The training yard thundered beneath the pounding of booted feet. By dawn's pale touch, Bryndale's soldiers had gathered, drawn to the legend being forged before their eyes. Luceris was no longer simply an exile — he had become a living question, a flame too bright to be snuffed out.
Thorne pushed him harder than any recruit. Each morning began before first light, drills designed to break a lesser man. Wooden blades slammed against Luceris's bruised arms until the skin split, but he refused to drop his guard. The stinging scent of sweat and blood clung to him like a second skin.
The men of Bryndale watched in a hush that bordered on reverence. Even those who had doubted the outcast began to believe, seeing a power rise in him that no one could deny.
At night, Luceris collapsed on a rough woolen cot, his ribs aching, bones humming with a thousand small fractures. Sleep came late and fitful. And when it did, it brought no rest.
---
The Moon Goddess came to him, crowned in a veil of argent starlight, her face beautiful and terrible. Her eyes, fathomless as the night sky, held a sorrow he could scarcely bear.
They will come for you, she warned, her voice echoing with the age of worlds. They will try to end you before you awaken fully. You must endure, Luceris.
His fists clenched until his knuckles went bone white. "I will stand," he swore.
No, she sighed, not yet. But soon.
Behind her appeared a wolf, regal as any crowned monarch, her pelt shimmering with the silver of a moonlit river. Her eyes — piercing sapphires — cut straight through his battered spirit.
Luceris, a wild, fierce voice echoed, I am yours.
The name carved itself across his very soul.
Rowena.
In that instant, something inside him shifted. Their spirits touched — a first meeting beyond flesh, powerful enough to leave him trembling.
You are mine, she whispered, as I am yours.
---
Luceris jolted awake with a gasp.
He could still feel her, even as the night retreated. Rowena. That name made his heart beat in ways it never had before — equal parts terror and hope.
---
The next day's drills grew harsher. Thorne threw him a live steel sword, its edge true and bright.
"You will bleed," Thorne warned. "Better now than on a real field."
Luceris nodded, his mind calm. As the blade cut into the air, every muscle moved in perfect concert, a testament to power rediscovered. Thorne pressed harder, feinting low, striking high, never letting up.
"You fight like a prince," Thorne growled, breath ragged, "but you must kill like a wolf."
Luceris's eyes narrowed, memories of betrayal fueling him, turning his strikes deadly. Each parry was a rejection of weakness. Each step a vow to never fall again.
---
But there was no peace in Bryndale.
One evening, as the sun bled away behind jagged mountain peaks, a horn shattered the uneasy quiet.
Thorne froze, jaw clenching. "That's not our horn."
Luceris ran to the ramparts, boots skidding on the stone. Below, a cavalry patrol poured through the gates, horses foaming at the bit, riders half-dead from exhaustion. One slid from his saddle, blood spattered across his chestplate.
"General!" he rasped, voice nearly broken, "House Davorin rides against us — they have rallied mercenaries and traitors. They mean to kill the exile before he grows too strong!"
Luceris's heart turned to iron. House Davorin — the family whose hands were stained with his parents' blood, whose son had stolen the mate who never claimed him.
"They fear me," he growled low, the sound half human, half wolf.
"They should," Thorne answered, placing a solid hand on Luceris's shoulder.
---
Night fell hard, torches bright as hateful eyes gathering on the southern ridge. The enemy was a black tide, stretching into the horizon — a thousand soldiers, blades hungry for royal blood.
Luceris stepped forward, letting the wind carry the scent of iron and fear. Somewhere beyond the starlight, he could feel Rowena's heartbeat, steady and sure, like a tether to a destiny he could not abandon.
The wolf inside him stirred. A raw, savage power he had spent years ignoring, now roaring through his veins.
With a voice like thunder, Luceris howled. The sound tore through stone and bone alike, echoing through the mountains. Soldiers paused mid-breath, their courage wrenched away.
The Alpha has returned.
---
"Ready the defenses," Luceris ordered, voice ringing with command he had never been taught but always owned.
The men obeyed without question.
---
The night exploded into war.
Flaming arrows arced overhead, raining death across the fortress walls. Luceris led the counter-charge, blade singing in the moonlight. He danced between foes, each strike an act of vengeance. Shields splintered beneath his rage, armor cracked under his power.
One enemy soldier lunged, blade aimed for Luceris's heart. But Luceris pivoted, the movement so fluid it was almost beautiful, and cut him down.
More came. House Davorin's best, mailed knights whose fathers had served kings. Luceris cut through them, a prince reborn in a wolf's skin.
---
The fighting lasted hours.
When the first wave broke, the field was littered with bodies, the scent of blood thick enough to choke the wind. Luceris stood, chest heaving, the silver of his eyes bright with unstoppable resolve.
"Is that all?" he demanded, voice carrying across the ruined ramparts.
One of the surviving soldiers scrambled back, tripping on corpses, eyes wide with terror.
"You…" he stammered, "you are… the One True Alpha…"
Luceris let him flee.
---
Thorne appeared at his side, blood splashed across his leathers, a savage grin on his scarred face.
"Your father would have been proud," he rasped.
Luceris turned his gaze to the moon, the silent witness to his rage and his hope.
Rowena. I will find you. I will be worthy of you.
But before he could chase that destiny, he had to defend the kingdom that had given him a second chance.
And destroy those who still thought to end him.
---