The entire Crescent Quarter was enveloped in darkness. However, she had memorized the way after years of traversing it, so she no longer found it difficult. Nothing had changed much during her six years of absence. The deep shadows and eternal silence remained.

Every time she passed someone, they pretended not to see her, and she did the same. In Crescent Quarter, words were worthless unless they carried paramount importance.

Slowly, she knocked five times on a massive iron door before her. The knob seemed to hiss.

After a few seconds, the carved marks on the doorknob began to glow red, a sign that it had identified her. The knob twisted and rattled a few times before a hard thud echoed, and the door swung open, revealing a dark chamber lit only by red flickering candles.

She entered breathlessly, and the door closed behind her on its own. The air inside was suffocating, as if she were at the depths of the sea. The mounted candles flickered with her shadow.

"I have come as you summoned," she said solemnly.

The figures in front of her moved stealthily, blending effortlessly with the darkness, making it hard to discern their number.

Despite the shadows, her weary eyes caught five distinct shades of black. Silence followed until one of the figures approached her. She immediately lowered her gaze to the ground and dropped to her knees.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Nysander has fallen…"

A deep, rough voice rumbled with fury, its chill reaching her feet. It sounded like a dozen demons speaking in unison.

"But his letter has arrived," she added.

Silence stretched between them, indicating the letter's importance and their need to examine it.

A moment later, the figure finally spoke the words she never thought she'd hear.

"The Abyssal Wayfarer is back," he said lowly.

She raised her gaze, understanding that their plan must now be executed swiftly with the Key they needed finally returned.

"Bring the Night Howler," he ordered. "It will summon the beast we need."

His figure seemed to reach the ceiling, but the shadows and his black cloak concealed his face. It felt as though she were speaking to the night sky.

"We need the White Fang," a scratchy female voice whispered behind her. She dared not move, knowing it would show disrespect to their leaders if she met their eyes.

"Find the Cursed One," another low voice grumbled on her right, echoing around her ears. She could no longer identify how many were inside with her.

"Summon the Beast!" The roar sounded like hundreds of eerie voices whispering at once, repeatedly uttering the words 'Cursed Witch' and 'White Fang.'

She bit her lips and lowered her posture until she nearly kissed the cold, dusty ground.

"Consider it done, my Lords," she said against the silence.

The voices did not reply, and she exited the cavernous chamber. She now carried the replica of the Night Howler, greasy black and as small as a finger, resembling a whistle made from the bone of an unknown prehistoric beast.

Many men had been lost trying to obtain this artifact. As she held it firmly in her sweating hands, she foresaw their plan finally coming to life and the end of many lives.

"I must find the Cursed One, summon the Beast, and bring the White Fang to the Shadows," she whispered to herself, grinning. "And then this world will finally become what it should have been a long time ago. Altered."

***

Knight Sin GrimDaleward wiped the dripping blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Pain was spreading throughout his body, but there was no time to dwell on it.

The late afternoon breeze seemed to pause after sweeping through the tall trees nearby. The thick branches squeaked, and the countless onlookers gasped around them.

"Duck!" Knight heard Josiah roar from the distance, trying to help his friend, Emmet, avoid Knight's swift and powerful punches.

But no matter how loudly Josiah shouted, Emmet moved too slowly. Knight's next fist collided straight into Emmet's jaw.

The sudden impact sent Emmet flying over the fence that surrounded them. The fence broke as Emmet landed headfirst into the ground with a horrible thud.

Emmet soon rose to his feet. He shook his dizzy head and, without hesitation, charged back toward Knight.

Knight was two years younger and at least a foot shorter than Emmet. Despite his workouts, no muscles seemed to emerge from his young body.

This disappointed his father endlessly, deeming him weak, but Knight's physical features did not stop him from moving with precise swings, deliberately attacking and kicking the approaching Emmet squarely in the chest.

Knight maneuvered his body effortlessly to dodge Emmet's jab, then advanced his right foot to kick Emmet in the thigh, further aggravating the bruise from the recent fall, making him stagger.

The bell overhead rang, and Knight returned to his defensive stance.

"Five minutes left," Knight thought.

Emmet was thinking the same, for before Knight could blink, Emmet had already pinned him to the muddy ground.

Emmet's nails swiftly turned into long, dark claws, digging into Knight's arm.

But Knight did not give Emmet the satisfaction of hearing him groan. He had anticipated this moment.

Emmet had the Beast, while Knight did not. Although transforming into a Werebeast was prohibited, using their sharp claws or heightened senses was not.

"This is useless," Emmet shouted above Knight. "You're too weak to win against me…"

Knight's cheeks stung, and the metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue.

Emmet buried Knight's face further into the ground, and the observing crowd cheered with delight.

Knight hated that sound since he became conscious. The crowd always cheered when someone was being hurt.

He used his remaining strength to fight back and stand, but Emmet twisted his arm, pulling a hiss from Knight's gritted teeth.

