Chapter 4: When Kings Bleed

Vireya's POV

Some figures entered the cabin. I couldn’t see clearly with my torch extinguished, but I could tell, they weren’t ordinary soldiers. Giants cloaked in armor, their sheer presence oppressive.

One of them seized me and led me outside. The chill of the night bit into my skin, but I froze, not from the cold, but from the sight before me.

The moonlight bathed their leader’s face, he stood tall, with a commanding presence. My gaze locked on his, and something within me shifted. I was drawn to him with an inexplicable force that made my heart stumble.

He stepped closer, lowering himself to my height. A fleeting smile ghosted across his lips.

“So you’re the girl hiding in the woods,” he said, his voice low and rasped. “I’ve heard the rumors, the black wolf that haunts the full moon.”

I said nothing. My voice unused for years, maybe I've forgotten how to speak. I only stared.

“No need to fear, my dear,” he murmured. “While they see disaster, I see potential. I am Alpha Xareth Morryn. Alpha of Crimson Dusk.”

Crimson Dusk. Rhydan had spoken of them once, a twilight-born pack, bound by blood magic and dark legacies.

“Come with me,” he offered, extending his hand. “Let me take everything from those who cast you aside.”

I don’t know why my hand rose to meet his, why my fingers curled into his palm. But they did, and in that moment, I felt my wolf stirring. For the first time, she awakened but she didn’t emerge. Something held her back.

A sudden blast cracked through the silence. I flinched, head snapping toward the pack. Balls of fire arced through the sky, hurled by his soldiers. Flames swallowed the night, casting an infernal glow that reflected in my eyes.

I should have felt something, grief perhaps. This was, after all, my birth pack, but there was only emptiness.

No, that wasn’t true. There was one thought burning through the chaos, Zevarion.

‘Please, let him be safe. Let the gods guard him,’ I prayed in my heart.

He climbed atop a massive black stallion. Without a word, he extended his hand again. I hesitated, but my fingers met his, and with a swift tug, he pulled me up effortlessly.

I found myself seated before him, his imposing form enveloping mine. The scent of smoke and steel clung to him, yet beneath it, something darker, something ancient. My mind screamed questions, yet no answers surfaced. Why was I riding with him? Why didn’t I resist?

We thundered through the borders toward the heart of the pack, where his soldiers surged ahead like a tide of death, loosing arrows, hurling fireballs.

We crested the hill, and I saw it, my former home, once vibrant, now smothered in smoke and ruin. The pack had rallied in front of the castle gates, the only structure left untouched.

As we drew closer, I saw them, Alpha Thorne and Rhydan, both standing their ground with swords drawn. Their eyes locked on us, and in that moment, I saw the hatred. I didn’t know if it was for Xareth or for me.

Our horse came to a halt. Xareth dismounted first, then turned and offered his hand again. I took it, as my feet touched the ground, silence fell for a breath. Then the storm came.

“It’s her! The black wolf!” a woman shrieked, pointing at me as if I were the plague itself.

“She brought this upon us!” another cried out, voice hoarse with rage.

“Haven’t you done enough, you cursed witch?” a man spat at my feet.

Did they truly believe I summoned Xareth? That I had chosen this destruction? Their pack was falling apart, and yet here they were hurling their last breaths at me.

But none of it mattered. I only searched the crowd with fevered eyes for Zevarion.

“Silence!” Xareth’s voice boomed like thunder, silencing the crowd instantly. Even the crackling flames seemed to hush in obedience to his command.

A moment passed, then Alpha Thorne stepped forward, sword still in hand, his eyes fixed on Xareth with cold fury.

“Who are you, and what do you seek?” he demanded.

Xareth smirked. “I am Xareth, Alpha of Crimson Dusk,” his tone mocking yet imperial. “And I’ve come to take control of Sable Howl.”

Gasps rippled through the werewolves, murmurs spread like wildfire. Dread. Rage. Alpha Thorne’s grip on his sword tightened.

