Chapter 24: The Whispers of the Old Gods

 

The air in the Blackwood Stronghold had shifted. The shadow of the Void had been lifted, but in its place, a new, almost suffocating intensity emanated from Caleb. After his recovery from the soul-curse, his golden eyes burned with a possessiveness that left no room for doubt. He moved with the silent, predatory grace of a resurrected god, his every glance a silent claim on Scarlett.

Scarlett, too, was changed. The Lunar Key’s energy had fully integrated with her soul. Her spiritual meridians hummed with power, and she could now sense the subtle currents of magic in the very air—a tapestry of power and potential that this world had never truly recognized.

“We will go to the Frostfall Divide,” Caleb announced at the morning council, his voice a low rumble that silenced all dissenting murmurs. Fenris, though still wary, now nodded in absolute submission. “The western border tribes have been lax in their tithes. It is time for their King to remind them of their oaths.”

His eyes, however, were fixed on Scarlett. “And my Queen will accompany me.”

Elder Martha cleared her throat. “My King, the Frostfall Divide is a wild land. The Old Gods are restless there. And the tribes are… traditional. They may not welcome a human Queen.”

Caleb’s gaze turned to Martha, cold and absolute. “Then they will learn to. My Queen’s grace has saved this Stronghold. Her presence is a blessing. Anyone who questions it will question me.”

The journey to the Frostfall Divide was arduous. The landscape quickly transformed into a stark, frozen wilderness, where ancient, jagged mountains clawed at a perpetually overcast sky. Scarlett rode beside Caleb on a massive, black-maned warhorse, her spiritual senses on high alert. The deeper they went, the more she felt a creeping, dissonant energy—a subtle warp in the fabric of reality.

“Do you feel it?” Scarlett whispered to Caleb, who rode with the silent intensity of a hunter.

Caleb nodded, his nostrils flaring. “The air here is… sick. It smells of sacrifice. But not the usual blood-offering to the Moon. This is something older. Something… hungrier.”

They found the source of the unease in a hidden valley, cloaked by a perpetual blizzard. Nestled between three towering, ice-covered peaks was a massive, makeshift altar of rough-hewn stone. Candles made of rendered fat flickered around it, casting grotesque shadows, and the air was thick with the cloying scent of burnt herbs and freshly spilled blood.

Before the altar, a dozen wolves—members of the local Frostfall Pack—were gathered. They were chanting in a low, guttural language Scarlett didn't recognize, their eyes glassy and distant. Their Alpha, a hulking brute named Kael, stood at the center, his hands raised in supplication.

And on the altar, bound and terrified, was a young pup. Its fur was matted, its eyes wide with fear, and a silver dagger glittered beside it.

“They’re sacrificing a child to the Old Gods,” Scarlett breathed, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. This was not Lycan tradition. This was ancient, unspeakable blasphemy.

Caleb’s body went rigid. The air around him dropped twenty degrees, and the shadow of the silver wolf manifested with a silent, terrifying roar. His golden eyes blazed with a murderous fury that made the very ground tremble.

“This is a perversion,” Caleb snarled, his voice a low growl of pure, unadulterated rage. “A betrayal of everything the Blackwood line stands for.”

With a single, thunderous roar, Caleb transformed. He shifted into his full wolf form—a gigantic beast of shimmering silver fur and eyes of burning gold. He didn’t just run; he was a silver blur, tearing through the snow, launching himself directly at the chanting tribesmen.

The Frostfall wolves, caught off guard, scattered in terror. Kael, the Alpha, let out a defiant snarl, shifting to meet Caleb, but the power gap was astronomical. Caleb moved with a brutal, righteous fury, not killing, but disarming and incapacitating the cultists with chilling precision. He tore the dagger from the altar, sending it spinning into the snow.

Scarlett rushed forward, her own spiritual energy flaring. She touched the terrified pup, using her cleansing magic to calm its racing heart and soothe its raw spirit. As she did, she noticed a faint, black symbol carved into the altar—a distorted sun, surrounded by a jagged crown of thorns.

“The Order of the Black Sun,” Scarlett whispered, her blood running cold. “They’re here. They’re twisting the minds of your people, Caleb.”

Caleb, now shifting back to his human form, his body streaked with the blood of the cultists, wrapped an arm around Scarlett’s waist, pulling her flush against him. He looked at the symbol, his face a mask of grim realization.

“They use the old ways to poison the new,” Caleb growled, his golden eyes sweeping across the terrified, captured tribesmen. “But they will learn. There is only one King in the North. And there is only one Queen. And anyone who serves another god… will burn.”

He held Scarlett closer, his gaze fixed on the symbol of the Black Sun, a silent vow of war passing between them. The fight for the Moon had just become a battle for the very soul of the Lycan race.