When fate and worlds collide

03| Dark Aura

Early morning fog clung low to the forest floor, pale light filtering through the canopy and washing the world in a muted, spectral glow. The earth trembled beneath the soft, synchronized footfalls of a dozen massive wolves moving as one toward the jagged mountains looming in the distance.

At their head ran the largest.

His fur was black as a raven’s, swallowing the light, eyes molten gold as they swept the terrain with ruthless precision. Daegon lifted his muzzle, drawing in a slow breath. The air tasted wrong. He growled—low, controlled. The sound rippled through the pack, an immediate command to slow. The Alpha’s ears pricked, attuned to everything and nothing at once. The forest was unnaturally still. No birds. No insects. Not even the whisper of wind through leaves. It was as if the land itself had decided to hold its breath.

A smaller wolf padded forward—brown and white speckled fur, her movements graceful despite the tension coiling through her frame. Pale silver eyes flicked up to him.

‘What is it, Daegon?’ Trixa’s voice slid through the pack link, edged with concern. He didn’t answer immediately. His snout twitched again, lips curling faintly as a metallic tang flooded his senses.

‘Blood,’ he finally replied, his voice deep and steady.

Trixa’s unease bled through the bond. ‘But the witch was seen heading west,’ she insisted. ‘She couldn’t have doubled back without us noticing… could she?’ Daegon surged forward without answering, his pace snapping sharper. The pack followed instantly.

The Blue Moon pack were strong—strategic, disciplined. Mountain dwellers by choice, guardians of the stones that pulsed with ancient power. Their strength was precisely why they mattered. And precisely why this felt wrong. His pack tore through the forest with lethal efficiency, twigs barely snapping beneath their paws. The silence only amplified the sound, each crack unnervingly loud. One by one, the pack caught the scent—blood thickened with smoke and rot—and the unease sharpened into dread. Daegon’s hackles rose when foreign Aura brushed against his own.

Pain. Electricity. A raw, deliberate signature.

The witch. She was close, and she wasn’t hiding. The trees fell away as the pack burst into the clearing, each skidding to a halt at the sight before them. The ancient mountain estate—carved into stone centuries ago—now burned and in ruins. Flames devoured its bones, smoke pouring from shattered windows. The structure had been breached with overwhelming force. Bodies littered the yard. Some lay in wolf form, others human—mouths frozen mid-scream, eyes glassy and wide. Their skin was pallid beyond the normal touch of death. Daegon moved forward slowly, nostrils flaring as he noted the wounds at their necks.

Throats were torn open. Puncture marks. They had been drained.

The ground itself bore the scars of battle—charred earth, shock patterns radiating outward. Aura magic. Violent and precise. They had been taken completely by surprise. Daegon’s jaw clenched, gold eyes burning as the truth settled like a blade in his chest.

She had struck where it would hurt most. And she had left the message written in blood.

Daegon’s pack fanned out across the ruined grounds, moving with caution. Noses brushed lifeless fur and torn flesh, paws nudged bodies in the futile hope of finding breath where there was none. There was no mercy here. When the smallest forms were found—children, brutally torn apart—the last sliver of doubt was extinguished. No one had been spared.

A low growl rolled from Daegon’s chest, vibrating through the clearing. His rage fixed itself on a single truth. Only one being could have wrought this level of devastation.

The Dark Aura.

And with this m******e, she had obliterated the only pack who truly understood how to wield the power stones. Daegon moved toward the front of the mountain estate, each step heavy with restrained violence. Near the shattered steps, something stood upright—deliberate, mocking. A pole. And atop it—his breath stalled. It was not a symbol. It was a head. Alpha Sean. his eyes had been gouged out, mouth frozen open in the same silent scream as the others. A warning. And a challenge.

Daegon roared. The sound tore through the clearing, raw and thunderous, snapping his jaws as the air around him fractured with energy. His Aura surged outward, reacting to the fury clawing through his chest.

‘That witch will pay,’ he thundered through the pack link, his voice lethal and absolute. ‘With blood. With pain. For every life taken here. Her—and her entire kin.’ The pack answered him as one, a chorus of hatred echoing his vow.

