135

The doors of Avynna’s packhouse creaked open as a limp figure collapsed at their threshold.

“Nancy!” Baron was the first to recognize her bloodied frame, sprinting forward with panic in his voice. She was barely conscious, her breathing shallow and labored.

Baron carried her swiftly to the infirmary, while Avynna followed, her hands trembling as she watched her friend battle for her life.

As healers worked over her battered body, Nancy’s eyes fluttered open. “Avynna," she called. “Where's Avynna?"

Avynna darted towards her almost immediately. “I'm here. I'm here, tell me what's wrong."

Baron was beside her too the next instant. “First take a deep breath, and don't try to sit up, your wounds are still healing."

She listened to him, and inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nerves. Baron nodded in satisfaction. “Good! Now, speak."

Nancy sniffed. “Valchren… he’s… turning them. Crescent Fang—my pack—he’s poisoning them…”

Avynna’s eyes widened. “What do you mean poisoning?” She paused slightly, and even bigger question forming in her head. “And who's Valchren?"

"They let him in when I was away. He said he had something huge to offer them, and they believed him. So fucking easily.” Nancy gritted her teeth. "Now, He twists their minds, their hearts. They've forsaken the moon goddess, and chosen to trail the path of darkness. They worship him now. Even Soran… he’s not the same.”

Avynna stepped back slightly in shock. “What the…?”

Baron's face was that of concentration as he processed the words he had just heard. “So you're saying… They knew he was of darkness, and they let him into the pack, knowing fully well that they stood a risk to be consumed. How?”

Nancy groaned in pain. "I don't think it's just my pack. I think… I think he's building some sort of colony.”

Baron and Avynna exchanged looks, the worry evident in their eyes. "Steve, look into this.” Baron said calmly, although anyone looking at him would know he was far from calm.

Nancy reached out for Avynna's hand, her voice breaking. “Avynna, I don't want to lose the pack. It's all I have left to remind me of him." She mumbled as a tear fell freely from her eyes.

Avynna visibly had to struggle to keep hers in check. She nodded, patting her friend's hand reassuringly. “You won't lost the pack. We'll do everything we can, I promise.”

Baron added solemnly. "You helped us save Bavanda, hence we will come through for you.”

Nancy nodded, and slowly began to fade into oblivion—the work of the sedatives.

Avynna turned to the pack's doctor. “Make sure she's okay." Then, she walked out of the room, Baron following closely behind.

“This is bad," Baron whisperer under his breath.

Avynna said nothing, but she knew he was right.

This was bad!

***

Back in Crescent Fang, Soran sat alone in the old den where Nancy once kept her sacred Moon relics. The place had been desecrated—symbols scorched, protective wards torn down.

He stared at the moonstone fragment hidden beneath a floor panel, one of the few things Nancy never told Valchren about.

“You remember, don’t you?” whispered a soft, feminine voice. “The truth.”

But then came another, darker voice, colder and dripping with venom. “She abandoned you. I saved you. We are your truth now.”

Soran clutched his head as the voices argued, screaming over each other. His fingers dug into his temples, blood trickling down. “Stop. Stop!”

Valchren watched from afar. His eyes narrowed. He could feel Soran's control slipping.

That night, Soran wandered into the shadow node field—the place where Valchren’s ascension had stained the earth. His mind cracked under the pressure of two opposing destinies. He had no idea what he was doing there, it was like he was being controlled, like he had no say anymore over his mind or body.

The next morning, Callen found him, lying cold on the corrupted soil, eyes open in silent torment.

Dead.

Callen stumbled back, his eyes widened in shock. He didn't cry, but he wished he could. News of Soran’s death shattered what was left of Crescent Fang’s stability.

“He was strong,” someone whispered. “If even he…”

Valchren held an emergency gathering. “This is what happens to those who resist truth. The old ways betrayed him, but we will endure. I will lead you.”

The murmurs grew louder. Doubts began to fester. Pockets of resistance flared within the pack.

That night, Valchren acted.

Deep within the cursed forest surrounding Crescent Fang, where twisted, dead trees reached skyward like grasping hands, a small band of rebellious wolves had gathered in a clearing. Their eyes shone with raw defiance as they planned an uprising against the creeping corruption—a last desperate bid to reclaim their lost honor.

