The cold air hung still in the valley as Ethan stared at the lifeless body of the wolf. His breath caught in his throat, and time seemed to slow. The pack member's pale, lifeless face was etched with terror, as if the moment of death had been burned into their expression. The metallic scent of blood tainted the air, mingling with the forest's dampness.
Lydia knelt beside the body, her hand trembling as she gently closed the wolf's eyes. "It's Alan," she whispered, her voice thick with grief. "He was one of our best scouts."
Ethan's mind raced, trying to process what they were seeing. Alan had been sent on a routine patrol just days ago. They hadn't heard from him, but no one expected this.
"They're already here," Ethan said, his voice low and tense. His fists clenched at his sides. "The Shadow Council has moved in faster than we thought."
Lydia stood slowly, wiping her hands on her pants. Her jaw was set, her expression hardening into one of resolve. "If they've already reached this far into our territory, we need to move quickly. They're sending us a message."
Ethan nodded, his mind calculating their next steps. Every moment counted now. They needed to find out where the Council was hiding and what they were planning before it was too late. He could feel the weight of leadership pressing down on him—he couldn't afford to make mistakes.
"We have to keep moving," Ethan said, glancing at Lydia. "But we can't leave him here like this."
Lydia's eyes softened for a moment, her gaze drifting back to Alan's body. She knelt down once more, placing her hand gently on his chest. "We'll come back for him," she said quietly. "We'll bring him home."
It was a solemn promise, one that they both intended to keep. Ethan felt a pang of guilt—he knew they couldn't spare the time to give Alan a proper burial now, but he hated leaving him here in the cold.
They pressed on, moving deeper into the valley. The terrain grew rougher, the underbrush thicker, as they approached what they suspected was the edge of the Shadow Council's territory. Every step felt more precarious, as if the forest itself was closing in on them, watching their every move.
Ethan's senses were on high alert. His sharp hearing picked up the faint rustling of leaves, the distant calls of birds, but nothing that indicated immediate danger. Yet the ominous feeling in his gut remained. The Shadow Council was close.
As they neared a rocky outcropping, Lydia froze and held up her hand. "Do you hear that?" she whispered.
Ethan strained his ears, focusing on the distant sound. Faint voices drifted through the trees, carried on the breeze. It was subtle, but unmistakable—someone was talking nearby.
"Up ahead," Ethan whispered back. "We need to get closer without being seen."
They crouched low, moving with deliberate care through the thick underbrush, their movements as silent as possible. As they reached the base of the outcropping, the voices grew louder. Ethan peered over the rocks, his heart pounding in his chest.
What he saw sent a chill down his spine.
In a small clearing ahead, a group of figures stood gathered around a large, makeshift camp. At the center of the group, a tall, imposing figure dressed in dark robes appeared to be giving orders. His presence exuded authority, and even from a distance, Ethan could sense the dark energy radiating from him.
"The Shadow Council," Lydia murmured, her voice barely audible.
Ethan nodded, his eyes narrowing as he observed the scene. The figures surrounding the robed man were a mix of rogues and dark creatures, all under his command. Their camp looked well-established, with supplies and weapons neatly organized around the perimeter. They were preparing for something—something big.
"We need to get closer," Ethan whispered, his mind racing with the implications of what they were seeing.
Lydia's eyes were wide with caution, but she nodded. "We can't take them on like this. There's too many of them."
"I'm not planning on fighting them," Ethan said. "Not yet. We need information first—find out what their next move is."
They inched forward, sticking to the shadows cast by the trees and rocks. The closer they got, the clearer the conversation became. The robed figure in the center was speaking in a low, commanding tone, his words dripping with authority.
"—our forces are nearly ready. The northern packs are already weakened. By the time the full moon rises again, we'll have crushed them all."
Ethan's blood ran cold. They were planning a full-scale assault on the packs, and soon.
"The alpha of the Ash wood pack," one of the rogues growled. "He's the one we need to break. Take him down, and the others will fall in line."
Ethan clenched his fists, fury rising in his chest. They were talking about him—about his pack. The Shadow Council wasn't just here to cause trouble. They were here to destroy them.
"Patience," the robed figure said, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "Ethan may be strong, but he's only one wolf. When the time comes, we'll deal with him. For now, continue gathering resources and keep the pressure on the other packs. Let them weaken themselves fighting each other."
Lydia glanced at Ethan, her eyes wide with concern. They needed to act fast, but without the element of surprise, charging in now would be suicide.
"We have to warn the others," Lydia whispered. "They're planning a coordinated attack."
Ethan nodded, his mind racing. "We'll pull back for now. But we need to learn more—figure out exactly where they're keeping their main forces."
As they began to retreat, the ground beneath Ethan's foot gave way with a sharp crack. He stumbled, grabbing onto the edge of the rock, but the noise was enough to draw attention.
"Did you hear that?" one of the rogues barked, his head snapping in their direction.
Ethan's heart raced as he and Lydia exchanged a panicked glance. They had seconds to decide—run or fight. There was no time for debate. Ethan grabbed Lydia's arm, pulling her into the dense thicket, hoping the cover would be enough to shield them from sight.
But it wasn't.
"Over there!" a voice shouted.
The rogues surged forward, their movements quick and predatory. Ethan growled low in his throat, his muscles tensing as he prepared for the fight.
"Go!" Ethan barked at Lydia. "Warn the others! I'll hold them off."
Lydia hesitated for only a split second before nodding. She knew arguing would be pointless. Without another word, she took off into the woods, her form disappearing into the shadows.
Ethan turned back to face the oncoming rogues, his body shifting instinctively as the full weight of his werewolf strength surged through him. His eyes glowed with fury, his claws extending as the first rogue lunged toward him.
The battle was fast and brutal. Ethan fought with the ferocity of a cornered wolf, his claws tearing through flesh as he defended himself against the onslaught. But there were too many of them. For every rogue he took down, two more took their place.
A sharp pain shot through his side as one of the rogues' claws raked across his ribs. Ethan snarled, lashing out with his own claws in response, but the rogue dodged, narrowly avoiding the blow.
They were wearing him down, and he knew it.
But he couldn't afford to fall here. His pack was counting on him.
With one final burst of strength, Ethan slammed his fist into the nearest rogue, sending the wolf flying backward. He didn't wait to see if the rogue got back up. He turned and ran, his body moving with the speed and grace of a predator in full flight.
Not only that, but he needed to regroup with Lydia. He needed to warn the pack.
As he tore through the forest, Ethan's mind raced with the weight of what he'd just witnessed. The Shadow Council wasn't just a threat—they were a force of destruction, and they wouldn't stop until every pack was either dead or under their control.
The war had already begin.