Chapter 1: A Kingdom in Ashes

My name is Elior. By the standards of the packs, I’m nobody special. I don’t hail from a powerful bloodline, nor do I carry the weight of a prestigious family name. I’m a lone wolf, unaligned to any pack and free of the endless power struggles that define their lives. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived on the edges of their world—watching, listening, learning. I was born into a minor pack, one so small it barely registered in the grand hierarchy of our kind. When our territory was claimed by stronger wolves, I learned the hard way that survival didn’t favor the noble-hearted. Strength ruled, and anyone who couldn’t keep up was left to fade into obscurity.

I’ve spent most of my life avoiding the packs’ games, but Alaric changed everything.

He was different from the others—an alpha who ruled not with brute strength, but with cunning and vision. Under his reign, the packs had known something resembling peace. And while I stayed far from his court, I respected him.

That respect brought me to Silverfang Keep tonight.

I wasn’t here as an invited guest, nor as a challenger seeking glory. I was here because the scent of wolfsbane had led me to this place—a scent that always spelled death in our world.

And death was waiting for me when I found Alaric’s chambers.

The Keep was eerily quiet as I crept through the stone corridors, my senses on high alert. Moonlight streamed through narrow windows, casting pale beams across the cold floors.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. The packs didn’t tolerate lone wolves, and even the most neutral of spaces were dangerous for someone like me. But something about the silence of the Keep felt off.

Then I smelled it again: wolfsbane.

The scent was faint, but unmistakable. It clung to the air like a warning, leading me toward the heart of the Keep.

Alaric’s chambers were heavily guarded—at least, they should have been. But as I approached, I found the hall empty, the doors slightly ajar.

My stomach churned.

I stepped inside cautiously, my claws extended in case of a trap. The room was grand but spartan, much like the wolf who had ruled from it. A massive wooden table dominated the space, its surface cluttered with maps and letters.

And there, slumped in a chair by the hearth, was Alaric.

I knew he was dead the moment I saw him.

His skin was pale, his body unnaturally still. A goblet lay overturned on the table beside him, its contents staining the wood a dark red. But it wasn’t wine.

The wolfsbane scent was strongest here, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the man who had once been the strongest wolf in the land. Alaric wasn’t just an alpha—he was the alpha. His strength, both physical and political, had kept the packs from falling into chaos.

And now he was gone.

I took a step closer, my instincts screaming at me to leave. Whoever had killed Alaric was powerful enough to get past his guards, and they could still be nearby. But something about the scene felt unfinished.

That’s when I noticed the scratches on the table.

At first, I thought they were accidental—claw marks from some careless gesture. But as I leaned closer, I saw the pattern. The marks formed letters, a message hastily carved into the wood:

Find The Crown.

The words sent a chill through me.

The Crown was more legend than fact—a relic from the earliest days of the packs. Stories claimed it held immense power, but Alaric had hidden it long ago, warning that no wolf should ever wield it.

If someone had killed him for it…

A sudden noise snapped me out of my thoughts.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, growing louder with each passing second. I moved quickly, slipping into the shadows near the far wall. My heart pounded as the footsteps stopped just outside the door.

The scent of unfamiliar wolves filled the air—at least three of them, judging by the varying cadences of their breathing.

“He’s dead,” a deep voice said, laced with grim satisfaction.

“Are we sure it was her?” another asked, his tone skeptical.

“It doesn’t matter,” the first replied. “The alphas will be at each other’s throats soon enough. No one will care who killed him once the blood starts spilling.”

Their words confirmed my worst fears. Alaric’s death wasn’t just a tragedy—it was a spark. And the packs were dry tinder, waiting to ignite.

I held my breath as the wolves entered the room, their movements cautious but purposeful. They didn’t notice me, their attention focused entirely on Alaric’s body.

“We need to report this,” one of them said, his voice tense.

The deep-voiced wolf chuckled. “Report it? This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. Let them tear each other apart. We’ll pick up the pieces when it’s over.”

Their conversation faded as they left the room, their footsteps retreating down the hall. I waited until the silence returned before stepping out of the shadows.

My mind raced as I slipped back into the night, retracing my steps through the Keep’s labyrinthine corridors.

Alaric’s death was no accident, and whoever was behind it had done more than kill a king—they had set the packs on a collision course. The Crown was at the center of it all, and if someone found it before I did, the consequences would be catastrophic.

But why had Alaric left the message for me?

I wasn’t an alpha. I wasn’t even part of a pack. I was a nobody—a lone wolf who had spent years avoiding the power struggles of our kind. And yet, his final words had drawn me into a game I didn’t want to play.

As I reached the edge of the forest, I glanced back at the Keep. The wolves inside were already sharpening their claws, preparing for the battles to come.

But strength wouldn’t decide this war.

I didn’t know what role I was meant to play, but one thing was clear: the path ahead was shrouded in shadows, and the stakes were higher than I’d ever imagined.