Aphael with terrifying speed. Their bodies collided, and the force of it sent them both tumbling to the ground. Aphael rolled and used his claws to push Triton off him, but the shadow wolf leader was relentless. He came at Aphael again, claws slashing, teeth bared.

The clash between Aphael and Triton raged on and their howls and snarls were echoing across the Valley of Peak. Moonlight clashed against shadow, and the air crackled with the raw energy of their battle. Aphael’s body was covered in a radiant white aura as the power of the moon run through his veins. Every movement he made was fluid and precise, each strike landing with the force of a hurricane. The pale glow of the moon above seemed to bend to his will and illuminated his figure even within the depths of the valley’s shadows.

Meanwhile, Triton, despite his grey fur, moved with equal ferocity. His strength, untethered from the moon’s light, was monstrous. Yet, there was something wrong, something off about the way he fought. His movements were sharp and calculated, but his eyes — those dark, gleaming eyes — burned with something more than just brute instinct. They burned with unnatural focus, a clarity no shadow wolf should possess.

Aphael’s claws slashed across Triton’s side, drawing blood, but the shadow wolf barely flinched. He countered with a brutal swipe of his own that forced Aphael back. For a moment, they stood facing each other, both breathing heavily. The battlefield around them had devolved into chaos. Moonlight wolves fought desperately against the overwhelming force of their shadow counterparts, but Aphael’s attention was focused entirely on Triton.

“How?” Aphael growled, his breath coming in sharp, heavy bursts. His white aura shimmered with the moon’s energy, healing his wounds, restoring his strength. “Your fur — it's grey. You should have lost yourself to the darkness long ago. How are you still in control?”

Triton grinned as the blood on his fangs catching the faint light. “Control?” His voice was mocking, taunting. “You think I need the moon to remain in control? You think its light is the only thing that can keep us sane?”

Aphael’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Triton’s grin widened, and for a moment, there was something sinister in his gaze. “There are other ways, Alpha. Ways you’ve never even imagined. You rely too much on that precious moon of yours.”

“Other ways?” Aphael repeated, his voice low and dangerous. The weight of Triton’s words lingered in his mind. What does he mean? The moon was their source of power, their anchor to sanity. Without it, they were nothing more than beasts. Yet here was Triton, fully removed from the moon’s light, fighting with clarity and strength.

“You’re not ready for this invention, Aphael,” Triton said darkly. “But soon… you will be.”

Before he could press further, Triton launched himself at Aphael again, but this time Aphael was ready. He called upon the power of the moon, letting it flood his senses, filling every fiber of his being. His body became enveloped in a brilliant white aura and the light of the moon was shimmering around him, amplifying his strength, his speed, his focus.

Triton’s claws met Aphael’s, but the difference in power was now unmistakable. Aphael moved with supernatural speed and his strikes hitting with the force of a tidal wave. Every swipe of his claws cut deeper and every blow of his fists rattled Triton to his core.

The shadow wolf staggered under the onslaught, his once-arrogant expression now turning to one of desperation. Triton slashed wildly, trying to land a blow, but Aphael was relentless. The moon’s light surged through him, a force of nature that could not be stopped.

With a savage roar, Aphael lunged forward, slamming Triton to the ground. He stood over him, claws poised to deliver the final blow. “This ends now, Triton,” Aphael growled, his voice dripping with finality.

Triton coughed, blood trickling from his mouth as he looked up at Aphael. His eyes still held that gleam of defiance, though his body was beaten and broken. “You think… you’ve won?” he rasped. “You’ve no idea what’s coming, Alpha.”

Before Aphael could question him further, something sharp pierced the air — an intent of treachery that was cutting through the tension. The sharp, familiar scent of betrayal filled Aphael’s nostrils a moment too late. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of fangs aimed directly at his neck.

“Alpha!”

The voice was sharp and urgent — and it was not Triton’s.

Aphael spun just in time and his body reacted before his mind fully registered the danger. Persia, captain of the fourth platoon, in her wolf form lunged at him while her eyes burning with treachery.

But she never succeeded in her assination.

In a flash, another figure appeared between them, faster than the eye could follow. Aphael’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the unmistakable silhouette. Soren.