“Aww… tisk, tisk, my furry oddball.” The voice drifted down like silk over steel. Daegon’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring as her scent hit him. She stood atop the broken edge of the structure, framed by fire and ruin. The Dark Aura. Waist-length black hair billowed around her, red eyes gleamed with amusement as she smirked down at him. “Condemning an entire species based on the actions of one,” she purred, inspecting her razor-sharp nails. “How very… grandfatherly of you.” Her lips curled, elongated canines flashing. “He blamed us for everything too.” Daegon’s growl deepened, teeth bared.

‘Vermin like your kind should have been eradicated long ago,’ he snapped. She sighed theatrically, sounding bored—deliberately so. The pack bristled, fury rippling outward as calls for her death echoed through the bond.

“Could you at least shift into human form?” she drawled. “I loathe listening to the mindless rambling of your mutts.” Trixa stepped forward beside her King, silver eyes blazing, teeth exposed in a silent threat.

“Ahhh, Trixa,” the Dark Aura crooned. “Now, you are someone I could tolerate and engage with daily. Pity the stench of wet dog ruined our potential relationship.” They had met once—years ago—at the Aura Academy. She had been sent there after it was discovered vampires, for the first time in centuries, had be blessed with Aura once more. The Fae, ever idealistic, had offered sanctuary and training, believing unity and peace could be forged with guidance. Trixa had known within a week, this one was rotten to the core, and not just because of an age old feud. Now, the academy lay in ruins, another casualty of the Dark Aura’s ambition.

Trixa said nothing. The witch clicked her tongue in irritation. “Honestly. You’re all so painfully simple.”

“Where are the crystals you stole?” Daegon demanded. Her smile widened, slow and cruel, sending an unwelcome shiver down his spine.

“Ohhh… you mean this?” She flicked her wrist—fluid, unnaturally graceful—and a pale stone materialized in the air before her. It shimmered softly, no larger than her palm. “Aren’t they just dazzling?” she mused. “I considered splitting this one apart. Thought it might make a charming crown.” Trixa growled, sharp and warning, at the sacrilege. That was enough. Daegon’s restraint snapped. Drawing on his power, he shifted, bones realigning with lethal grace as he took human form. He ignored Treyton’s sharp warning, Trixa’s protest through the bond.

He stood tall, fists clenched at his sides, expression carved from stone. The Alpha was done playing. He watched the Dark Aura’s blood-red gaze drag slowly down his body, lingering with deliberate provocation.

“Ooohhh… now that’s a manhood I could get behind,” she purred. “Or rather—on top of.” Her lips curved wickedly. “Too bad I’m not into beastiality.” The words churned his stomach, but his face remained impassive.

“Come down here and face your death, witch,” Daegon barked. She laughed, the sound sweet on the surface, warped beneath by something rotten. It scraped against his nerves.

“Oh, my sweet, hairy fuzzball,” she crooned. “Do you really think I put all this effort into destroying your kind, just to give up now?” Her giggle tipped into hysteria. “Honey, you’re handsome an all—but only a truly vain creature would think I’d abandon grand plans for a moderately pretty face.” Daegon didn’t so much as blink. Vampires were creatures of indulgence—selfish, conceited, loyal only so long as it benefited them, even within their own coven. Her insults were noise. Meaningless.

“I hoped you wouldn’t come willingly,” he replied coldly. His eyes flared molten gold as his wolf surged, demanding release. He imagined the weight of her neck between his jaws, the snap of bone, the scream cut short. Peace would come only with her death.

“I will not be subjected to your mutt laws!” she snarled. “My life is not yours to forfeit!” Her dark hair lifted as if charged by unseen currents, her eyes blazing brighter. She released the crystal—and power answered. Black tendrils spilled from her fingertips, coiling around the glowing stone. She was binding herself to it. Daegon felt it instantly.

A surge. An amplification in her Aura.

If she completed the bond, neither he nor Trixa would be enough to stop her. These lands—all lands—would burn. She lifted her arms, voice shifting as she began chanting in an ancient tongue known to very few. Each word echoed unnaturally, overlapping itself, vibrating through bone and soil alike. The tendrils sank into the crystal, its light dimming, turning a sickly, murky blue as the glow was devoured from within. Daegon’s wolf exploded forward with a thunderous snarl.