All Chapters of Marked by the enemy alpha: Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

The journey to the Temple of Dusk began beneath a shrouded sky, where dawn dared only a whisper of light behind slate-colored clouds. The mountains were deathly still. No birds stirred in the branches, no animals rustled in the underbrush. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as the Haven’s warriors moved silently through narrow paths winding up the jagged slopes, their cloaks damp with mist. A sense of foreboding rode with them—thick and cloying, like a prelude to war. At the front rode Aria and Kael, side by side, the bond between them burning with unease. Aria’s thoughts churned: the cryptic prophecy, the vault’s vision of a gate sealed with blood and starlight, and the whispers of a force far older than either pack could remember. She fingered the Moonstone pendant at her throat as if it might anchor her. Behind them came Nyra, Elric, Toren, and the elite vanguard, their eyes sweeping the terrain with a wary edge. Everyone moved like soldiers heading toward something ancient

The clash of power beneath the earth echoed like thunder in a confined storm. Kael’s claws raked across the twisted form of Malric, sparks flying where corrupted flesh met Alpha strength. Magic surged through the chamber, each blow from Kael colliding with a force that tried to drag the world itself into chaos. Shadows writhed along the walls, whispering words no sane mind could understand. Aria stood at the edge of the battle, the Heartstone pulsing violently in her palm. The chamber was alive with ancient magic. Every etching on the walls, every broken pillar, hummed in resonance with her power. But deeper than that was the sensation of something watching, something that had slumbered for centuries beneath the roots of the world—and was now waking. “Elric!” she cried above the roar of combat. “The runes! They’re reacting!” Elric, already pinned under a slab of stone after shielding one of the warriors from Malric’s initial strike, looked up with wide eyes. “They’re binding runes

The morning after the first council gathering brought no peace. What should have been a quiet dawn filled with rebuilding was instead stirred by murmurs, tense glances, and hushed debates in the shadow of the rising sun. Kael had sensed it brewing even as the embers of the Heartstone war cooled—friction that lingered, like ash clinging to skin long after the fire. Alliances were being tested, and trust, once forged in the heat of battle, was beginning to splinter. Kael sat in the heart of the command tent, his hands braced on the table where the new union charter lay partially drafted. Around him stood the war-weary representatives of the packs, each with scars from the battle—some visible, some buried beneath their words. Stormclaw’s Alpha, Matriarch Teyla, broke the tense silence. “We supported this unification because it promised strength. But now, you propose we disband the old High Council entirely?” “We don’t need to destroy history,” Kael answered, voice firm. “But we cann

The sky had just begun to pale with the promise of dawn when Aria stood at the threshold of the ravine, the Hollow’s jagged mouth yawning before her. Mist clung to the ground like a second skin, curling around her boots and whispering promises in forgotten tongues. Behind her, the world she knew lingered—Kael, the camp, the fragile alliance. Before her, the unknown yawned wide and waiting. She didn’t hesitate. Nyra fell in step beside her, her twin blades strapped across her back and a small satchel of enchanted relics hanging from her hip. Two scouts followed: Laren and Siva, quiet and grim, both trained by the Shadow Packs to move like smoke and vanish like breath in winter air. They entered the ravine in silence, each step deeper erasing the light above until they were swallowed by the stone. At first, the tunnel sloped gently, the air cool and dry. But as they progressed, the path narrowed, twisted, and descended into darker territory. The walls began to hum softly—an eerie vi

The Hollow had transformed. No longer a realm of ruin and bloodshed, it now stood as a convergence point for the scattered, the broken, and the newly bound. Southern Alphas arrived in solemn groups, their howls echoing down the jagged ridgelines. They came not for conquest but for clarity—drawn by rumors of a flame reborn and a bond no longer bound by blood but by purpose. Aria stood on the overlook above the central courtyard, the wind tugging at her cloak. Her mark—the Starforged Oath—glowed faintly beneath her collarbone, resonating with the Hollow Her gaze swept across the southern valley, her heart heavy with what had passed and wary of what still stirred. Each gust of wind seemed to carry voices from the past—echoes of fallen warriors, broken vows, and the chilling laughter of the Hollow King. Behind her, Nyra approached quietly, carrying a cracked scroll. The parchment was brittle, and the ink faded to near-illegibility. “I found it in the southern archives,” she said, her vo