The war drums started at dawn.
Low, steady, and merciless, they echoed from the Ashbound cliffs like the heartbeat of a beast awakened. Thornfang Hollow roused with them—not in fear, but in motion. Bells rang across districts. Messengers scattered like crows. Steel met whetstone. Magic circles lit up the sky in shifting sigils.
In the heart of Moonstone Keep, Elena stood before the Council for the second time in a week—but this time, no words were wasted on diplomacy.
"We cannot afford half-measures," she said. "This is not a rogue rebellion. It's a return of the old war."
Around the table, faces grim with age and burden regarded her in silence. Lord Calder, head of the Merchant Syndicate, was the first to speak.
"If you call every wolf to arms, we lose harvesters, traders, smiths—our economy will collapse in three weeks."
"And if we don't," Kael cut in sharply, "we won't survive the next three days."
Calder glared at him. "You speak like a soldier, not a ruler."
"I speak like someone who's seen what's coming," Kael growled.
Lady Mirella of the eastern coven leaned forward, fingers laced, rings glinting like stars. "We must be careful. If we mobilize witches openly, the Accord with the human territories will snap. They will see it as a threat."
Elena met her gaze. "Then let them. The Hollow has bent for too long. We bleed and die in silence to keep them comfortable. That ends now."
A quiet murmur passed through the chamber—some in agreement, others in disapproval. Elena didn't care. She wasn't here to please them. She was here to save them.
"We strike first," she said. "At the canyon pass. We seal it. We break their forward line before they reach the city. Then we make them bleed every step forward."
"And what of the refugees?" asked General Brinn. "Three caravans from the outlying isles are arriving within the day. Many are Dravik-born."
Elena's voice was steel. "We screen them. Anyone tied to the Bloodfangs is detained. Anyone innocent, we shelter."
Vera stepped beside her, silent until now. "We've already found spies in two of the caravans. They carry charms—old ones. Woven with blood spells meant to disrupt the city's wards. We'll need to reinforce the Ley Lines immediately."
Kael leaned on the table. "And we'll need to take the Crescent Spire."
That brought a stunned pause.
Elena blinked. "The Spire is sacred ground."
"It's also the highest elevation point near the western approach," Kael said. "We fortify it with archers, witches, and seers. It becomes our eyes and shield."
Lord Calder scoffed. "Desecrating shrines will only feed the Blood Moon. You'll invite the wrath of the gods."
"They've already knocked," Kael said darkly.
Elena hesitated—but only for a heartbeat. Then she nodded.
"Take it."
The Hollow moved like a great beast awakened. Within hours, the western quarter had been evacuated. The Crescent Spire lit up with arcane glyphs. The forges of Ironroot roared with heat as blades, bolts, and armor spilled from them in an endless stream. Wolves of every bloodline—longclaws, duskmanes, frostbarks—answered the call. Some had not shifted in years. Others had never fought. All came.
Elena stood in the training grounds, watching them.
A girl no older than sixteen swung a blade clumsily, sweat pouring down her brow. Beside her, a grey-furred elder helped adjust her stance.
"You're leading children into war," said a voice behind her.
She didn't need to turn. "They chose to fight."
Kael stepped beside her. "Do you know what they're marching into?"
"More than you think."
He looked at her, long and hard. "You haven't slept in two days."
"I will when we win."
He exhaled, frustrated. "You're carrying too much."
"I have to."
"No," he said, and his voice was quieter now, more dangerous. "You want to."
That stopped her.
She turned to face him. "What are you saying?"
"That you're becoming them."
She flinched like he'd struck her.
"You think I'm becoming the monsters we're fighting?" she hissed.
"No," he said. "I think you're becoming the thing that beats them. And I'm not sure there's a difference anymore."
That night, Elena stood alone atop the Crescent Spire. Below, the Hollow shimmered with life—fires glowing in streets, sigils carved into cobblestone, the air thick with expectation.
She wore no crown, no armor. Just a threadbare cloak and a necklace that had once belonged to her mother.
The wind brought scent and sound. It brought memory.
Elena closed her eyes and called the wolf.
It answered.
Her limbs lengthened, cracked, reformed. Her skin split to reveal thick white fur. Her spine arched, bones shifting, teeth stretching, eyes glowing gold.
She stood on four legs now—taller than any horse, muscles rippling beneath a moonlit pelt.
This was not the elegant shift of Council heirs or polished noble clans. This was wild. Ancient. The bloodline of the First Wolf, unbroken.
From the trees beyond the gates, other shapes watched—silent, feral, respectful.
When she howled, they answered.
