The forest at night had always carried a kind of sacredness to Elara. The rustle of leaves whispered secrets, the cool air bore scents rich with memory, and the moon painted everything in a silvery sheen. But tonight, something was wrong.
The air was too still. The moon too bright. The silence too heavy.
She stood just beyond the pack's border, where trees thickened and mist curled like fingers from the earth. It was instinct that had brought her here. Or perhaps something deeper—an ancient calling she could not explain. The power inside her had been growing restless since the trial. As if it knew something was coming.
Elara's breath fogged before her as she knelt and pressed her hand to the damp earth. The soil trembled faintly beneath her fingertips, like a heartbeat not her own. The vision she had during the trial haunted her every step—fire, ash, and a creature cloaked in shadow. She'd hoped it was just fear feeding her imagination. But no. This was real. The warning was real.
Another heartbeat. Closer this time.
Elara rose slowly. Her muscles tightened, senses flaring.
Then she heard it—a soft crunch of leaves, deliberate and slow. She wasn't alone.
She turned just in time to see the first figure emerge from the trees. It was tall and lean, its body cloaked in dark fur, and its eyes glowed a deep, unnatural red. Another figure followed, and then a third, forming a loose triangle around her. Rogues. But they didn't smell like regular ones. Their scent carried rot and smoke—foul, as if something old and corrupted clung to their fur.
No words. No warnings. The first rogue lunged.
Elara shifted in one fluid motion, her bones breaking and reshaping mid-air. Her wolf surged forward, slamming into the rogue with teeth bared. The two tumbled through the underbrush, a blur of claws and snarls. She sunk her fangs into its shoulder and ripped back, earning a blood-curdling howl. The taste was wrong—bitter and cold.
The second rogue joined the fray, crashing into her from the side. She was thrown off-balance and rolled to a crouch. Her flank burned where its claws had raked across her. Blood dripped steadily into the snow. But her pain only fueled her fury.
With a roar, she charged again.
They were faster than most rogues. Smarter too. They didn't fight like the scattered, panicked beasts she'd faced in training. They moved with purpose—coordinated, trained.
One feinted left, drawing her attention. The other flanked.
But Elara had grown since her arrival in the pack. Her instincts had sharpened. Her power had awakened. As the first rogue lunged for her throat, she ducked low and spun, lashing out with her hind legs. Her kick landed with a crack, and the rogue slammed into a tree, groaning.
Before the second could react, she leapt onto its back, jaws clamping around the base of its skull. One sharp jerk, and it went still beneath her.
Panting, she stepped back, chest heaving. Blood slicked her fur. One rogue remained, crawling through the snow with one paw limp. Its eyes were wide now, afraid.
She shifted partway, just enough to speak.
"Who sent you?" she growled.
The rogue's lips curled in a bitter smile. "The Black Fang rises," it rasped. "You can't stop him, Moon-touched. You were marked to fall."
Then it convulsed. Foam bubbled from its mouth. Poison. It had taken its own life rather than answer further.
Elara stood there for a moment, shaking, the wind tugging at her hair. The name echoed in her mind. The Black Fang. She'd never heard it before, but it rang with the weight of prophecy.
A distant howl broke through the trees—familiar, powerful.
Kael.
Moments later, he emerged from the shadows, half-shifted, his shirt torn open and his eyes glowing with panic.
"Elara!"
She dropped to her knees, exhausted.
"I'm okay," she whispered, even though she wasn't.
He rushed to her side, gathering her into his arms. His warmth was immediate, grounding. She felt the tremble in his hands.
"What happened?" he asked, surveying the scene—two dead rogues, one crumpled near the tree, the other a twisted body beside her.
"They came for me. They knew me by name, Kael." Her voice cracked. "They said the Black Fang is rising."
He stiffened. "That name… I've only heard it in stories. Old ones. Curses whispered by the elders."
"Is he real?" she asked.
"I don't know. But I'm afraid we're going to find out."
Daria arrived next, followed by several pack members. Her eyes were wide, glowing faintly with magic.
"Elara," she said, rushing to her. "Your power—it surged. We felt it at the lodge."
"I didn't call it. It just... woke."
Daria's gaze drifted to the corpses, her face grim. "These aren't ordinary rogues. Something is binding them. Controlling them."
"I felt it too," Elara said softly. "Like a thread of darkness pulling them."
Kael helped her stand. "We need to go. You need healing, and we need answers."
They made their way back to the lodge, tension thick in the air. The pack was stirring, and not just from the fight. Word was spreading. A threat was rising—one tied to Elara's mark and destiny.
---
Later, in the quiet of the healer's quarters, Elara sat with her arm bandaged and her wounds cleaned. Kael stayed nearby, pacing like a caged beast. Daria poured over ancient tomes she'd pulled from the archives.
"Here," Daria finally said, tapping a yellowed page. "The Black Fang. A wolf born under the new moon—no blessing, no light. They say he was once a powerful Alpha, but he turned against the Goddess and was cursed to walk in shadow. His rage poisoned him. He became a creature of corruption."
"Does it say how he was defeated?" Elara asked.
"He wasn't," Daria said quietly. "He vanished. Some say he sleeps. Others believe he waits for the Moon-touched to rise… so he can consume her light."
Silence fell over the room.
Kael looked to Elara, jaw tight. "They think you're the Moon-touched."
"I am the Moon-touched," Elara said, voice steady. "But I won't be consumed. I'll fight."
Kael crossed to her, kneeling in front of her. "Then I'll fight beside you."
Her heart twisted at the intensity in his gaze. The danger was real, and it was coming for them fast. But in that moment, with Kael's hand in hers and Daria standing guard, she felt something stronger than fear.
Resolve.
---
That night, the council gathered. Elders, warriors, and seers filled the stone hall. Murmurs echoed, thick with anxiety.
Elara stood before them, still sore, still bleeding beneath her bandages, but tall and unshaken.
"The Black Fang is real," she told them. "He sent rogues to kill me. He called me by name. And he's just getting started."
Murmurs became gasps. One of the elders, a woman named Velana, rose. Her silver hair was braided with bones and feathers.
"The prophecy is true," she said. "The Moon-touched has awakened. And so has the dark that sleeps beneath the world."
"What do we do?" someone called.
"We fight," Elara said.
She looked around the room, her voice rising with certainty. "We train harder. We dig through every book, every scroll. We prepare wards. And if the Black Fang comes, we meet him not as prey—but as warriors."
The hall went silent. Then Kael stepped forward, raising his head.
"She speaks as a true Alpha."
One by one, heads began to nod. Fists clenched. The pack—her pack—was rallying.
Elara felt the weight of it settle over her, not as a burden, but as a crown.
The mark of the moon burned warm on her skin.
And somewhere deep in the night, beyond the mountains, a howl echoed across the dark.
A warning. A promise.
The Black Fang was awake.
And he was coming.