Arknights Horns Novels & Stories

After everyone else had gotten their swords we were allowed to pick more weapons. "Now they can call you the white Luna freely, you look like light itself." Horia praised making me chuckle as we looked at the selections for weapons. We were told that the weapons we chose would be our weapons till the end of the event. I wore brass knuckles, took a bow and arrow, a ring sword, and nunchucks. Nova took a pair of sai, brass knuckles, and a scythe. Horia took a pair of tonfa, brass knuckles, and daggers same as Jannah.

We’re high up, probably in the very peaks I imagined while blindfolded. Two great doors open before us, and the chamber inside is vast, hung with black banners streaked red, the mark of Blood Moon Pack. At the far end, three thrones rise on a dais of polished obsidian. The center is the widest, taller than the others, carved into the shape of snarling wolf heads with ruby eyes. On that throne sits the Luna, regal, elegant and powerful.

I smile as Theon finishes his oath, and the Council's member nods and then turns towards me. "I, Leah Waters, marked mate of Theon Blackwood hereby pledge my loyalty towards Alpha Theon and Black Moon Pack and vow to lead, support, and protect his rule and prosperity of Black Moon Pack as its Luna," I say, feeling the weight of this words, feeling the responsibility it places on my shoulder, feeling the new beginning starting for me. "I, Hank Stone hereby pledge my loyalty towards Alpha Theon, Luna Luna, and Black Moon Pack and vow to lead, support, and protect their rule and prosperity of Black Moon Pack as its Beta," Hank says.

"I know." She stepped beside me. Her eyes darted to the stone, to the shifting shadows between the broken columns. "Is it the stars again? Or something worse?" "Both." We didn’t have time to speak further. From the northern ridge, a sound echoed—low and metallic. A horn. One not used since the War of Teeth. Sabine went pale. "That’s not ours." "It’s Liora." Sabine didn’t question how I knew. She’d stopped doing that.

Its face was hidden beneath a deer skull mask, and from its back protruded wings made of smoke. “The Harbinger,” Varek growled. “They brought him through.” The creature looked straight at Aria. “Luna,” it hissed, “your blood sings. The gate opens.” “No,” she said, stepping forward. “Not while I still breathe.” It launched at her. Aria met it mid-air, claws clashing against shadowsteel. Pain exploded through her ribs as it threw her back. She hit the ground hard but rolled to her feet. Varek roared and tackled the Harbinger from behind, plunging his blade deep into its spine. It shrieked but didn’t fall. Instead, it laughed—a sound like death rattling in a broken chest.

“As you instructed, my lord… the Horn of Sevrin. Unblemished. Bound in celestial blood.” He held out the relic, an artifact humming with sacred energy. Nihareth smiled, his darkened arm twitching with pleasure beneath his sleeve. The void whispered, pleased. “Place it in the flame,” Nihareth ordered, voice like silk wrapped around a blade. The god hesitated. “But… it will destroy its sanctity.” “Exactly.” His smile widened. “It will be reborn. Like you. Like me.” Another stepped forward—this one with six eyes and hands carved of marble. “The Crown of Irith. It still sings prayers when you hold it.”

She wouldn’t let it. She inhaled deeply, trying to center herself. “You’re tense,” the Lycan said, his voice smooth, deep, and teasing. “I don’t enjoy being watched by an entire room,” she replied coolly, her gaze skimming the crowd. All eyes were on them. He smiled. “Then I suppose I should introduce myself, give them something to talk about. I’m Knox. Knox Green, Alpha of the Southern Lycan Pack.” “Lydia. Heiress of the Moonglade Pack,” she replied, matching his tone.

“I’ll be outside, at the entrance to the Circle. If anyone interferes, or if Malakai tries to bring outside help into the fight, I’ll take them down. But getting them all the way here—into this chamber—will be your task.” Our agreement was silent. Damian and Regnar exchanged a look, and Damian nodded. Regnar struck his fist to his chest in a gesture of assent. The plan was madness, but it was the only chance we had. When the first faint orange light seeped through the narrow window, the Nest trembled. The sound that penetrated the thick stone walls was not thunder, but a deep, resonant vibration: the sound of the Horns, which for thousands of years had marked the beginning of the Challenge.

“They’ve already breached us.” “And they’re not in uniform,” Arwyn added. “Mercenaries, spies—maybe both.” Before they could say more, the sharp blare of a horn cut through the night. It wasn’t the deep triple-note of northern signal calls—this was shorter, harsher, alien to the fortress. Shouts rose from the battlements. Boots pounded on stone as guards scrambled to their posts. The heir’s voice rang from the hall behind them: “Positions! To the walls!” Eolan and Arwyn sprinted for the nearest stair to the ramparts. The wind hit them like a living thing at the top, tearing at cloaks and hair.

Caroline, a she-wolf who has been considered a monster since she was a child, can she break the tragedy spell and find her MATE?