Alpha Bound

Chapter 8:Whispers In The WInd

The wind had changed.

Kael noticed it first—how the breeze no longer carried only the clean scent of pine and river, but something else. Something old. Faint. Like ashes soaked in forgotten memory.

He stood at the northern watchtower of Silverrest, arms folded, golden eyes scanning the treeline. Dusk had begun its descent, and the Wildlands were cast in bronze and violet hues. Below, the pups were still playing near the training grounds, and the village hummed with early evening routines.

But Kael’s instincts stirred.

And a Shadowfang Alpha always trusted his instincts.

Aria emerged from the training circle, wiping sweat from her brow. Her silver eyes flicked toward him—sharp, perceptive. She could sense it too. The way the air felt heavier, like something was watching from just beyond the pines.

“We’ve had peace for three years,” she said, voice low as she joined him. “Maybe we’ve forgotten how to live without looking over our shoulders.”

Kael didn’t smile. “No. This isn’t paranoia. It’s something real. Something coming.”

That night, the wind howled through Silverrest, more fierce than usual, rattling the wood frames and whispering through open dens. Aria dreamt of fire—of a child standing barefoot in a circle of scorched ground, silver eyes glowing, his mouth open in a silent scream.

When she awoke, her pillow was soaked with sweat, and Kael was already gone.

By morning, a scout arrived from the northern border—panting, eyes wide.

“I saw something,” he said to the gathered council. “It moved like a wolf but not… not one of ours.”

“Feral?” asked Ronan, Kael’s former second, now head of Silverrest’s unified patrols.

“No. Too silent. Too… aware.”

Kael leaned forward. “Was it alone?”

The scout hesitated. “At first.”

A patrol was dispatched within the hour. What they found wasn’t a creature—but a mark.

Etched into the trunk of an ancient tree on the border of the Wildlands and the Forgotten Vale was a symbol no one had seen in living memory:

A crescent moon flanked by three fangs—one upside-down.

Ronan’s face turned pale.

“It’s a warning,” he whispered. “Or… a promise.”

That evening, Aria stood beneath the same ash tree where she and Kael had once confronted their bond. The same tree that had witnessed their fight, their surrender, and their rise.

The wind whispered through its branches again.

But this time, the whisper carried words.

Not in a voice.

In memory.

"Blood calls to blood. The old fangs rise."

"What was sealed must awaken."

Her breath caught. Her wolf stirred.

“Kael…” she murmured. “Something’s waking up.”

It began with a name whispered in sleep.

Not Kael’s.

Not her son’s.

But one Aria had never heard before, yet felt deep in her bones—“Lunaris.”

She awoke with a start, the name echoing in her skull like a forgotten melody, familiar and foreign all at once. Her skin was clammy, the room heavy with the scent of dried herbs and protective ash.

Kael stirred beside her but did not wake.

And yet, she felt eyes on her.

Not his.

Older.

Colder.

And then—the tree called her.

The Dreaming Tree stood at the edge of the Whispering Pines, older than either pack’s founding, its roots said to stretch into the bones of the Wildlands themselves.

Most wolves avoided it.

Not because it was dangerous—but because it listened.

And sometimes… it answered.

Only the Moonclaw seers had ever dared touch its bark during trance. Even they emerged changed—haunted or blessed, depending on who you asked.

But that night, Aria left Silverrest in silence, guided by instinct more than reason, her silver eyes reflecting the full moon overhead.

The air grew still as she approached.

The forest bowed in reverence. The shadows did not threaten.

The Dreaming Tree loomed at the clearing’s heart—wide as a cottage, its bark silver-veined and warm to the touch despite the chill of night.

She stepped closer.

The earth pulsed.

Her wolf stirred.

And then…

She placed her palm on the bark.

A jolt of power raced through her body. Her knees buckled, but she did not fall.

Instead, her vision darkened—and opened again.

She stood in a memory, though it wasn’t hers.

Fire raged across the Wildlands. The sky bled red.

Wolves screamed. Packs scattered. A child stood alone amid the flames—silver-eyed, his skin glowing faintly as if lit from within. His howl cracked the sky.

Surrounding him were ancient wolves cloaked in starlight, whispering in a lost tongue.

The child’s power surged—and they bowed to him.

Then came the shattering.

A great split in the earth. Blood spilled in all directions. A she-wolf with Aria’s eyes threw herself between two battling Alphas—shadow and moon clashing in a storm of fate.

And overhead, carved into the sky, a word formed in flame:

LUNARIS

Aria gasped and fell back, ripping her hand from the bark. Her breathing came in ragged bursts.

The vision faded—but the power lingered.

And so did the knowing.

She wasn’t just Moonclaw.

She wasn’t just an Alpha.

She was the last living heir of Lunaris—a forgotten bloodline thought extinguished, erased by both Moonclaw and Shadowfang to keep balance.

And her son…

Was more than Alpha-born.

He was Lunaris reborn.

By the time she returned to Silverrest, dawn was staining the sky.

Kael waited for her, arms crossed but his face unreadable.

“You went to the tree,” he said simply.

Aria nodded, her voice hoarse. “It showed me something. Not a warning. A memory.”

Kael stepped forward, his gaze hard. “Of what?”

“Of our son,” she whispered. “Of what he is.”

Kael didn’t flinch—but his jaw tightened. “Tell me.”

They retreated into their private den and sealed the door. Kael listened in silence as Aria told him everything—the silver-eyed child, the ancient wolves, the flaming word in the sky.

When she finished, he spoke slowly. “Lunaris was always myth.”

“No,” Aria said. “It was hidden. Buried. Because it was too powerful. Because it threatened both packs.”

“Then why now?” he asked. “Why awaken now?”

Aria looked toward the crib where their youngest still slept, unaware of the weight he carried.

“Because he’s the key,” she said. “To the next era… or to its destruction.”

Later that day, they called for Elder Mira.

The old seer entered with solemn eyes and bowed low before speaking.

“I feared this day would come,” she said.

“You knew?” Kael demanded.

Mira nodded. “Your union was no accident. The Moon doesn’t orchestrate love. But she does open paths that align fate.”

She placed a scroll on the table. The parchment was ancient—ink faded, edges curled.

On it, the symbol of Lunaris—a crescent moon surrounded by three stars.

“This bloodline was said to produce one Alpha every thousand years who could command the elements themselves. Some called them prophets. Others… monsters.”

“And which is he?” Aria asked.

Mira’s eyes fell to the sleeping boy.

“That depends on the world you raise him in.”

That night, Aria stood once more beneath the Dreaming Tree. Not for visions.

But for strength.

She ran her hands over her growing son's future.

“He’s more than just power,” she said aloud. “He’s our legacy. And I won’t let the past curse him.”

Behind her, Kael emerged from the shadows.

“Then we protect him,” he said. “Not as wolves. Not as Alphas. As parents.”

She turned, eyes burning silver.

“And as warriors.”

From within the tree, unseen by either of them, sap glowed faintly—silver and pulsing like a heartbeat.

The forest listened.

And the wind whispered again:

“One will rise.

One will burn.

One will bind the broken moon.”