The Blood pack
868 Words
The three of them left the Sanctuary at twilight—Solas, Zuri, and Kairo—though none of them were the same.
Solas walked in silence, a strange peace in his step. His eyes no longer burned red, but they shimmered with something ancient—like a storm waiting for permission to strike.
Zuri carried the weight of a mother and a warrior. She had seen the truth: her son was both her child and something divine, reborn from ashes and prophecy.
Kairo followed with one hand on his blade. He trusted Zuri, but Solas—Kaelion—was another matter. Love and duty were starting to collide, and only one would survive the fire to come.
By the time they reached the lower ridges of the Crimson Forest, a new scent hung in the air.
Smoke. And blood.
Zuri stopped cold. “We’re not alone.”
From the trees emerged a trio of figures—wolf-kind, but altered. Their eyes glowed amber. Their armor bore the sigil of the Blood Pact: a black fang pierced by a crescent moon.
They were Oathbreakers—rogue wolves who had betrayed the Council and sided with fire during the First War.
Their leader stepped forward.
“Zuri of the Moonborn,” he said, bowing mockingly. “You’ve brought the Ember Child. We wondered when you’d show.”
Zuri raised her hand, summoning her silver flame. “If you’ve come for him, you’ll leave in pieces.”
But the man didn’t draw his weapon.
Instead, he knelt before Solas.
“We come not as enemies,” he said, “but as servants. The Blood Pact still honors the Flameborn.”
Kairo growled. “You’re traitors.”
The Oathbreaker rose. “We’re survivors. And your boy? He’s not just a prophecy. He’s a weapon. The gods burned this world once. Maybe it needs to burn again.”
Solas tilted his head, studying the man.
“You know my name?”
“We know what you were,” the man replied. “And what you still are. Kaelion, the First Flame. Your rise was foretold.”
Zuri stepped between them. “He’s not joining your rebellion.”
But the man smiled. “He doesn’t need to. War is already here.”
He tossed a scroll at Zuri’s feet.
“A new Alpha has been crowned in the Northern Reaches. She wears the mark of ash. And she’s hunting the boy.”
Kairo opened the scroll. It showed a symbol: a three-eyed wolf, burned into wood.
“The Ash Queen,” he said bitterly. “I thought she was dead.”
The Oathbreaker nodded. “She rose from the pyres after the last purge. Now she builds her army—fueled by fire, cloaked in shadow. And she’s vowed to claim the Flameborn.”
Zuri’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
The Oathbreaker’s face darkened. “To bind his power. To use him. Just like the Order tried. Just like your Council might.”
He looked at Solas again.
“You’ll need an army, boy. And you don’t have time to choose saints.”
He pulled a dagger from his belt.
“If you want the Blood Pact’s loyalty… you must seal it. In blood.”
That night, as the wind howled through the forest, Zuri and Kairo argued by the fire.
“You can’t seriously consider this,” Kairo snapped.
“They’re dangerous,” Zuri agreed. “But they’re powerful.”
“They’re murderers.”
“They’re also the only ones who’ve fought the Ash Queen and survived.”
Kairo paced. “This isn’t a war we can win by making deals with devils.”
Zuri looked toward the trees, where Solas stood alone, staring into the flames.
“He’s not a child anymore, Kairo. He needs protection. And he needs to understand who he is. Even the darkness.”
Kairo’s voice softened. “I just don’t want to lose him.”
Zuri nodded. “Neither do I. But this world already decided he was dangerous the moment he was born. Now we teach him how to survive.”
By moonrise, the Pact had gathered.
Twenty wolves. Warriors. Mages. Some disfigured by fire. All of them bowed to Solas as he stepped forward.
The leader handed him the ceremonial blade.
Solas looked to Zuri.
She gave a small nod.
He took the knife—and cut his palm.
Silver fire dripped from the wound.
The leader followed, slicing his own hand.
As their blood mingled in the bowl of obsidian between them, the air shimmered.
The pact was sealed.
Far away, the Ash Queen stirred in her temple of bone.
She sat upon a throne forged from the skulls of her enemies, watching the fire dance before her.
She smiled.
“So,” she whispered. “The boy has chosen the path of flame.”
A servant approached, trembling. “Shall we prepare the hounds, Your Grace?”
The Queen rose, her cloak of ash swirling behind her.
“Send word to the Hollow Clans. The time has come.”
She looked toward the north.
“We march at dusk. And when we reach the Ember Child—he will kneel… or burn.”
- Writer
