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Lyden's POV

I was fifteen the night my world exploded.

The sun had barely begun to drop behind the pines, painting the Blue Moon Pack lands in gold. My birthday lanterns dangled from the trees, rustling softly. The air reeked of roasted meat, pine, and laughter. Wolves danced, pups played, music rang off the hills. For once, everyone was joyful.

I sat atop the fence post beside Emma, who'd been my friend all our lives. She had tied a light blue ribbon through her blonde braids, the same shade as my pack's crest. "You're nervous," she playfully bumped my arm and said. "Is the great Lyden scared of his own party?

"I'm not afraid," I lied, puffing out my chest like he used to. "Just thinking about my first shift. Dad says it'll be any week now. He thinks I'll be the better Alpha than him."

Emma snorted. "No one's better than Alpha Kael."

"He said I'd be a better Alpha someday," I whispered.

I knew he did. I really did.

My elders would tell me I inherited his eyes — sharp, gold-amber, fierce yet kind. My father, Kael, was the finest a pack could ask for: robust, fair, devoted. He treated rogues no worse than anyone else. And my mother, Luna Meryn, was home's warmth — soft-spoken, but when she smiled, it was like sunlight.

I thought nothing bad could ever touch us.

Then the wind changed.

It began as a whisper, a strange coldness under the music. And then a scream broke the night, splitting everything into halves.

The laughter stopped.

The pine scent was transmuted to iron.

And I saw them — black shapes moving between the trees.

"Rogues!" someone shouted.

Before I could even blink, my dad was twisting, bones snapping, his howl rending the air. Wolves stormed into the clearing — teeth, claws, blood. Emma held my sleeve.

"Go in!" my mom yelled, pushing us toward the pack house. "Lyden, take her!

But I did not stir. I was frozen to the ground, my eyes on my father fighting. He was giant in his wolf shape, fur a light as snow, eyes burning with gold fire. He tore through the rogues with the speed of lightning, defending us, defending me.

Then — from the shadows — three massive wolves appeared.

Not rogues. Not ours.

Their coats glowed black as oil in the moon. Their eyes burned red.

And they attacked him.

"Dad!" I cried.

He whirled, just in time. One snapped at his throat; another got a hold on his shoulder. He fought like the warrior he was — but too many of them. The air was filled with snarls, screams, crunching bones. I watched my mother turn too, silver fur flashing alongside him.

Then Elder Jennifer's hands closed my shoulders from behind. "Lyden! Now!" she growled, her voice shaking. "Now, pup!"

No!" I kicked, fought. "He needs me—"

She dragged me anyway. She was more powerful than you'd think for an older woman, and the flash in her eyes threatened that this wasn't an ordinary assault. Emma was weeping, grasping my hand as Jennifer shoved us into a cramped passageway at the back of the kitchen hearth — a way out my father had built, just in case.

The door of stone boomed shut above us, muffling the chaos.

We could still hear it, though — the war above. Growls, screams, paws thumping against the ground. And then. silence.

Hours passed. Maybe more. The air was heavy with fear and smoke. Emma's hand trembled in mine. Elder Jennifer prayed softly, her back against the wall.

When the door finally opened, the stench hit us first.

Blood. Smoke. Death.

We crawled out, and I'm sure my heart just stopped.

The yard — my birthday yard — lay in ruins. Torn lanterns. Broken tables. Red on the ground. Wolves littered the ground, their fur matted, their eyes covered with a film.

I saw my mother first. She lay close to the well, her coat the color of silver streaked with red.

And then—

My father.

He stood in the center of the clearing, his body still wolf, chest not moving, white fur stained with blood. His paw extended towards the pack house, as if he'd tried to get to us one last time.

"Dad…" My voice cracked. "Dad!"

I fell to the ground beside him, placing my hand on his fur. It was still warm to the touch. I buried my face there and wept so uncontrollably that I could not breathe. The world around me seemed to tip. The world had grown quiet with the exception of the buzzing in my ears.

Emma sat beside me, sobbing too. Elder Jennifer stood behind us, trembling, her face pale with rage.

She absorbed the carnage, then the second bodies with the unidentifiable black fur scattered between the rogues. "This was not random," she snarled through her teeth. "These wolves… they are the property of Black Crest."

I lifted my head, confused. "Black Crest?"

"Their Alpha — Aziel," she spat out the name like poison. "I recognize his crest. They did this, Lyden. He did this."

Her words pierced deeper than claws.

I looked back at my father — the strongest wolf I’d ever known — and something inside me broke.

It wasn’t fair.

He’d shown mercy to rogues. He’d protected every pack, even the ungrateful ones. He’d taught me that honor mattered more than power.

And yet power had slaughtered him.

I wiped my tears away with shaking hands, blood streaking across my skin. "Aziel," I whispered. The name burned on my tongue. "He'll pay for this."

Elder Jennifer put a soothing hand on my shoulder. "You must be patient, pup. Blue Moon is gone. The survivors will be cared for by the Elders until we can rebuild."

But I wasn't listening anymore.

All I saw was Dad's body. All I felt was the pain in my chest.

I leaned down, forehead to his fur. "I promise you, Dad," I whispered. "I'll make them bleed for this. I'll reclaim our pack."

Behind me, the moon burst out of the clouds — full and bright — and for the first time, something inside me stirred, way down deep inside me.

My wolf.

It screamed in my head, not because it was powerful, but because it hurt.

That night, the boy that I used to be died with my father.

And something else — something colder, something sharper — began to stir in his place.