The moon hung low over Lunaris, its pale light casting a silvery glow on the dense forest surrounding the pack's territory. It was supposed to be a peaceful night. The kind of night where wolves, even in their human forms, could catch their breath, share quiet moments, and prepare for the challenges of the days to come. But peace had long since deserted them.
The first howl cut through the night like a blade, sharp and chilling. It was followed by a chorus of others, rising in the distance. The sound of dozens, no—hundreds—of wolves, their voices filled with fury and desperation. Darius's heart skipped a beat. This wasn't a normal rogue attack. The tension in the air was palpable, thick and suffocating, as though the very earth itself was bracing for something darker.
He stood at the edge of the pack's camp, his sharp ears twitching at every sound. The wind, which had been calm moments ago, picked up, rustling the leaves and sending a shiver down his spine. Something wasn't right.
"Alpha," Calder's voice rang out, calm but edged with urgency. His dark eyes, ever watchful, held a glint of concern. "It's not like the others. They're coordinated—working in groups."
Darius's jaw clenched, his wolf instincts already on high alert. A rogue attack was bad enough, but this—this felt different. His thoughts flashed to Lyra. She had been gone for weeks now, banished under his orders. Had this attack been provoked by her? Was there some greater force at work?
"Get everyone ready," Darius growled, his voice low and full of command. His eyes narrowed as he looked toward the woods. The pack had already begun to stir, shifting into their wolf forms, but there was an unease in the air that couldn't be ignored. The pack was restless, more so than usual before a fight. He could feel their discomfort in the pit of his stomach.
His sharp senses caught the scent of the rogues as they approached—the stench of unwashed fur, blood, and desperation. It was too late to run now. The first wave of them broke through the trees, their eyes gleaming with malice. Darius snarled, shifting into his massive wolf form in one fluid motion. The transformation was painful but necessary, his bones cracking and reshaping in the blink of an eye.
The battle was immediate.
The first rogue lunged at him, its teeth bared in a savage grin. Darius's reflexes were lightning-quick. He dodged the strike and countered with a swift, crushing blow to the rogue's side, sending it sprawling to the ground. His claws scraped against the earth, leaving deep gouges in the dirt. The rogue howled in pain but quickly regained its footing.
Around him, chaos erupted. The pack fought valiantly, each wolf using their strength and agility to fend off the rogues. But there was something unsettling about the way the rogues moved, their coordination, their silent communication. They were not acting like mindless attackers. This was a well-organized assault.
Darius's eyes locked on another rogue, a large brute with an unsettling calm in his demeanor. The rogue's eyes glinted with a strange, almost knowing look. Darius snarled, charging at him with all his strength, but the rogue met him head-on, their bodies colliding with a sickening thud. The impact rattled Darius's bones, but he quickly regained his footing, slashing at the rogue's chest with his claws.
"Darius!" Calder's voice rang out, cutting through the noise of battle. Darius's head snapped to the side, spotting his second-in-command, his face twisted in shock. "Something's wrong. They're not acting like rogues—they're… they're being controlled!"
The realization hit Darius like a blow to the gut. Controlled? Who could have that kind of power over them? His mind raced as the fight continued. His pack was strong, but they were struggling. The rogues weren't just attacking—they were working together, almost as if they had a shared purpose.
But it wasn't just the rogues that had him worried. It was the pack's energy. His alpha senses told him that something was off—his wolves were unsettled, distracted, their movements erratic. They were confused, scared. Was it fear of the unknown, or something deeper? His thoughts flashed to Lyra again, and guilt gnawed at his insides. Had he been wrong to cast her out? Had his pride and fear of vulnerability led to something far worse?
His ears twitched. More wolves were approaching, but these weren't rogues. They were members of his pack. The sound of their heavy breathing, their rapid footfalls, echoed in the clearing as they fought to hold the line.
A loud growl from behind him brought Darius back to the battle. He spun around just in time to meet the charge of a rogue, a massive wolf with glowing eyes. It lunged, but Darius sidestepped, using his speed to his advantage. The rogue crashed into the dirt, its body skidding to a halt just a few feet away. Before it could rise, Darius was on it, sinking his teeth into its throat.
The rogue choked, its body spasming, but Darius didn't release his grip. He could feel the rogue's pulse faltering, the life slipping away. The blood tasted bitter, but he couldn't stop. Not yet. He tore into the rogue's flesh, every instinct demanding that he fight until there was nothing left.
But as he stood over the defeated rogue, panting and bloodied, the nagging sensation at the back of his mind grew stronger. Something was wrong. His pack wasn't just fighting for survival. They were fighting a losing battle. The energy in the air felt oppressive, and Darius felt it deep in his bones. This wasn't just a rogue attack. This was something far worse.
A shout pierced the night. Calder appeared at his side, breathless and covered in blood. His eyes were wide, the shock evident on his face. "Alpha, you need to hear this," he said urgently. "The rogues—they're searching for someone. They're searching for Lyra."
Darius froze, his heart sinking. Lyra. The name echoed in his mind like a curse. He'd done this. He'd cast her out, thinking it was for the good of the pack, for their survival. But now, as the rogues tore through the camp, his guilt surged to the surface. What if it was his decision that had set this chain of events in motion?
The thought consumed him. The rogues were after her. After the one person he had pushed away. It didn't make sense. Why would they be hunting Lyra? Was she a threat? Or was she something else—something more dangerous than he had ever realized?
"I need to speak with the elders," Darius growled, his voice tight with anger and regret. He turned to Calder, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "Get the pack under control. We need to regroup."
But as he walked toward the heart of the camp, his thoughts raced. Could Lyra still be alive? Was she in danger? Was he too late?
The sounds of the battle slowly faded behind him, the cries of his pack mixing with the wind. Darius's mind was a storm, a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to tear him apart. He had to find answers. He had to make things right before it was too late.
But as the shadows deepened around him, one thing became painfully clear—his past mistakes had only just begun to haunt him.