Chapter 5
1080 Words
Smoke Over Stone
Howlspire Rogue Encampment inside the Broken Crescent Valley
The rogue stronghold was not carved, it was scorched.
Lucien rode through the valley’s ash-coated path, flanked by his Beta Garrick, and a small envoy of peace wolves. The Howlspire territory lay like it was a scar between the mountains, the forests were burned down, the stones were marked with deep crescent carvings, and it had banners that were made from skin fluttering in the wind.
There was no welcome, nor any form of hostility.
They were just watching.
Lucien could feel the wolves in the trees, cloaked in shadow. He felt their presence even though they were not in sight.
He hated diplomacy, but he hated rogues more.
But Silverfang was bleeding, and the Moonstone had vanished. If peace could be bought, he would pay in ego and with his time.
They reached the camp perimeter. There were barriers made of bone, ironwood, and old war trophies. Two sentries emerged, neither offering a bow. One had a crescent scar burned into his chest.
Sentry
You are late, Silverfang.
Lucien
I came with a smaller party. Trust, not numbers.
Sentry
We don’t trust. What we do is test.
Garrick growled, stepping forward, but Lucien held up a hand.
Lucien
I did not come to your games. Take me to your leaders.
Sentry
And leave your steel at the gate.
Lucien
Try and take it.
There was a pause, then a grim smile followed.
They passed into the heart of the camp.
.. ....... The Gathering of Teeth
The Howlspire council met beneath the ruins of an old lunar chapel. The roof was gone, the walls had cracked, and moonlight was filtering through the crumbled arches like a fractured memory.
Six rogue leaders were circled around a blackened stone table. Each one was marked differently with a scar, branded, stitched rune, but all of them emanated power.
At the far end, seated but coiled like he was a predator, was Warlord Mavik. He is the chief of Howlspire. His voice could peel bark from trees.
Mavik
Alpha Lucien, king of the civilized wolves.
Lucien remained standing, power stood, but authority sat when it was earned.
Lucien
Warlord. I came to stop the bleeding.
Mavik
Our fangs are sharp, while yours are dull. You come with parchment and promises. We have watched your wolves rot.
Lucien
Moonrot touches both our lands. You have lost warriors too. There is no need for continuous animosity, we don’t need more graves.
Mavik
Peace always comes too late in your pack’s eyes. As before, you only speak when your throne shakes.
Lucien’s jaw tightened.
Lucien
Because diplomacy does not work with ghosts. I negotiate with those who bleed, not those who vanish into shadow and leave bones behind.
Mavik leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low threat.
Mavik
Then speak plainly.
Lucien opened a scroll and rolled it across the table.
Lucien
Territorial neutrality. You should stay within the broken crescent. We will share trade through the Ember Pass. My warriors won’t cross the Ash Divide unless they are summoned.
Mavik
And in return?
Lucien
You stop attacking outposts, and if you know who took the Moonstone, you should give them up.
A slow, amused silence fell.
Mavik
The Moonstone is a myth, it is a relic. Maybe your seers should sleep less and bleed more.
Lucien
(coolly)
The Moonstone binds fate. If it is in rogue hands, and the goddess stays silent, both our packs will burn.
Mavik
Maybe they should burn or don't you think so, I think fate needs fire.
Scene II – The Woman in the Shadows
Just as tension rose high, movement rippled near the edge of the ruined chapel.
A woman stepped out of the fog. She was tall, armored in red leather worn by blood and time. A hood veiled her face. Two boys that looked like twins clung close to her side.
Lucien noticed her before he could concentrate on Mavik. There was something in the way she moved. Controlled. Graceful. Familiar.
Too familiar.
MAVIK
My sword-bearer, Rael. The fiercest blade I have ever seen. She has fought shadowbeasts and lived.
Lucien’s eyes narrowed as she removed her hood.
Silver eyes
Not the kind of silver worn with age. It was the lunar silver of a Moonborn line.
His gut twisted.
Lucien
(carefully)
Rael.
Rael(Selene)
Alpha.
Her voice struck him like a memory. He knew that voice, sharp. Soft. Caged lightning.
Lucien
You are not rogue-born.
Rael
And you are not as clever as you look.
Lucien
Have we met?
She stared straight through him.
Rael
We met once, but it was in another life.
(Before he could press further, one of the twins tugged her hand. She turned, kneeling. The boys whispered something, and she nodded briskly, protective, maternal.)
Lucien felt his heart shift. Twins. Silver eyes.
But it was too fast. He had not seen enough.
Rael
Forgive their presence, they never leave my side.
Lucien
(forcing casual)
Are they yours?
Rael
Very much so.
She turned back to Mavik.
Rael
Should I stay, or do you have sharper blades in mind?
Mavik
Stay. Watch. This wolf thinks peace is armor.
Rael stepped behind him again, quiet as a shadow.
Lucien looked one more time at the boys, but they were gone. She had pulled them into the cloak of her shadow.
And just like that, the moment passed.
Scene III – The Warning Beneath the Offer
The council ended with barbed silence and a loose agreement. There was nothing that was signed, it was just blood-marked intention.
As Lucien and Garrick mounted their wolves to leave, the scent of old myrrh filled the air.
A crumpled figure approached them outside the chapel. It was a rogue priest, whose mouth was sewn shut, but handed Lucien a folded piece of scorched cloth.
Lucien opened it.
A child’s drawing. Two wolves.
One was white with a glowing crescent, while the other one was black with fire for eyes.
And below, was a symbol which he had not seen since his youth: “The Moonchild Sigil”.
Garrick
Lucien that mark, it was carved into the old Luna Temple back in Silverfang.
Lucien stared after Rael’s retreating figure, his heart was pounding.
Lucien
They weren’t ordinary twins.
Garrick
You think they are hers?
Lucien did not answer.
He turned the drawing over.
Scrawled in a child’s uneven hand were four words:
He sees you, Father.
- Writer
