Chapter 122: The Gathering Storm

The war room pulsed with urgency. Thick stone walls echoed the footsteps of warriors and the scraping of chairs against the floor as the inner circle gathered. Smoke curled from torches fastened to the walls, casting flickering shadows across a table covered with aged maps, colored pins, and hand-drawn battle lines. The air was heavy with the scent of burning pine, steel, and old blood—like the room itself remembered war.

Serena stood at the head of the table, her hands planted firmly on its surface, her knuckles pale. Her eyes swept the room—not with fear, but fierce clarity. She was no longer the ignored Omega daughter of a disgraced warrior. She was Luna. Marked. Tested. Rising.

To her right stood Theron, stoic and battle-ready, his armor partially strapped on, face drawn with tension. On her left, Caine observed in quiet command. He didn’t need to speak to dominate the room—his mere presence stilled the air.

Others filed in—Beta Reyna, the strategist twins Kellan and Lior, and General Ardan, grizzled and grim-faced. Every face around the table bore the same expression: hardened focus, sharpened loyalty.

“The rogues have crossed the outer ridge again,” Theron began, voice crisp. “Twice in one moon cycle. They’re testing us.”

“They’re doing more than testing,” Reyna added. She pushed a pin deeper into the map, marking the latest breach. “If they take Shadow Gorge, we lose control of the eastern terrain. No cover, no patrols. They’ll have a direct route to the heart of our territory.”

“And the bloodlines?” Caine asked. “Have they confirmed it’s Elias leading them?”

Reyna nodded. “Scouts followed a trail of burnt sage and binding ash. That’s Elias’ signature. And he wasn’t alone. The witches are with him.”

Silence.

Even the torches seemed to flicker uneasily at the mention of the Witch Circle.

Serena's jaw clenched. “What would the witches gain from this alliance?”

“They’ve been dormant for decades,” Lior muttered. “Neutral. Secretive. If they’re stepping into the war now, it means there’s something bigger at stake.”

Serena looked down at the map again, her fingers tracing the curling inked borders. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

Heads turned. She lifted her gaze. “They’re after me.”

Theron didn’t deny it. “Yes.”

A beat passed.

“Why?” she asked quietly. “What do I have that they want so desperately?”

General Ardan stepped forward then, clearing his throat. “It’s the prophecy,” he said. “The one tied to your bloodline.”

Serena straightened slowly, uncertainty creeping into her eyes. “You mean the Cursed Blood prophecy?”

Ardan nodded. “The Shadowborn.”

Gasps rippled through the room.

Caine’s expression darkened. “That’s a myth. A bedtime tale.”

Ardan’s voice remained calm. “The Shadowborn were real. Their line was said to carry the power of death and rebirth—the gift of the goddess herself, split between two ancient bloodlines. The Alpha Kings were given strength, dominion, command. The Shadowborn were given... balance. Control over the in-between.”

Serena’s breath hitched. The memories surfaced like ghostly whispers—her mother’s old stories, her unexplained visions, her near-death awakening.

“You carry both,” Ardan said softly. “The Alpha bond… and the Shadowborn magic.”

“She’s the bridge,” Reyna whispered. “Between strength and shadow.”

Theron stepped closer to Serena. “That’s why your powers don’t behave like others. Why you survived the witch’s trap. Why Elias and the witches want to use you—they think they can control the goddess’s gift through your blood.”

Serena’s knees nearly buckled. She placed a hand on the edge of the table to steady herself.

“I don’t know how to control it,” she admitted. “I don’t even fully understand what it is.”

“You’re not alone,” Caine said, his voice cutting through the rising unease. “You’ve survived every test thrown at you. That wasn’t chance. That was power.”

Their eyes met—Caine’s frost meeting Serena’s storm—and for the first time, she saw not just the Alpha, but the man. Tired, determined, loyal. Bound to her, even if he wouldn’t yet say the words aloud.

“We can’t wait for them to attack,” Serena said, voice firm again. “We take the fight to them.”

Theron grinned. “Now you’re speaking like a queen.”

Caine turned toward the rest of the council. “Summon the border patrols. Double the warding spells at the gorge. Get the witches on our side—if there are any still neutral. And send a scout to the northern mountains. We need the support of the Ironfang pack.”

“What if they refuse?” Kellan asked.

“Then we remind them what’s at stake,” Caine replied coldly. “This isn’t just Serena’s fight. It’s all of ours.”

General Ardan slammed his palm on the table. “Then it’s war.”

A roar of agreement filled the chamber. Warriors stood straighter. Maps were snatched up. Orders given. The wheels of fate were turning.

As the council broke into motion, Serena remained in place, her mind spinning faster than any strategy on the table.

She wasn’t just a Luna anymore.

She was the last of the Shadowborn.

And the storm wasn’t coming—it had already begun.