Raen's moon
The moon bled.
High above the pine-cracked peaks of the Wyrmholt Range, a pale red glow washed across the sky. It was not the color of dusk, nor eclipse, nor any storm of nature. This light was older — summoned by blood and bound by prophecy.
And it had returned.
In the sacred valley beneath the mountain, torches burned in a great ring. The Twelve Packs had gathered. No war. No feast. No hunt. Only silence — and the weight of something stirring just beyond the veil of stars.
At the center of the clearing stood the Stone of Howlmark, the place where kings were crowned, blood was spilled, and truth could not be hidden. Around it, the Alpha Circle knelt. All but one.
Raen Wyrmholt stood tall, barefoot and broad-shouldered, silver-gray fur lining the cloak across his back. His golden eyes stared skyward, unblinking, as if watching something move within the moon itself.
The others waited.
Finally, he spoke.
"It has begun."
His voice was deep, rooted in the bones of the mountain. The other alphas raised their heads. None questioned him. Raen did not speak of dreams lightly — and this had not been a dream.
"This moon is not ours," he continued. "It is the Veil's. And it howls for the blood it lost."
A voice answered him — low, grave, and wild.
"The boy."
From the shadows stepped Ysolde Hollowfang, shaman of the Hollowfang Pack. Her gray hair was braided with bone charms and moonstones. Her eyes were milk-white with vision.
"He dreams beyond the world," she whispered. "And his blood answers both thrones."
Murmurs passed among the circle.
"Vampire?" growled Ulgar Ironmaw. "Or wolf?"
"Both," Ysolde said. "And neither. Not yet. He is still... untouched."
Raen turned to her. "Still human."
She nodded once. "Yes. But not for long."
"Then Kael will move," said Thorne Redhowl, fire-eyed and restless. "He'll want the boy for himself."
"He won't take him," Raen said. "Not yet. Not unless he wants to kill him."
Ysolde stepped forward, placing a hand on the old stone. "You all feel it, even if you don't understand it. The blood inside the boy is volatile. It is prophecy made flesh. If it awakens unbound, it will tear him apart."
"What do we do?" asked Vaelin Nighttooth. "Bring him here?"
"No," Raen said sharply. "We wait. We watch."
Another Alpha — lean and cold-eyed — stepped into the firelight.
"You would leave the heir of both thrones in the hands of fate?"
Raen turned. "I would give him the chance we never had."
The others fell silent.
The Werewolf King stepped forward into the center of the ring.
"He must choose," Raen said. "The Rite of Sundering will be required either way. And if Kael performs it... the boy will awaken with fangs and fire. If we perform it, he may awaken with claw and moon."
"He could awaken as both," Ysolde whispered. "He is the first with the true human spark since the first Binding."
"Then what do you intend?" asked Ulgar.
Raen closed his eyes. "I intend to meet him."
Eyes widened.
"Not now. Not soon. But when the Veil breaks — when he steps across — I will be waiting."
Thorne bared his teeth. "And if Kael reaches him first?"
Raen opened his eyes. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
"Then we rip through the Veil and bring him back."
Lightning cracked across the distant peaks.
The shamans raised their heads in unison. The old spirits stirred.
Raen turned toward the moon.
"Sleep while you can, boy," he whispered. "When you wake, you won't be human anymore."
And the moon bled red.