Chapter 107 Hundred and eleven
“Do you hear that?” the young watchman whispered, leaning over the edge of the wooden tower as if the night itself breathed against his ear. “It’s too quiet.”
“Quiet means peace,” the elder guard muttered, brushing frost from his beard. “Stop jumpin’ at shadows.”
“It’s not the shadows I’m worried about,” the young one replied. “It’s the men hiding inside them.”
Below them, the border village slept, the roofs coated in pale moonlight, the chimneys giving off thin spirals of smoke. Children curled against their mothers. Merchants slept with their ledgers under their pillows. Wolves, in human or fur, tucked into their dens believing the night was safe.
The danger arrived three heartbeats later.
A sharp whistle cut through the silence.
The watchman straightened. “Did you, ”
Arrows rained from the treeline.
A scream cracked open the night as the first guard toppled backward, an arrow lodged in his throat. The young watchman spun, reaching for the bell rope, but another arrow sank into his chest before he could pull it.
The bell never rang.
And the shadows moved.
Zane stepped out of the forest with the calm stride of a man who believed the land already belonged to him. His dark hair gleamed. His coat billowed like a commander returning to claim what was stolen. Behind him, renegade wolves , some half-shifted, some monstrous , stormed the village with torches and blades.
“Burn the southern row first,” Zane said. “The loyalists keep their messengers there.”
A torch flew, smashing against a wooden door. Flames leapt in an instant, ripping up the frame, climbing the walls like they’d been waiting for this invitation.
Villagers woke screaming.
“Please, please, my baby, ”
“Run!”
“They said the Queen would protect us, ”
“They lied!”
The chaos surged like a tide.
And from the heart of it stepped Renna.
She wore a crimson cloak, hood lowered, blonde hair unbound and gleaming like a halo of deceit. Her smile bloomed as she watched the fire spread.
“Beautiful,” she whispered.
Zane didn’t glance at her. “Destroy the ledgers, the archives. Anything that ties this place to the Moon Court is to be erased.”
Renna tilted her head. “And the people?”
“Make examples.”
She sighed in satisfaction. “Finally.”
She strode to the first house collapsing under heat. A mother and son tried to flee through the doorway, coughing, terrified. The boy stumbled, and the mother pulled him up.
Renna blocked their path.
“Please,” the woman begged, voice cracked from smoke. “We have nothing to do with the Court.”
“Oh, you do,” Renna replied, brushing soot off her cloak as if offended by their nearness. “Your taxes. Your loyalty. Your existence.”
The mother shielded her son. “Please… he’s only eight.”
“Then he should learn young,” Renna murmured.
Her blade gleamed.
The woman screamed.
And then,
“Enough.”
Zane’s voice sliced across the square.
Renna paused, blade inches from the child’s cheek. “He’s a loyalist.”
“He’s a child,” Zane snapped.
Her blue eyes narrowed, and her voice slithered with annoyance. “Since when do you care for children?”
“Since I need the living to spread fear,” he replied. “Dead mouths don’t speak. Leave them.”
Her smile returned, cooler this time. “As you command… my King.”
The title pleased him.
He lifted his chin and surveyed the burning village with a conqueror’s pride. “Move to the eastern road. The Moon Court patrol will come from there. I want their heads.”
A horn sounded.
Not from the rebels.
From the mountain pass.
Zane froze.
Renna hissed. “Who dares, ”
From the white ridge, riders approached. Moon Court colors. Sienna’s crest.
Only a dozen.
Yet enough.
Zane’s grin sharpened. “Perfect. Bring her people to their knees, and she will follow.”
Renegade wolves swarmed toward the ridge. The Moon Court riders drew steel, their mounts screaming as they charged down the slope.
Dust rose.
Hooves thundered.
Steel met claw.
Sienna’s guard captain roared, “Protect the villagers! Get them out, go!”
Two patrolmen grabbed the mother and her son, leading them toward the ridge. Renna watched them go, her expression hardening.
“Zane,” she murmured, “your hesitation weakens us.”
“And your bloodlust blinds you,” he replied.
Before she could argue, a rebel lieutenant sprinted toward them.
“King Zane , the northern flank broke through! Loyalists are fighting back.”
“At last,” Zane whispered, his eyes gleaming with the joy of conquest. “The realm begins to bleed.”
He strode toward the battle.
Renna remained where she stood, eyes fixed not on the flames but on the distant crest of the Moon Court’s banner. A banner Sienna herself had once held when she still believed the system could be saved.
Renna’s smile deepened.
“Burn everything,” she whispered to no one. “Let her see her kingdom die screaming.”
The battle raged.
Guards fought valiantly, but they were outnumbered, overwhelmed. Rebels pushed them back, torches lighting the ground around fallen bodies. A once-peaceful border village shrank beneath destruction.
And then, through the smoke, something trembled in the air.
A pulse.
A command.
A sensation like moonlight bending.
Every wolf paused mid-motion.
Renna’s head snapped toward the east. “What is that?”
Zane froze, blade raised.
Magic.
Old magic.
Familiar magic.
Sienna.
A Moon Court rider gasped, “She’s coming, she’s, ”
A wave of power split the air.
Not violent.
Not soft.
Just undeniable.
Renna scowled. “Your Queen is slower than I expected.”
“She’s not here,” Zane muttered.
“How do you know?”
“Because that wasn’t her.” His jaw tensed. “That was him.”
Renna’s smile died.
“You can’t mean, ”
“Yes,” Zane said. “The Ghost Alpha.”
A rebel soldier stumbled backward, terror widening his eyes. “He’s here?”
“No,” Zane answered quietly. “But he’s watching.”
A hush rippled through the battlefield as if something unseen crawled just beneath the earth.
Renna shook off the chill. “Let the cursed beast come. He cannot save her kingdom.”
Zane looked at the burning homes, the fleeing villagers, the blood on the ground.
He didn’t smile this time.
“Sienna will feel this before dawn,” he said. “And when she does… she will break.”
The flames rose higher.
The moon dimmed behind smoke.
A village loyal to the Moon Court fell silent as the last roof caved inward.
And from the highest point of the ridge, unseen by all except the shifting shadows, a pair of silver-black eyes watched the nightmare unfold.
Eyes filled with hunger.
Eyes filled with grief.
Eyes filled with a promise.
The First Strike had begun.
And the realm trembled.