Uno codename Soren, his most trusted Raksha, stood tall before him, and intercepted Persia as she positioned to attack again. The force of their collision sent Persia stumbling back and shock was evident on her face.

“Soren…” Aphael breathed, relief and gratitude swelling in his chest. But the sense of disbelief lingered. Persia… one of his captains? How could she betray him now, after all they had been through?

Persia’s expression twisted into one of disbelief and fury. “Who… who are you?” she demanded, her voice dripping with venom. “No one moves like that!”

Soren, standing calmly with his back to Aphael, flicked his wrist and Persia's paws shattered beneath the force that made her turn back into her human form. “You should know better than to betray the Alpha,” Soren said, his voice cold, controlled. “Now you’ll face me.”

Aphael stood frozen... his heart pounding in his chest. Persia? Of all wolves, why her? His thoughts raced. She had been a pillar of strength among the captains and had always been reliable. Was there something he missed? Had she been harboring these feelings all along, or had he driven her to this with his decisions? A cold sense of guilt clawed at him.

Persia's expression was one of pain, but it quickly turned to rage. She bared her teeth once more, partially transforming back into her wolf form. Her claws extended, and her muscles bulged as she prepared for another attack. “The Alpha shouldn’t be the only one to lead!” she spat. “We are all wolves, all strong! Why should only one have the power of the moon? Why should only one decide our fate?”

Her words were wild, clearly fueled by anger and ambition, but Soren was unfazed. He stepped forward and met her challenge head-on.

The two clashed in a blur of movement, claws meeting claws, strength against strength. Persia fought with savage fury and her strikes were fast and vicious, but Soren was faster. Each of her attacks was parried effortlessly, each attempt to gain the upper hand met with overwhelming skill.

Aphael watched and his mind was racing. Persia had always been the strongest among the captains, but now, faced with Soren’s power, she seemed almost… helpless.

Within moments, Soren had Persia pinned, his claws resting lightly against her throat. “Why?” he asked, his voice sharp and clear. “Why betray the Alpha? Why now?”

Persia snarled as she struggled against his grip, her eyes wild. “Because I refuse to follow blindly! The moon’s power belongs to all of us. We should all have a say in the pack’s future, not just him!”

Soren’s expression darkened. “Your ambition has blinded you. The Alpha is our leader for a reason. You would risk the entire pack for your own selfish desires?”

Persia’s breathing was ragged, her eyes darting between Soren and Aphael. “You’re all fools,” she spat. “The Alpha’s reign will end, whether by my hand or another’s.”

With a swift movement, Soren knocked Persia unconscious. Her body fell to the ground with a soft thud, while her eyes still wide in shock and still burning with that misguided ambition. Aphael stood frozen for a moment, watching her lifeless form crumple to the dirt. The moonlight that graced his fur, so bright and pure, seemed distant against the backdrop of betrayal that had stained the battlefield.

He had seen betrayal before. In the history of their people, there were always those who craved more power, who thought the title of Alpha was simply a privilege. But this — Persia’s treachery — cut deeper. She wasn’t just a soldier or some ambitious youth. She was one of his captains, one he had trusted with his life and the lives of their pack.

Soren wiped his claws on the hem of his cloak, his face an expressionless mask as he knelt beside Aphael. “The threat is neutralized,” he said in his usual cold tone, as if he had just carried out another task, nothing more.

Aphael clenched his fists, his white aura still flickering like an open flame. “It shouldn’t have come to this,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. “She was family.”

“Family doesn’t stab you in the back,” Soren replied calmly, but Aphael could feel the sharpness in his words.

Aphael turned his eyes back to the battlefield, searching for Triton. His howl of grief was still stuck in his throat, the realization of Persia’s betrayal lingering like poison in his veins. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Triton had to be dealt with.

Aphael stood firm as his gaze locked on Triton, who was now backed against a tree, half of the remaining shadow wolves were faltering around him. The tension in the air crackled as Aphael’s heart raced, a mixture of rage and confusion swirling within him. “Answer me at once, Triton! How is it that you and few of the shadow wolves can remain sane even after abandoning the power of the moon?” he demanded, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside him.

Triton smirked as blood trickled down the side of his mouth. “Well… there’s a little secret I’ve been keeping. A vial, you see. It does what the moon does for you. Keeps us... sane.”