And the Hollow trembled.
The Bloodfang camp reeked of smoke and blood.
Tents stretched across the ravine like spider silk, their interiors lined with weapons, maps, and old relics bathed in dark enchantments. Beneath the jagged cliffs of Ashbound Valley, the exiled and the damned had gathered. Not just wolves—but broken witches, oathless warlocks, and men who had drunk the venom of fallen gods.
At the center of it all stood a throne of bones.
And on it, a woman cloaked in crimson, face veiled by warpaint, her voice calm as ice.
General Selyra Bloodfang was not born of Hollow soil. She had been forged in the scorched ruins of the Dravik Rebellion, baptized in the massacre of her kin, and crowned not by birthright—but by survival.
She stood as her scouts approached, their skin marked by the symbol of the chained crescent.
"They're fortifying the Spire," one said, bowing low. "Elena is using high-ground seers."
"They've summoned the witches," said another. "And wolves of every house. Duskmanes. Ghostclaws. Even the dead clans."
A slow smile spread beneath Selyra's hood.
"Good," she said. "Let them gather. It will be their last song."
She turned to the tall figure beside her.
"Has he agreed?"
A low growl rumbled from the shadows, and a man stepped forward—taller than any wolf, his body covered in runic burns, his eyes ember-red.
"Yes," he said. "The Devourer wakes."
Selyra nodded once. "Then we move at nightfall."
Back in Thornfang Hollow, the city braced itself. Curfews were enacted. Wards along the border pulsed with protective magic. The Crescent Spire now bristled with defenses, witches stationed at every tier, their spells bound in silver and stormglass.
Elena didn't sleep. She moved from quarter to quarter, speaking with the people—soldiers, healers, farmers, smiths. Not as a ruler, but as one of them. Her presence steadied the frightened. Her words stirred the weary.
But not all were soothed.
A fire broke out in the Shadowroot District—intentional. Someone had sabotaged the eastern wardstone. When Vera arrived at the scene, she found traces of twisted sigils—ones not used in Hollow magic.
"They were trying to collapse the leyline," she reported to Elena later that night. "This wasn't random. This was precise. Ritual-level sabotage."
"Did we catch them?"
"No. But we know what they are."
She unfurled a scrap of burned parchment. It showed a faded symbol: the chained moon.
Elena's stomach turned.
"How many more of them are in the city?" she whispered.
Vera didn't answer.
At the war room, tensions reached a boiling point.
Lord Calder stormed in mid-meeting, slamming a document onto the table.
"Do you know what this is?" he shouted. "It's a petition from the lower districts. They want to cede to the Bloodfangs!"
Murmurs broke out.
"They believe Elena is drawing the war to them. That her presence ensures destruction."
Kael rose. "Those people are scared. Fear makes fools of anyone."
"They're not fools!" Calder snapped. "They're survivors. This city has seen three invasions in two generations. They want peace."
"And they'll trade their souls to get it," Vera muttered.
Elena stood slowly, meeting Calder's gaze.
"You think they'll stop with the Hollow?" she said. "That surrender buys mercy?"
He didn't respond.
"You've seen what they did to the outposts. To the coast clans. To children. There is no treaty with fire. There is no parley with death. They will take everything."
Calder sat down.
For once, he said nothing.
That evening, Kael found Elena on the battlements, overlooking the western hills.
"Storm's coming," he said.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she asked, "Do you believe we'll win?"
Kael didn't lie. "I believe we'll make them regret it."
"That's not the same."
"No," he agreed. "But it's close."
They stood in silence, the wind teasing their cloaks.
Finally, she said, "I saw my mother again."
Kael turned sharply. "Another vision?"
"She was speaking. In Dravik tongue. I barely understood. But she said something like 'the third gate is already open.' Do you know what that means?"
He shook his head.
But someone else did.
A voice behind them: "It means the world you know is dying."
Vera approached, her hands dusted in ash.
"I went to the old archives," she said. "Pulled texts sealed by the First Council. The Blood Moon Pact was not just a ritual—it was a lock. A barrier between this realm and the devouring plane."
"The Devourer," Elena said quietly.
Vera nodded. "It was never just myth. It's real. It feeds on magic, on soul-bound blood. And now someone's feeding it."
"Why now?" Kael asked.
"Because Elena awakened something in the Rite," Vera said. "Something older than her bloodline. The Hollow is built on the bones of the ancient pact. She broke the silence."
Elena gripped the stone parapet. "And now it's coming."
Vera looked grave. "If the third gate is open… we don't have much time."
Midnight fell.
And with it, the drums stopped.
Then came the howl.
