Eclipse Throne

Chapter Two: The Blackstone Prison

Chapter Two: The Blackstone Prison

Adrian’s command struck the wasteland’s frozen stillness like a stone cast into stagnant waters, shattering the oppressive silence.

“As you command, Your Majesty!” Bark’s massive wolf-head bowed abruptly, his voice trembling with reverence and a barely concealed fear. He dared not hesitate; with a low, resonant growl, he issued orders to the other patrol wolves, all still reeling from shock.

Several robust, swift patrol wolves snapped out of their rigid stance, moving with practiced precision yet an almost reverential caution, carefully avoiding Lora’s back where the soft lunar glow still emanated from her healing wound. One slightly smaller gray wolf hastened to fetch a thick, coarse hide redolent of earthy foliage. With gentle cooperation of teeth and claws, they lifted Lora’s limp body from the icy mud and placed her upon the hide, then wrapped her in its edges, leaving only her head exposed.

Throughout this, Lora remained in a state of half-conscious haze. The searing agony in her back had been replaced by the cool relief of the Moon-Gleam Stone, yet her grievous blood loss and relentless terror weighed on her mind like lead. She sensed indistinctly that she was being moved, enveloped in a softer darkness that shielded her from the bone-chilling wind and frigid moonlight. The careful handling carried a reverence she had never known—so vastly different from the brutality that had nearly torn her apart.

Above, Adrian remained astride his silver wolf, his molten-gold eyes fixed unwaveringly on the small bulge beneath the hide. He watched Serlina’s gaunt yet steady hand press the radiant Moon-Gleam Stone over Lora’s wound, ensuring the life-sustaining lunar energy flowed without interruption. He observed Bark gently nudge one corner of the hide upward onto his broad back, securing it with delicate care.

“Move out.” Adrian’s voice rumbled like distant thunder, devoid of superfluous emotion. He jerked the reins, and the magnificent silver wolf beneath him let out a deep, prolonged howl, pivoting and surging forward across the wasteland with powerful, measured strides—as though bearing the weight of a king. The pounding of hooves shattered the frozen ground, echoing far into the silent night.

Bark growled his acknowledgment and followed closely with the wrapped form of Lora, the other patrol wolves in tow. Serlina moved swiftly beside Bark, one hand steadfastly pressed to Lora’s wound, sustaining the Moon-Gleam Stone’s light. In the moonlight, she appeared as a shifting white specter.

Under the lunar canopy, the group raced across the plains in near-silent haste. Only the wind’s howl, the thunder of hoofbeats, and the soft scrape of paws against frost-hardened earth wove a grim, relentless march.

In the jolting journey, Lora regained a flicker of awareness. She forced her heavy lids open; her vision blurred. Above, she glimpsed the silver-gray silhouette of the sky, and beneath her, Bark’s broad back heaved with each stride, his dense black fur brushing against her. The freezing wind bit her exposed cheeks and ears, reminding her of the cruel truth: she was alive.

Moon Wolf? Fated Mate? Alpha King?

These fragments struck her mind like shards of ice, repeatedly shattering fragile thought. She tried to comprehend, but fear and absurdity surged like frigid tides, extinguishing each tentative thread of understanding. She recalled only those molten-gold eyes that had looked upon her as though she were an insect to be crushed, the casual decree of “Execute,” the sudden, soul-rending resonance, the priestess’s piercing cry, and the new-moon brand blazing on his palm as if scorching her essence.

Fear coiled around her heart again, tighter than the wound in her back. She had plunged from one terror into something far worse. That man… Adrian… His gaze had held no warmth—only shock, shame, and stormborn fury. He had saved her only because of that damned “fated mate” mark? Or because of the ominous title “Moon Wolf”?

What fate awaited her? Would she be imprisoned like an unwanted trinket to be discarded later? Or once healed, would he whisk her away to some clandestine place and end this stain on his throne and pride?

Despair’s chill seeped into her bones, causing involuntary shivers. She bit her lower lip until the metallic tang of blood anchored her fleeting consciousness, fighting back the darkness and dread that threatened to consume her.

After an interminable time, the pace finally slackened.

Lora strained to shift her eyes, peering through a gap in the hide. A vast, suffocating silhouette loomed into view as they neared: a tower of black stone, as though a primordial beast had been petrified beneath moonlight. It rose straight into the indigo sky, casting an impenetrable shadow, exuding an ancient solemnity and isolation. The walls bore only the rough textures of rock, like frozen scars, and its sharp, conical apex pointed skyward like a warning claw. The edifice radiated an icy hardness that moonlight itself seemed powerless to soften.

This was the Blackstone Tower—Adrian’s prison.

Before its wide archway stood two ranks of wolf-guardians clad in dark-silver light armor, spears in hand. They stood erect, eyes sharpened like hawks, motionless as steel statues in the moon’s glow. At Adrian’s approach, they bowed in unison, their armor giving only a faint metallic whisper.

Adrian reined in his silver wolf at the threshold. He did not dismount, nor glance at the guards; he merely intoned to the archway’s shadowy depths: “Clear the top floor. Now.”

From within, a young wolf in deep-gray leather armor, with a stern visage and eyes like sharpened blades, strode forth. Clearly aware of the summons, he scanned the wrapped form on Bark’s back and Serlina at his side, surprise flickering in his gaze before absolute obedience took hold.

“As you command, Your Majesty!” he replied crisply, voice like clashing stone. He turned and called orders into the tower’s gloom. Soon, orderly footsteps and the shifting of heavy objects sounded from within.

Only then did Adrian dismount. His heavy boots struck the black stone floor with a muted echo. His golden eyes flicked once more to the hide-wrapped Lora, his expression a tempest of conflicting emotion. After a tense pause, he inclined his chin toward Serlina, his tone cold yet unequivocal: “You are responsible for her injuries. Keep her alive.” A further, lower murmur followed: “No one may see her without my permission, including you, Serlina. Once healed, depart immediately.”

Serlina’s lined face remained unreadable; with calm depth, she performed a priestly bow. “I will follow your will, Your Majesty. The Moon Goddess’s grace will protect her.” Her voice held the steadiness of an unalterable truth.

Adrian spoke no more. Casting one last piercing glance at the bundled form, he turned sharply and strode into the tower’s yawning arch—its darkness swallowing his towering silhouette. The silver wolf gave a low growl and followed, disappearing inside.

Only then did the air seem to resume its flow.

Bark carefully removed the hide bundle from his back; Serlina and the young guard—later known to Lora as Cain, Adrian’s Captain of the Guard—received her. They bore Lora into the Blackstone Tower.

Within, the chill intensified. The air reeked of ancient dust, cold stone, and faint iron—an all-pervading dampness that bespoke years without sunlight. Fluorite insets glowed with a pale, spectral light at intervals along the walls, revealing a spiraling staircase of the same black rock. The steps were steep and frigid; each footfall echoed in the hollow tower, amplifying a disquieting solitude.

They carried Lora upward. She felt the space tighten, the air grow thinner and icier. The fluorite’s wavering light cast shifting, distorted shadows upon the rough walls like lurking apparitions. Each jostle sent a dull pang through her back, a reminder of her peril.

At last, they reached the summit.

The chamber was circular, cramped even. Black stone walls enclosed it; the sole aperture was a narrow, iron-barred arched window, through which a sliver of moonlight spilled. In the center stood a simple stone slab of the same dark rock, topped with a thin, coarse layer of dried straw. Otherwise, the room was empty—barren, icy, unyielding—like a meticulously carved stone coffin.