The Last White Wolf

Blood Hunter

The forest just... stopped breathing.

No sound, not even a breeze. Commander Lucien stood there, staring straight at Lyra. His silver mask caught the sunlight and made him look unreadable, except for those eyes cold, blue, and locked on her.

Behind him, more than thirty Bloodmoon warriors stood, lined up perfectly. Not a word. Not a twitch.

Freya’s throat bobbed. She leaned close. “Lyra... don’t take him lightly.”

Lyra didn’t look away from Lucien. “You know him?”

Freya nodded, keeping her voice low. “He used to be the White Kingdom’s greatest warrior.”

Lyra’s jaw almost dropped. “What?”

A soft chuckle rumbled from under Lucien’s mask. “She remembers the past better than most do.” He slipped off his cloak. It slid away, showing off black armor, red wolves carved in the plates.

“I served the White Kingdom long ago,” he said. “But your parents were too weak to rule.”

Lyra’s hands tightened around Moonfang Blade. “So you betrayed them.”

He didn’t even flinch. “I chose strength. The White Kingdom chose mercy. Mercy ” he paused, blue eyes locked on hers, “ that’s what destroys kingdoms.”

Lyra’s pulse hammered. She opened her mouth to answer him, but Lucien vanished in a blur.

Freya gasped. “He’s too fast!”

Crimson steel flashed at Lyra’s side. She barely got Moonfang up in time.

Clang!

The hit sent her staggering back three steps. Her arms were numb.

“So this is the White Wolf?” Lucien’s voice was calm, almost bored. “I expected more.”

Lyra forced herself to breathe, to stand strong. She’d never gone up against anyone this quick before.

Lucien pressed forward. His sword was a streak of red. She only blocked because she had to his attacks drove her back every second.

Freya loose three arrows. Lucien didn’t even glance at them. His blade flicked up, slicing every arrow in half. He smiled, almost mocking. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Suddenly, one of the Bloodmoon warriors broke away and sprinted for the prisoners.

“No!” Freya shouts. She sprinted after him and soon she was caught up, swinging her bow at three of them, fighting them off on her own.

Lyra wanted to help. She tried moving, but Lucien cut her off at every step. “Your fight is with me.”

His sword flickered and she felt a sharp, searing pain as it sliced her shoulder. Blood ran into her jacket. For a second, the world spun.

Lucien lowered his blade. “You inherited power,” he said quietly, “but skill? You’re not ready.”

Lyra’s breath came fast and pained. Every word stung not because they were cruel, but because they were true. She had power, sure. But she was up against someone who knew how to use it.

Then Victor Hale’s voice slipped into her mind: “Quit fighting with anger. Fight with a reason.” Moonfang Blade began to glow.

Lyra let her eyes close, just for a heartbeat. She pictured Victor, steady as always, teaching her to keep calm. She thought of Queen Elena, smiling softly in that vision. All the people trapped in cages and wagons all the innocent faces.

She opened her eyes. Just like that, the fear was gone.

Lucien’s mask tilted. He noticed right away. “There it is the eyes of a real White Wolf.”

He lunged again.

This time, Lyra stepped forward, not back. Their swords smashed together, but she changed the rhythm. Instead of fighting his weight, she let him rush past her, twisted, and turned the force aside.

Lucien stumbled. His foot slipped. It was the first time he looked surprised.

Freya cheered, somewhere in the chaos. “She’s figured him out!”

Lyra struck this time quick, graceful, just like water whirling under moonlight. Lucien caught each attack, but the confidence in his face faded, replaced by something closer to respect.

“You pick things up quickly,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Lyra breathed hard, swinging again. “I have to. People are counting on me. If I fail, they die.”

Their blades crashed together. This time, the impact sent a shockwave rippling over the road. Even the other warriors stopped. They just watched now.

Lyra and Lucien didn’t care. It was just them. Locked in that moment.

Suddenly, Lucien leapt back. He raised a hand. “Enough.”

Every single Bloodmoon warrior froze.

Freya scowled, not trusting him. “What’s he doing?”

Lucien looked Lyra in the eye. “You passed.”

Lyra stared, thrown off. “Passed?”

He nodded. “I wanted to see if the White Wolf was worthy.”

Right then, the mountains sounded with a thunderous roar. The ground buckled birds exploded out of the trees, flying madly into the sky. Way off, Blood Mountain was glowing red.

For a second, Lucien’s mask cracked, a shudder running through him. “No... he did it.”

Freya went ghost-white. “The seal...”

Another roar. The mountain split with a pillar of red energy.

Lucien shoved his sword into its sheath. “You’re not important anymore,” he said. He looked Lyra straight in the eyes. “If Fenrir wakes up... Every pack falls.”

He whistled. Bloodmoon warriors melted into the woods as silently as they’d arrived.

Lyra just stood there, blinking at the empty road. After all that he walked away.

Freya didn’t waste time. She broke the cages open, freeing the prisoners. They stumbled out, dazed but alive.

A little boy ran right up and hugged Lyra, hanging on tight. “You saved us.”

Lyra gave him a gentle smile, but her eyes wouldn’t leave the blood-red mountain.

Something terrible was happening.

Moments later, Kaiden, Ethan, and the Guardian came running down the road with the Shadow Fang warriors.

Kaiden looked over everyone, saw the freed prisoners, and beamed until he caught the red light in the sky. His smile faded.

The Guardian’s face drained of color as he stared at Blood Mountain. “The second seal is broken. Only one remains.”

A howl rolled through the air something ancient, not a wolf’s cry, but something colder, something wrong, echoing from deep underground.

Beneath Blood Mountain, two enormous eyes flared crimson, waking.

A voice, loud as thunder, rumbled up from the dark. “At last... the world will remember my name.”