Chapter 130 SHADOWED WAR ARCHITECT
DEREK’S POV
The war ended the way storms do. Loud and fast and then suddenly quiet.
I stood on the ridge above the valley, my boots sinking into wet earth, the smell of blood and ash still hanging in the air. The Golden Moon banners were already up, flapping slow in the wind like they owned the sky now, because they did. Two packs left in Valhalla, the Golden Moon and us.
Everyone else was gone, some dead and some scattered so far they’d never find their way back. The world felt smaller, like someone had closed a fist around it.
“Are you alive over there?” Rowan asked, nudging my shoulder.
“Barely,” I said. My throat was dry. “It feels wrong that it’s over.”
Rowan snorted. “You’d rather keep fighting?”
“No,” I said. “I’d rather understand why we had to.”
He looked at me sideways. “That itch again?”
I didn’t answer because yeah. That itch. The one that crawled under my skin every time someone said Golden Moon went feral like it was that simple.
I watched their warriors move through the valley. They were calm now, too calm with cleaning blades. Checking on wounded and no madness in their eyes or even blood haze.
That wasn’t what feral looked like.
“Did you see them during the last push?” I asked Rowan. “They fought like they knew every move before it happened.”
“So?”
“So someone taught them,” I said. “Or set them up.”
Rowan sighed. “Derek, it’s done, I think you should give peace talk by dawn.”
“That’s exactly why I’m worried,” I muttered.
I left the ridge before he could argue. The camp was loud with relief. People laugh too hard. Crying and hugging. The kind of noise that comes when everyone’s pretending not to think about the dead.
I headed straight for the prisoners’ tent. Inside, the air was thick and dark as three wolves sat bound with silver-thread rope. Golden Moon scouts, caught late in the fight. One of them lifted his head when I came in.
“Are you here to gloat?” he asked.
“No,” I said, pulling up a stool. “I want answers.”
He smiled, slow and tired. “Then you’re asking the wrong pack.”
I leaned forward. “Why did the war start?”
He laughed once. It sounded bitter. “You really don’t know?”
“Try me.”
He glanced at the others, then back at me. “Golden Moon didn’t start it, we just finished it.”
“Everyone says you snapped,” I said. “That your Alpha lost control.”
His eyes hardened. “Our Alpha was pushed.”
“By who?”
He hesitated. Just a second but I saw it.
“By Soul,” he said quietly.
My chest tightened. It was Soul. The name slid through my mind like a blade.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Soul disappeared before the first blood was spilled.”
“That’s what he wanted you to think.”
I stood up slowly. “Start talking.”
He leaned back against the post. “Soul didn’t need to be present, he planted the fire and walked away.”
“What fire?”
“The kind that makes brothers turn on each other,” the scout said. “The kind that smells like betrayal.”
Outside, a horn sounded. Long, low and it was a victory call. Inside the tent, my hands were shaking.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
He did. Soul had been busy long before the first blade was drawn.
The scout talked, and with every word, the picture got uglier.
“He moved between packs,” the scout said. “Quiet and helpful, always listening and always offering advice no one asked for.”
“That sounds like him,” I muttered.
“He whispered to our elders that your pack planned to break the old borders,” the scout went on. “Told them you were hoarding relics, old power.”
“That’s a lie,” I said.
“I know. He told your people that the Golden Moon was preparing a purge. That our Alpha wanted all the land.”
My jaw clenched. “He said that?”
The scout nodded. “He showed forged letters. Seals that looked real and even dates that lined up.”
I ran a hand over my face. “That still doesn’t explain the feral part.”
“That came later,” he said. “Soul poisoned the wells near our southern grounds.”
“What?” I snapped.
“Not poison that kills,” he said. “Poison that weakens control and makes the wolf louder than the man.”
My blood went cold because I knew what this could mean even for me in that position.
“He timed it,” the scout continued. “Just before the first skirmish, when our patrol was attacked, the rage took over. From the outside, it looked like we went mad.”
“And you didn’t know?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “By the time we figured it out, it was too late. Every death fed the story the Soul wanted.”
I stood there, heart pounding. Soul hadn’t just started a war, he had written a script.
“Why?” I asked. “What did he gain?”
The scout’s mouth twitched. “You still don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“Two packs left,” he said softly. “Less noise and less eyes.”
My thoughts raced. “He wanted the weak gone.”
“He wanted control,” the scout corrected. “Soul believes Valhalla works best when it’s simple. Fewer voices and easier to guide.”
“Guide from where?” I asked.
The scout leaned forward. “From the shadows.”
I left the tent feeling sick. Rowan caught up with me near the fire line. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“I saw the truth,” I said. “And it’s worse.”
I told him everything even as his face went pale as the story unfolded.
“So the war wasn’t about land,” he said slowly. “It was about thinning the field.”
“Yes,” I said. “And framing Golden Moon as monsters so no one would question wiping them out.”
Rowan cursed. “But they won.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Which means Soul’s plan didn’t fail.”
He frowned. “How do you figure?”
“Because now,” I said, staring toward the Golden Moon camp, “everyone’s scared of them.”
Rowan went quiet. “If Soul wanted a strong pack on top and a scared one beneath,” I went on, “this is perfect.”
A runner came sprinting toward us, breathless.
“Alpha Derek!” she shouted. “You need to come now.”
“Why?” I asked.
She swallowed. “Golden Moon just sent a message.”
Rowan stiffened. “What kind of message?”
The runner looked at me, eyes wide. “They say Soul is alive,” she said. “And he’s already inside your borders.”
The ground seemed to tilt under my feet.
“Where?” I asked.
She shook her head. “They don’t know.”
Somewhere
in the dark, a wolf howled and this time, it wasn’t a victory call.
AFTER A HOWL