The Burden Behind Blood

 IRONHOLD- The Hunters Guild Headquarters.

The grand hall buzzed with argument and accusation. Commanders barked orders, scribes ran with blood-inked scrolls, and the upper tiers watched Seraphine like a pack of vultures.

Seraphina stood in full gear- wolf blood still on her guild uniform, before the Inner Circle.

“You killed a Pureblood of royal descent,” spat Councilman Derrick. “Do you understand what this means? You’ve provoked war.”

“She was on Guild land,” Seraphine replied coldly. “And, she single-handedly massacred two border villages. I only did my job.”

“She was the Vaelthorn princess!” another accused.

“She was a beast!” Seraphine snapped. “… just like the rest of them.”

Terse silence echoed in the room until Councilman Derrick stood up, his face reddened with ire.

“Y-you low-blooded filth, you dare raise your voice at me?”

Seraphine took a step towards the Councilman, and High Commander Vex Marron rose. “And yet,” he said, smoothly ending the altercation, “this meeting was not called to throw insults and create discord among us.” 

He took his position at the center of the room to address the crowd, “This meeting was called to address the situation.” Once the room became silent, he continued, “Now, any suggestions?”

“I suggest we turn over the hunter who committed this felony to the wolves.” Councilman Derrick's voice shot up, and the murmuring slapped over the crowd.

“I say we slap Commander Duskbane here, with a badge of honour for taking down a pureblood and bringing us one step closer to the end of this war.” Councilwoman Yulia announced, glaring daggers at the Derrick.

“What about the war, Yulia? Should we make merry and sing Duskbane’s praises while the wolves plan their attack?” Another councilman, councilman Dumfrey countered.

“Who says a war is coming, Dumfrey?” Yulia mocks.

“Of course, the wolves won’t sit down to the death of their royal, don’t pretend to be daft, Yulia.” Derrick snapped in disgust.

Another wave of murmurings slapped over the crowd, and the arguments grew louder by the minute.

“Any other suggestions?” Vex Marron asked over the noisy crowd.

Seraphine raised her hand, and Vex Marron gave her approval to speak.

“We prepare for war and ambush their walls, taking them by surprise.”

Councilman Derrick shot up from his seat, “Are you mad, child?”

High Commander Vex Marron, raised a hand, effectively silencing the councilman. His gaze rested heavily on Seraphine.

“And do you think the guild has what it takes to defeat an entire kingdom of wolves?”

Seraphine looked him square in the eye and declared, “I believe we have everything we need for an assured victory, High Commander.”

He turned to the council members, “Any other suggestions?”

After a beat of silence, he smiled and turned to face Seraphine

“Commander Duskbane, you may leave while the council and I come to a decision.”

                                                                       ,,,

The howls hadn’t stopped since the night of the Blood Moon. 

They echoed across the Ghostpine Mountains, low, grief-stricken, filled with fury and promise for retribution. From the highest turret of Vaelspire Keep, it sounded like the entire kingdom itself was mourning.

But inside the Moon Chamber, Alaric Vaelthorn stood silent.

He faced the pool of still red water, it was the Oracle Mirror, where generations of Alphas had received ancestral visions. Tonight, it reflected only a shadow. His.

He was dressed in a ceremonial black garment. The collar was stained with his sister’s blood. He hadn’t removed it. Couldn’t. His claws extended at his sides, half-shifted, trembling with suppressed rage.

They’d just begun the funeral rites to send her off to the world of their ancestors.

The image of Elyra’s broken body was seared into his mind.

Slaughtered like a dog. Alone. Far from home.

“She never should have left the fortress,” he muttered.

“She went because she believed in peace,” said Elder Rhelor, watching his nephew from the chamber threshold. “She believed the Guild would listen.”

“They listened,” Alaric growled. “And they answered in steel.”

Rhelor stepped inside, his cloak trailing ash behind him. “The Elders are demanding retribution. They want blood.”

Alaric turned slowly, the shadows warping around him.

“I will give them blood,” he said. “But her murderer is mine to kill.”