What Knight hated the most was having his face buried in the ground. It was the most degrading act one could do to a Werebeast.

They were called the Children of the Moon for a reason, meant to howl with their heads held high into the starless sky. Pushing one's head low meant they did not deserve their Beast.

The sorrow finally registered in Knight's heart, realizing that Emmet was much more delighted in doing such an act. Indeed, Knight did not deserve the honor and glory of being the Alpha's Heir.

He had already turned sixteen last month, yet his Wolf had not awakened. It was unheard of throughout the continent of Collosus.

Certainly, it was common if one was an Omega since their Wolves were of weaker origins. But Knight was not just anyone. He was the sole successor of his honorable father's throne, the Alpha of the Elderwood Clan.

Knight was supposed to be mighty, predestined to attain immense strength and intellect, more capable than the rest, but he was not.

It was, of course, depressing to think about it. Despite that, Knight did not give up the fight.

"I'm going to win this bloody tournament," he swore. "I will bring home the Night Howler!"

Knight firmly closed his eyes. Emmet held his head from the back and was about to twist it to make him unconscious. But instead of panicking, he calmed his mind.

He felt his surroundings, breathing in slowly. The ground below was hard, its coldness biting into his palms. The wind blowing was fierce, but there was something unsettling about it. The noises were deafening. Every shout amplified. Every groan was akin to a massive explosion.

Then Knight heard it, that ringing call. Then the quiet throb of Emmet's veins two inches below his heart.

It was the focal point. The sole target. With the last ounce of his strength, Knight twisted to the left, dragging Emmet along with him. He elbowed Emmet's rib, but he missed the target.

Emmet's hold on Knight loosened, but it was not enough to let him go. Knight tried to wiggle and kick, but he was now too exhausted to escape Emmet's deadly grip.

One wrong move and Emmet could twist his vulnerable neck. Just one wrong attempt and he might finally lose the only chance he had.

Countless eyes watched over them, resisting the urge to blink so as not to miss what came next. Everyone held their breaths, standing motionless.

Everyone waited, but Knight's father stood mighty from his seat on a higher ground than everyone else. He saw it easily despite the overwhelming crowd, sitting among the other eight Alphas of Collosus.

Knight's father began to walk down the platform, his gaze high above everyone else's. He never bothered to look at his son as he exited the hall, his guards following behind. Then silence.

In that instant, Knight already knew the result. He lost the tournament. Not because Emmet was about to win the fight, but because he had failed to impress his father. Knight failed him again.

He was not strong enough to keep his father entertained, or at least, to make his time worthwhile.

The seething anger soon blossomed in his raging heart like wildfire, burning through his entire being. With renewed strength, he stood gracefully, surprising everyone, including himself.

He did not waste another second and hauled Emmet, throwing him off his back and flipping him over onto the ground. Charging with determination, he struck Emmet's exposed stomach.

Sliding sideways, Knight delivered a final blow. There was a deafening silence as time seemed to stand still, and Emmet remained motionless.

The crowd was stunned, then erupted into roaring screams that almost disturbed all the living in the Underworld.

"Knight Sin GrimDaleward of the East Pack!"

The head jury's enthusiastic voice echoed in every corner of the expanse. Until Knight could no longer hear anything but the ragged beats of his heart and his name being chanted like a prayer as he ascended the landing where all the Alphas stood.

At the center, a white-haired man Knight knew as the Elder held the bone whistle in both hands, almost gleaming in the approaching moonlight.

When Knight finally reached them, he sank to one knee, lowering his gaze as a form of respect. He was too tired, too preoccupied to even listen to what the Elder was saying. He was muttering in an obscure language to finish the ritual.

Blurs began to swirl before Knight's eyes, and the pain seemed to haunt him now. Above everything, he just wanted to go to his comfortable bed and finally sleep.

So he was beyond grateful when the Elder gestured with his wrinkled hands and said, "Rise…"

With muddied and trembling hands, Knight accepted the Night Howler. The piece of bone now lying in his palms was as cold as the dead, as if it had been buried for centuries without anyone possessing it.

The Night Howler was strange. He could not identify the whistle, now that his consciousness was fading. He had been fighting for more than ten hours straight, and he had defeated every one of his opponents fair and square.

He had never thought he would win. Aside from being Wolfless, he was among the smallest and youngest. But now, holding the ultimate trophy for everyone to behold, it was such a great milestone that he wanted to smile, even laugh. But when he glanced at his father, who was now back and standing stately among the other Alphas, he just bit his tongue, stopping himself from even grinning.

"Alpha never smiles. It merely displays weakness. Never laugh unless you're laughing at your enemies' misfortune. Only smile at their corpses. You must show it only before Death…"

His father's words echoed like a creaking hanging bridge in his head. So instead of celebrating his victory, which he deserved, Knight just held his head high. He showed everyone below him that they should never belittle him again.