“You came unprovoked,” he growled. “We’ve done nothing to your pack, yet you bring fire and blood to our gates. May the goddess forgive me if I stoop to entertain a power-hungry tyrant, but I am the rightful Alpha of this land.”

Xareth’s smirk deepened. “Power struggle?” he echoed, his voice dripping with amusement. “Oh no… I don’t think you understood the message I came to deliver.”

He raised one gloved hand, and snapped his fingers. In an instant, arrows flew, screams tore through the night as the crowd scattered in blind panic.

My heart leapt into my throat as chaos erupted once more, every part of me trembling. ‘Zevarion…Where are you?’

Our soldiers attempted to retaliate, but something was off, their arrows flew wide, their movements sluggish, as if fear had corrupted their aim.

Then, Xareth raised his hand again, and he shooting stopped.

He stepped forward, his voice calm and cruel. “I can end this. I can kill every last one of you right here, right now,” he said, eyes sweeping over the trembling mass of survivors. “But I’m feeling generous.”

He turned to Alpha Thorne, a cruel glint in his eye. “I offer you a choice, a fight to the death. You and me. If you win, your pack lives, if I win…” His smirk returned. “Sable Howl belongs to Crimson Dusk.”

The crowd held its breath, even the wind seemed to still.

A fight to the death, the Rite of Blood was rare. Usually invoked by a challenger within the pack, one who questioned their Alpha’s worth. But from an outsider? Unheard of, yet not forbidden. Xareth was invoking a tradition no one had dared in generations.

Alpha Thorne stepped forward, sword clenched tightly in his hands, he seemed determined, proud and desperate.

Across from him, Xareth removed his cloak with a single fluid motion. Then he unsheathed his weapon, a sword unlike any I’d seen before.

Its steel was dark, almost black, and from its blade coiled tendrils of smoke, inky and alive, as though it breathed, enchanted, surely. I didn’t know if the others saw what I did, but to my eyes, it pulsed with a forbidden magic.

The duel began.

Alpha Thorne attacked first, striking with the fury of a pack leader defending his people. His movements were sharp.

But Xareth barely lifted his blade. He sidestepped each strike with effortless grace, like a predator toying with prey. His expression never changed, very calm. And that calm was more terrifying than rage.

Blow after blow, our Alpha grew more frustrated, more reckless. He swung harder, faster, but Xareth danced around him like smoke on the wind.

Then, with a single movement too fast for my eyes to follow, Xareth’s blade arced through the air, striking Thorne’s sword, It shattered.

Gasps tore from the crowd, my breath caught in my throat. Before anyone could even react, Xareth drove his sword straight into Alpha Thorne’s chest.

The blade sank in cleanly, without resistance. Alpha Thorne stumbled, lips parting in a soundless gasp. Blood spilled like ink down his armor, he collapsed to his knees, and fell.

A collective cry of horror rose around me. Even though I’d known deep down how this would end, it still struck like ice to my bones.

Rhydan ran to him and cradled him as the last light faded from Thorne’s eyes, but that wasn’t the end.

A glow began to spread through the fallen Alpha’s chest, soft and blue. It was the Heartstone. It pulsed once, then rose from his body, detaching from the lifeless form. The crowd fell into breathless silence.

The Heartstone pulsed above us, radiant and humming with ancient power. It shimmered, spinning gently in the air, I've only heard of it but never saw one.

Everyone knew what came next. The stone would choose the next Alpha. If the chosen was unworthy, the Heartstone would reject them, or destroy them.

Two candidates stood present. Rhydan, blood heir to the former Alpha. And Xareth, the conqueror who spilled that blood.

I felt a pull. An invisible tug, like a thread wrapped around my heart. I turned, and there, at the edge of the crowd, stood Zevarion.

His eyes locked on mine. Sadness clouded his expression, or perhaps disappointment. I couldn’t tell which hurt more.

My lips parted in a silent gasp. I stumbled back a step, how do I explain this? How do I explain standing beside the man who destroyed everything?

The Heartstone pulsed brighter and then, it began to descend. As it descended, I held my breath, not for who it would choose, but for what Zevarion would see when he looked at me, a traitor, or something far worse.