Rhelor tensed. “Be careful Alaric, you’re begging for the red haze in that state.”

Alaric stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous.

“Elyra died. Uncle.”

Rhelor paled as Alaric stepped closer, “Those weak humans killed a pure-blood royal.” His voice dipped to a mere whisper, “Tell me Uncle, how do I handle this disgrace?”

Rhelor looked away and muttered, “We prepare for war.”

Alaric snarled, teeth sharpening. “I will destroy those humans for doing this to my only sister.”

The chamber dimmed. Shadows thickened.

Rhelor dropped his gaze. “Give me your command, my Lord?”

Alaric’s eyes flared crimson.

“Prepare the wolves for war and wait for my signal.”

Alaric turned to the Oracle Mirror and grinned, “Take me to the murderer.”

                                                                           ,,,

The forest was wet with rot and early frost. The undergrowth hissed with steam where silver-laced lanterns burned. Seraphine Duskbane moved silently through the gloom, flanked by a team of six enforcers. They weren’t meant to be here, but here they were, training for a war that would be the end or the beginning of the human race.

“Scouts confirmed werewolf activity in the ruins,” said Dorian, his voice tight as he ducked beneath a branch. “Rogue movements. Possibly Outcast Packs.”

Seraphine barely acknowledged him. Her mind was elsewhere.

She hadn’t slept in two days. Not properly. Every time her eyes closed, she saw it. Those eyes. Cold. Wicked. Dead and wholly bent on destroying her. She was being hunted by a pair of arctic blue eyes that seemed to claw right through her chest.

She wanted to scream out her frustration. She wanted to scream and rage and kill something. She felt she was going mad by the minute.

“You’re too quiet,” Dorian said.

“I’m thinking.” She ground out.

“About the council meeting?”

She didn’t answer, consumed with the thoughts of killing something.

He stepped in front of her. “Seraphine, look at me.”

She did.

Dorian flinched. Her eyes were sunken, rimmed with shadows, but held a feverish light like they were burning.

“You’re not yourself,” he said. “Derrick sent us out here hoping you’d fail.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t even know what’s out here.”

She drew her dagger in one smooth motion.

“That’s the point.”

The ruins were ancient, long-abandoned vampire catacombs from the Old War. Bones littered the earth. Cracked tombstones jutted out like crooked teeth. The fog was thick, unnatural.

Seraphine and her group moved silently between the crypts, then the wind shifted.

And they came.

Dark shapes lunged from the mist. They were half-shifted werewolves, their fur mangled, bodies bulked unnaturally by blood-alchemy. Not Purebloods. Not even Pack-born.

What were they?

Twisted creatures bred in the shadows of the Outcast Packs. Controlled by rage and raw instinct.

One of Seraphine’s enforcers screamed as a hybrid claw tore his shoulder open.

Another enforcer was dragged into the fog before he could raise his blade, his shriek, which echoed hauntingly deep in the forest, was the only alarm.

“Form up!” Seraphine barked, and the remaining team fell into position, silver spears leveled. But the creatures were faster than the elixir-enhanced enforcers could track.

“Something’s wrong with them!” Dorian shouted, slicing through a lunging beast. “They’re not shifting properly!”

Seraphine dodged a leaping hybrid and drove her blade into its eye. It shrieked, spasmed, and exploded in a cloud of black smoke.

She staggered back. Her chest burned.

Then she saw it, a sigil branded into its throat. Ancient. Arcane. Not Pack-born. Alchemy-born.

“Guild blood?” she muttered. “These things were made…”

Behind her, Dorian shouted, “They’re flanking us!”

Another came barreling toward Seraphine.

She twisted a little too late, ducked beneath its claws, which grazed her side, and a crossbow bolt whistled past her and buried itself in the creature’s skull.

The beast dropped.

Seraphine turned. A figure stood on the edge of the ruins. Cloaked. Watching.

She couldn’t make out a face. Just eyes, they were neon bright. They were unnatural. And they were laughing at her.

“Who the hell is that?” Dorian shouted.

The figure vanished.

“Retreat!” Seraphine ordered. “Now!”