A low murmur of protest rippled through their ranks as they spoke in hushed, urgent voices. One elder wolf, scarred by battles past, barked, “We must resist! The old ways still guide us! We are not meant to be slaves to Valchren’s lies!”

But before more words could be uttered, the air grew cold. A shadow fell over the clearing, thick and oppressive. Out of the darkness stepped Valchren—a towering figure cloaked in raven-black robes, his eyes alight with a cruel, predatory gleam. The faint crimson glow of his aura stained the surrounding snow like spilled blood.

“Silence!” he bellowed, his voice echoing like a death knell through the trees.

The assembled wolves stiffened, fear and defiance warring in their eyes. One of them—a young warrior with vibrant amber fur—tried to step forward, his voice trembling, “We… we will not be broken by your false promises!”

Valchren sneered. With a graceful yet terrifying motion, he extended a hand. Shadows obeyed him as if born from his very soul, coalescing into writhing tendrils that snaked over the ground. The creatures closed in silently, predatory and unrelenting.

“Your resistance,” Valchren spat, “only invites your own destruction. The Moon Goddess’s light is a lie. Embrace the darkness, or be consumed by it.”

A chorus of desperate howls and pleas erupted from the gathered rebels. “Please, spare us!” “We are your kin!” “There is still honor in us!”

But Valchren’s eyes darkened further, and with a swift gesture, he commanded the shadows to strike. The tendrils slithered forward, wrapping around the wolves with insidious cold. The first to fall was an aged female, her eyes wide with shock as she struggled, her protests choked into silent, ragged gasps. The shadows tightened mercilessly, silencing her cry as her lifeblood seeped into the snowy ground.

The young warrior advanced, roaring defiance, yet even he was no match. Valchren’s arm swept through the air, and a surge of dark energy burst forth, ripping into the wolf’s flank. The wolf’s muzzle twisted in pain before collapsing onto the snow, his mournful howl cut short.

“Begone!” Valchren intoned, his voice a mix of scorn and finality. “Your futile pleas mean nothing in the realm of truth.”

A few scattered figures attempted to flee, scattering in wild terror. One, a lean, scarred wolf named Kerren—once a respected scout—ran desperately. But as he dashed between ancient trunks, his panicked cries were swallowed by the cacophony of the massacre. Valchren’s minions, silent and efficient as falling leaves, closed in and silenced him swiftly, his eyes going dull as if snuffed out by an extinguishing flame.

The scene was one of swift, brutal judgment. Each wolf that fell left a silent testament to the cruelty of Valchren’s reign—their pleas echoing briefly before being engulfed by the relentless, dark tide of his power.

Hidden behind a dead, gnarled oak, a lone figure watched with trembling eyes. A young pack member, barely more than a cub now hardened by loss, witnessed the terrible spectacle. His heart pounded in his chest as he crept away silently, careful not to trigger the wrath of the monstrous lieutenant.

Valchren stood amid the ruined clearing, surveying the devastation with a cold smile. “Let this be a lesson,” he declared to the empty air. “From now on, the truth is ours. And we shall forge an empire upon the bones of your false ideals.”

The cruelty of his words mingled with the scent of blood and decay, seeping into the very soil of Crescent Fang. In that moment, the land itself seemed to groan under the weight of the corruption—a shadow node had been planted, a dark seed from which his wicked vision would blossom.

***

In the dream-realm of Bavanda’s mind, shadows trembled as a scream echoed across the soulscape.

She stood amidst silver mist when she saw it: Crescent Fang burning, wolves she once knew writhing in agony, and Valchren drenched in blood.

“No…” she whispered.

At that moment, a beam of light broke through the darkness. Her glowing wolf, her soul, roared beside her.

Her eyes opened in the waking world.

Gasps filled the room.

“She’s awake!” someone shouted.

The first person she saw was Atena. Bavanda’s eyes locked onto hers, glowing with quiet fire. “It’s not over,” she said,
her voice unfamiliar.

Atena nodded solemnly, like she had been waiting for this moment. “No, child. It’s just beginning.”