Not wolf.
Not human.
Something vast and broken and ancient.
The Hollow's guards scrambled. The wardlines flickered like gasps of dying stars. From the forest's edge, thousands of torchlights blinked into existence.
They weren't marching.
They were waiting.
Kael tightened his gauntlets.
"They're baiting us," he said.
"They want to see how we react," Elena agreed.
Behind her, the city held its breath.
And the first red arrow flew from the trees.
The Hollow burned.
Not with flame—but with fury.
The moment the red arrow struck the wardline, it shattered in a flash of violet lightning. In its wake came a hail of fire. Enchanted projectiles. Blood sigils. Bone javelins that split stone like glass.
The first wave hit the southern gate. Wolves from the Ironroot quarter met them head-on—howling, shifting mid-air, blades drawn and gleaming. The clangor of war exploded in the night, and with it, the Hollow howled in return.
Elena charged down the stairs of the Crescent Spire, Kael at her side, both armored and already shifting between forms—wolf and human, strength and strategy. Magic blazed on her arms as she raised the sigil-bound gauntlets gifted by the Skyweavers.
"Defend the leyline conduits!" she shouted to her strike force. "If they breach them, we lose the wards and the Spire!"
She and Kael led the charge through the central district. It was chaos. Children screamed. Lanterns swung wildly from broken posts. Blood soaked the cobblestones, already beginning to steam in the cold air.
From the sky, witches on stormdiscs hurled sigils that bloomed into protective domes, covering pockets of retreating civilians. Vera stood atop the observatory tower, arms raised, voice a hymn of ancient tongues. Her magic lit the sky in violet and indigo—thousands of protective glyphs pulsing in harmony.
But it wasn't enough.
The Bloodfangs were everywhere. Their warriors moved like shadows. Some fought in silence, others in twisted song. One shattered a shield wall with nothing but breath—enchanted lungs exhaling rot. Another flung a flayed heart into the air; it burst into a storm of knives.
A group of Hollow defenders fell near the fountain square—pinned, bleeding, screaming.
Elena moved.
She vaulted a wall, landed in a blur, slashing her blade through two enemy wolves mid-shift. Her magic surged outward in a pulse, forcing space between her people and the advancing horde. Kael dropped beside her, shifting in midair into his wolf form—a blur of black and gold fur, massive jaws snapping through armor.
They fought like fury unchained.
But even fury has its limits.
A deafening roar split the battlefield—and then came the Devourer's mark.
A massive sigil ignited in the sky. Three concentric rings of blood-red light. The sky opened. Not in flame—but in silence. A stillness that swallowed sound, breath, light.
All magic in the Hollow shuddered.
The witches fell from the sky.
The leyline pulses dimmed.
Vera screamed from her tower, "They've anchored the gate! They're pulling from the other side!"
From the forest, a new shape emerged.
Ten feet tall. Cloaked in skin. Eyes like dead stars. Horns curling backward. It did not walk—it drifted.
Kael froze.
"Elena—get back."
But she didn't move.
The creature raised its hand—and time itself bent. Everything slowed.
Elena saw a dozen futures flash across her mind. Her people dying. The Hollow buried. The Devourer rising.
She made a choice.
With a scream, she drove her blade into the ground, releasing every ounce of sigil magic in her body.
The glyph detonated.
The creature was thrown back—but not destroyed. It shrieked in a voice made of stone and sorrow.
The explosion rocked the quarter. Dust and blood rained down.
Elena fell to her knees, coughing, her arm broken, her side torn open.
Kael rushed to her. "You idiot," he growled, cradling her. "That almost killed you."
"You're welcome," she rasped.
Behind them, Vera's voice rang out again, boosted through magic: "Fall back to Tier Three! Collapse the lower bridges!"
Retreat orders. Not because they were losing—but because they were bleeding too fast.
Kael lifted Elena. "We have to move. Now."
She grabbed his shoulder, blood slipping between her fingers. "No. We hold."
"Elena—"
"Kael. Listen to me."
She looked into his eyes, something fierce and terrifying blazing in hers.
"If we fall here, the rest burns tomorrow. We hold."
He gritted his teeth. "Then we hold."
Elsewhere, in the Hollow's deeper tunnels, another figure stirred.
A child, no older than ten, slipped between fallen stones—eyes glowing faintly violet. Her fingers danced in old signs, ones only Vera would recognize.
The girl stopped before a sealed door carved with ancient glyphs. She whispered.
It opened.
Behind it was a sarcophagus. And something sleeping.
The child smiled.
"They're waking you up early."
And in the dark, something smiled back.