Ashmoore’s last heir

Rain lashed the dense pine forest as if the heavens were trying to wash away what has happened hours ago. But no amount of rain could cleanse the stench of scorched blackened fur and spilled blood that lingered in the clearing where a pack has once thrived. Riven stood alone amidst the wreckage, his cloak soaked through, dark hair plastered to his face. His chest heaved with each breath, eyes glowing faintly gold as the wolf beneath his skin begged to break free. But he couldn’t shift. Not with this rage curling like fire inside his gut. They were all dead. His family. His pack. Slaughtered. The Ashmoore clan, once proud guardians of the Black Hollow, reduced to ash, scattered and dispersed bone. He could still hear the screams resounding and ringing through the trees, could still see the flames licking the sky, red against the night like the eye of some vengeful god. And in the center of it all – Ezra Thorne. Riven clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms. The traitor’s name tasted like poison on his tongue. Once a brother. Once trusted. Now, a marked man. A storm growled above as Riven dropped to one knee in the mud. His fingers brushed a scorched piece of cloth, still clinging to a skeletal frame. He recognized it immediately-his mother’s shawl. The one she wove herself with thread soaked in moonroot oil, protection for the pack’s seer. He swallowed hard, ignoring the lump in his throat. Grief could wait. Revenge couldn’t. A sudden rustle behind him had him spinning around, fangs bared, claws slipping from his fingertips. But it was only Mira. She emerged from the shadows like a ghost-slender, hooded, and soaked to the bone. Her silver eyes glinted under the flesh of lightening; her expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t be here,” he growled, voice low and hoarse. “I had to make sure you were still alive,” she said softly, stepping closer. “You’re all that’s left.” The words stung more than he thought they would “All?” he echoed. She nodded. “I checked the den, the northern ridge, even the river crossing. Nothing but bodies.” He looked away, jaw tight. The weight of it settled heavy on his shoulders. Alpha now, by blood and by fate-but with no pack to lead. “Ezra did this he muttered half to himself “I know.” “How could he?” Riven turned to her, eyes blazing. We trained together. We hunted together. He was one of us.” Mira looked down. “He always resented you, Riven. You were chosen. He wasn’t. That bitterness-it festered.” “That doesn’t justify genocide.” “No, it doesn’t.” A pause hung between them, filled with the howl of wind and distant thunder. Then Riven straightened, his face hardening. “I’m going after him.” “Not alone.” “I have no pack, Mira.” “You have me.” He stared at her, surprised. Mira had always been quiet, reserved. A skilled tracker, a whisper in the forest-but never one to seek out bloodshed. She met his gaze evenly. “You saved me once, remember?” she said. “When that that hunter’s trap mangled my leg. I owe you.” “I didn’t do it for a favor.” “Too bad. I’m coming with you anyway.” Riven exhaled slowly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “You always were stubborn.” She shrugged. “Must be the wolf in me.” He turned back toward the smoldering remains of the den. Ezra had taken everything-his father’s ring, the pack’s sigil, the sacred totems that linked them to the Moon Goddess. He’d even left his mark on the trees: a jagged “T” scorched into bark, mocking and deliberate. “I don’t understand how he got this strong,” Riven murmured. “This…organized. He had help.” Mira nodded. “Rumors say he allied with the crimson claw.” Riven stiffened. The Crimson claw wasn’t a pack. It was a cult. Rouges, exiles, and bloodthirsty lunatics who worshiped the eclipse moon- a dark force that corrupted the wolf soul, turning instinct into madness. “They’ve never crossed into Black Hollow before,” he said. “They have now. And Ezra is leading them.” The thought was unthinkable. Ezra, who once swore loyalty to the Moon, now consorting with creatures who would kill for sport. Riven rose to his feet. “Then we start tonight.” “Where?” “South. If he’s rallying rouges, he’ll head to the ruins of Hollowmere. It’s abandoned, cursed-perfect for someone like him.” Mira hesitated. “That place is…...dangerous.” “So am I, “Riven said, eyes glowing brighter now. “And I’ve got nothing left to lose.” They traveled through the night. Riven moved like a shadow through the forest, silent despite his size. Mira kept pace easily, her bow slung across her back, silver-tipped arrows nestled in the quiver at her hip. She had always been the fastest among them, the first to scout, the last to retreat. The forest changed as they moved south. The trees grew twisted, bark blackened as if scorched by old fire. Animals were scarce. Even the wind seemed to whisper warnings in languages long dead. By dawn, they reached the edge of Hollowmere. What had once been a thriving village was now little more than crumbling stone and skeletal trees. The air was thick with fog and decay. Somewhere in the distance, a low howl echoed—a sound that wasn’t entirely wolf. Riven motioned for silence. They crept closer to the ruins, navigating collapsed buildings and shattered archways. Symbols had been etched into the stone—blood symbols. Ezra’s work. Then they saw it. A fire burned in the center of the ruins, unnatural and violet, casting long shadows. Around it stood figures in cloaks of ash and crimson, their eyes glowing with the taint of the eclipse. And at the head of them—Ezra. He hadn’t changed much. Same sharp jawline, same dark, curling hair. But his eyes were wrong. Once golden, like Riven’s, they were now black as pitch. A shadow clung to him like a second skin. Riven’s blood ran cold. “He’s become something else,” Mira whispered. “He’s lost,” Riven said flatly. Ezra raised a hand, and the rogues fell silent. His voice carried through the fog, low and commanding. “Tonight, we finish what we started,” he said. “The Ashmoore line dies with Riven. No more alphas. No more prophecy.” Mira tensed beside him. Riven remained still. “Come out, brother,” Ezra said suddenly, turning toward the shadows where they hid. “I know you’re watching.” Riven stepped forward. The rogues hissed, some drawing weapons, others letting claws emerge. Ezra grinned. “Riven. Always so predictable.” “I could say the same about you,” Riven replied, eyes locked on his former brother. Ezra descended from the stone dais, cloak trailing behind him like smoke. “You should’ve joined me. We could’ve ruled together.” “You destroyed our home.” “I freed us from weakness.” “You murdered our family.” Ezra shrugged. “Collateral damage.” Riven’s hands trembled with barely restrained fury. The wolf inside him clawed at his skin, begging to be released. “I’ll give you one chance,” Ezra said, voice laced with mockery. “Kneel. Swear loyalty. And I might let you live.” Riven didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, slowly shifting. Bones cracked. Muscles stretched. Fur erupted from skin as the beast emerged. But unlike the rogues’ twisted forms, Riven’s wolf was pure. Silver-gray, with eyes like molten gold and a presence that radiated command. The true Alpha. Ezra bared his teeth. “So be it.” And then the battle began.