Deep within the dense forests close to the borders of the warring packs, figures moved like wraiths between the trees. Hidden beneath the cover of night, their eyes glowed with unholy hunger, their bodies tense with anticipation.
A scarred man stepped forward, his voice a low growl. "We've watched. We've waited. And now, we strike."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. A wiry woman with sharp features smirked. "Did you see them? Their mighty leaders, broken. The Omega writhing in pain, the Alpha barely standing. Their warriors bloodied, exhausted." She spat onto the ground. "They're weak."
The leader, a towering brute with a jagged scar running down his jaw, folded his arms. "Weak, yes. But not dead. The moment they regain their strength, they'll be a threat again." His golden eyes gleamed. "We must hit them before they have the chance to recover."
A younger rogue hesitated. "Two packs, even wounded, still have numbers—"
"Numbers mean nothing when their leaders are crippled," the scarred man interrupted. "Their bond is shattered. The packs are divided. They won't even see us coming."
A dark chuckle spread through the group.
"Moonveil will fall first," another rogue murmured, licking his lips. "The Omega is the weakest link. Once we take her, Lunarion will crumble soon after."
The leader lifted his chin, the air around them heavy with bloodlust. "Prepare the warriors. We attack before dawn."
The night swallowed their whispers, but the forest itself seemed to shudder—because war was coming.
The rogues shifted, bones snapping and reshaping with sickening cracks. Their forms were nothing like the noble wolves of the packs—these were horrible, twisted by years of suffering, rejection, and bloodlust.
Once, they had been part of packs, sworn to a cause, bound by honor. But the moment their packs cast them out—whether for crimes, weakness, or being unwanted—the bond to the Moon Goddess had disappeared, leaving them half-beasts, half-mad.
Their fur was matted, their eyes feral, glowing with an unnatural light. Some bore scars that never healed, reminders of past battles. Others had patches of missing fur, revealing rough, battle-worn skin beneath. They moved in a way that was both familiar and unnatural—predatory, but void of the grace pack wolves carried.
"Let them hear their own screams when we tear through them," one rogue snarled, saliva dripping from elongated fangs.
Their leader, the scarred brute, let out a low, guttural growl. "Tonight, we show them what happens when they ignore the forsaken."
And with that, they melted into the darkness, moving as one—a pack of the rejected, the forgotten, and the damned.
They ran with deadly precision, their movements eerily synchronized despite their savage nature. Clawed feet pounded against the forest floor, the night air thick with the scent of impending bloodshed. Shadows stretched as they neared the towering walls of Moonveil, their glowing eyes fixed on the prize before them.
Then, as if commanded by an unseen force, they stopped just outside the gates. For a moment, there was only silence, thick and suffocating. Then—
A chilling, bone-deep howl ripped through the night. The leader of the Rogues Howled.
It wasn't the call of a lone wolf. It was a symphony of despair and wrath, a haunting declaration of war that sent shivers through the trees. It echoed through the valley, reaching the ears of Moonveil's warriors, sending a ripple of unease through the pack.
Inside the walls, guards jolted at the sound, eyes widening in alarm.
"Rogues," one whispered, the word barely leaving his lips before another howl followed—louder, wilder.
Some rogues climbed the walls with precision causing the walls to have cracks and crumbles .
The battle had not yet begun, but the war was already upon them.
—
Liora lay motionless on her bed, her breathing soft and shallow, her body still weak. The dim candlelight cast shadows across her pale face, emphasizing the strain in her features. Sera sat beside her, gently brushing a hand over her hair. Liora had always been strong—unyielding even—but now, she looked fragile, like she could shatter at any moment.
A sudden, bone-chilling howl tore through the silence.
Sera froze. That wasn't a Moonveil wolf. It was deeper, more guttural, laced with something feral. Then, another howl followed. And another.
Rogues.
Her pulse quickened. Not now.
Liora stirred slightly but didn't wake. She was too weak to fight, and Sera knew dragging her into battle would only put her in greater danger.
Clenching her jaw, Sera rose from the bedside and grabbed her sword, casting one last glance at Liora before sprinting out of the room. She stormed down the halls, her voice sharp as she called out orders.
"Arm yourselves! Get to the gates—now!"
The pack responded instantly. Some warriors shifted into their wolves, their forms rippling with power as they sprinted toward the front. Others strapped on armor, grabbing swords, spears, and bows. The great gates groaned as the iron latches were undone, the heavy wood creaking as it was pulled open.
The scent of rogues hit her like a punch to the gut—rancid, tainted with decay.
Sera stepped to the front of the battle line, her sword gleaming under the moonlight. As Moonveil's Beta, she was usually the strategist, the one calculating moves beside Liora. But tonight, she stood in the thick of it, ready to fight.
A senior warrior eyed her with concern. "Beta, you shouldn't be here. You should be with the Omega."
Sera scoffed, her gaze locked on the shadows beyond the walls. "Our Omega is unconscious. Someone has to lead."
The warrior hesitated. "But—"
She cut him off, voice sharp as steel. "If we don't hold them back, Liora will have no pack left to wake up to."
A low growl rumbled from the darkness. Then—glowing red eyes flickered between the trees.
Sera's grip on her sword tightened.
"Hold the line," she commanded. "Tonight, we protect Moonveil."
The rogues lunged.
A monstrous rogue, its fur matted with filth, leaped straight for Sera, its jaws snapping inches from her throat. She ducked, rolling to the side, and swung her sword in a clean arc. The blade sliced into the rogue's shoulder, eliciting a guttural snarl as it staggered back. Before it could recover, she lunged, driving her blade deep into its chest.
More rogues poured through the gates like a flood of nightmares.
Moonveil warriors met them head-on. Wolves clashed, fangs sinking into flesh, claws raking against fur. Swords and spears gleamed under the moonlight, cutting through the swarm of rogues. Blood painted the dirt.
Sera barely had time to breathe before another rogue charged her. It was larger than the last, its eyes glowing red with insanity. It swung a massive claw, forcing her to block with her sword. The impact rattled through her bones.
Gritting her teeth, she twisted her blade, slicing across its arm. The rogue howled but didn't stop—it lunged again. Sera dodged, flipping her grip on the sword before driving it upward through its ribs.
To her right, a warrior was thrown against the wall with a sickening crack.
"Hold the line!" Sera roared, slicing through another rogue.
Behind her, archers released volleys of silver-tipped arrows, each one finding its mark. A rogue let out a strangled cry before collapsing, an arrow lodged deep in its skull.
But they kept coming.