Aphael narrowed his eyes, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “What’s is this vial? What have you done?” But Triton simply smirked and fell silent, a malicious glint in his eye.

The moment stretched, a heavy silence settling over the battlefield. Aphael felt a growing urgency to end this. Triton’s vague hints only fueled his determination; he needed to eliminate this threat before it could fester and grow.

“Enough games,” Aphael growled and raised his claws. The aura of the moon enveloping him in a brilliant glow. “We end this now.”

With a fierce roar, Aphael lunged forward and the pack of moonlight wolves surged in unison. The remaining shadow wolves faltered under the combined might of the moonlight pack as their strength waning in the face of Aphael’s relentless assault. Claws and teeth clashed, fur flying as they fought back against the oncoming tide of moonlight.

Aphael pushed through the chaos and focused solely on Triton. He would not allow the shadow leader to escape, not with the knowledge he possessed. As Aphael neared, Triton attempted to evade, but he was too weakened, too cornered.

Triton was staggering backward against the tree, blood soaking into the ground beneath him. “If only the vial was complete… I could have surpassed your strength… Aphael.”

If only the vial was complete? The words rattled in his mind, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

Triton, still coughing blood, looked up at Aphael with a defiant smile. “Don’t think you’ve won, because this… this is only the beginning. I may die here, but I haven’t lost. You’ll see. Soon enough.”

A sickening feeling settled in Aphael’s stomach. He was certain that Triton was more than just an enemy; he was part of something larger, something darker that Aphael could not yet comprehend. And whatever it was, it threatened not just him, but everything he had fought to protect.

Aphael growled, moving closer, his white aura now bathing Triton in its light. “This is your last chance. Tell me, Triton — what is in this vial? Who are you working with? Answer and I’ll spare the lives of the remaining shadow wolves.”

“Do you think I care about the shadow wolves?” Triton struggled to his feet, using his claws to push himself off the blood-soaked earth. His laughter came again, though weaker now, but no less defiant. “You’ll never know, Aphael. My mouth remains shut.”

Aphael bared his teeth and a deep growl rumbled in his chest. His claws glowed, pulsing with the moon’s energy as he prepared to strike. He needed to end this. But before he could move, Triton’s body suddenly convulsed. His eyes widened, and a guttural cry tore from his throat as he doubled over and coughed violently. Blood splattered the ground, darker than before, thicker.

Aphael paused, his senses on high alert. Something was happening to Triton — something unnatural. The gray in Triton’s fur seemed to deepen, turning almost black, as if the moon itself recoiled from his presence.

Something is breaking Triton.

He looked at Triton one last time, his expression hardened. “You’ve lost, Triton. Even if you don’t believe it, you’ve lost.”

A smirk never left Triton’s face, even as life slipped from his body. “You haven’t won… yet…” were his last words before his body collapsed onto the ground, motionless.

Aphael stood still, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His heart pounded in his ears, but the battlefield around him was quiet. Triton was dead.

But the victory felt hollow.

Soren stepped forward, placing a hand on Aphael’s shoulder. “It’s over,” he said quietly.

Aphael shook his head, his gaze lingering on Triton’s lifeless form. “No,” he murmured, almost to himself. “This is only the beginning.”

The ground beneath them shook again, and Aphael knew the battle was far from finished. His instincts screamed at him to rally the remaining moonlight wolves, to press their advantage while the remaining shadow wolves were still scattered and disorganized. But the weight of Triton’s words, the mystery of the vial, gnawed at his mind.

Before Aphael could dwell further, his blood turned to ice. The bond he shared with his luna — his mate — was gone. Vanished.

Aphael's heart sank as he realized what it meant.

Felice… is dead.

What had happened back in the Moon Palace?

“No…” Aphael whispered, his voice breaking. He staggered back as his mind was reeling from the sudden loss, the unbearable weight of it crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His body trembled, and then, with a primal roar that shook the very heavens, Aphael howled, pouring every ounce of his grief and rage into that single, heart-wrenching sound.

Soren stood by, his eyes wide with shock. He had never seen the Alpha like this, and it terrified him.

Aphael collapsed to his knees, his hands clawing at the earth and his mind spinning in agony. Triton’s words echoed in his ears. You haven’t won yet.

Triton had been right. He hadn’t won. He had lost everything.