CHAPTER 8 — THE ULTIMATUM OF BLOOD AND MOON
1294 Words
The Great Howl Gate had not been opened in full for over a century.
Tonight, it groaned awake.
Stone fangs taller than towers pulled apart with a sound like a beast tearing its own jaw open. Lunar runes ignited along the archway, silver light bleeding into the snow as horns echoed across the frozen valley.
The Council of Arclion had been summoned.
Not requested.
Summoned.
Seraphine watched from the upper balcony as the nobles arrived—Alpha lords draped in fur and steel, clan matriarchs with eyes sharp as knives, Fangguard commanders whose loyalty was written in scars.
They did not look at her kindly.
Some did not look at her at all.
That was worse.
“She shouldn’t be here,” a voice muttered below.
“She’s the reason we’re being dragged into this.”
Seraphine’s fingers curled against the stone railing.
Damian stood beside her—still, unreadable, a pillar of controlled gravity. Darius leaned casually on the other side, posture relaxed but eyes alert, already cataloging threats.
“The Citadel’s restless,” Darius murmured. “They feel it.”
“I know,” Damian replied. “So does she.”
Seraphine didn’t respond.
She felt it too.
The pull of eyes. The tension of judgment. The slow tightening of a noose woven from politics rather than rope.
The doors to the inner chamber slammed shut.
The Council Circle ignited.
Seven Fang Thrones rose from the floor, each occupied by an elder Alpha chosen not for wisdom—but for survival.
High Fang Elder Kaelthorn stood first.
His mane was silver with age, his Moonbrand etched deep and permanent.
“This council convenes under threat,” he declared. “Not from the south. Not from Beastfolk. But from within our own walls.”
A murmur rippled.
Seraphine felt Damian’s presence shift—subtle, dangerous.
Kaelthorn’s gaze lifted.
And landed on her.
“You host a Witch,” he continued. “Not just any Witch—but a Red Moon anomaly whose kind nearly shattered Elyrion.”
“That history is incomplete,” Damian said calmly.
Kaelthorn’s lips thinned. “History is written by survivors, Alpha.”
Darius laughed softly. “Then let’s survive this conversation.”
That earned him glares.
Kaelthorn ignored him.
“The Coven of Umbravine has issued a formal declaration,” he said. “Not to us—but to the balance itself.”
A Fangguard stepped forward, unrolling a scroll sealed with obsidian wax.
The air chilled.
Seraphine’s shadows recoiled instinctively.
The Fangguard read:
“By decree of the Coven of Thirteen,
the bearer of Red Moon blood is declared a destabilizing force.
Her continued presence within Arclion is interpreted as provocation.
Withdraw her beyond your borders—or accept the consequences.”
Silence slammed into the chamber.
Seraphine’s heartbeat thundered.
Darius’ posture snapped sharp.
Damian didn’t move.
Kaelthorn turned slowly to the Twin Alpha.
“They demand her removal,” he said. “Or war.”
A dozen voices erupted at once.
“Unacceptable.”
“We will not bow to witches.”
“They threaten us on our own land?”
“But—”
Kaelthorn raised a hand.
“They are not threatening us,” he said grimly. “They are threatening *her*.”
The words struck harder than any blade.
Seraphine stiffened.
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“They know she is here,” Darius said quietly. “And they know they can’t take her by force.”
Kaelthorn nodded. “Which is why they are testing our resolve.”
A younger Alpha stood abruptly. “Then we give her to them.”
The room exploded.
Damian’s power surged.
The floor cracked beneath his feet.
Every voice died instantly.
He did not raise his voice.
“No.”
The word carried weight.
The young Alpha swallowed but forced himself to continue. “She is not of our blood. Not of our kind. Why should Arclion burn for her?”
Seraphine stepped forward before Damian could respond.
The sound of her boots echoed sharply.
Every eye turned.
“I won’t be the cause of your war,” she said evenly. “If leaving prevents it, I will.”
Damian turned to her sharply. “No.”
She met his gaze. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Darius cursed under his breath.
Kaelthorn studied her with new interest.
“You would leave our protection?” he asked.
“Yes,” Seraphine replied. “If it keeps your people safe.”
A murmur rippled—some impressed, others suspicious.
Kaelthorn nodded slowly. “Honorable. And foolish.”
Damian stepped in front of her without thinking.
“She is not a bargaining chip,” he said coldly. “And she is under my protection.”
“Your protection,” Kaelthorn repeated, “does not outweigh a kingdom.”
Darius snapped. “Careful.”
Kaelthorn’s gaze flicked to him. “This is not posturing, young Alpha. The Coven does not want war. They want leverage.”
“And you’re considering giving it to them,” Darius shot back.
Kaelthorn didn’t deny it.
“The ultimatum stands,” he said. “Three nights. Remove the Witch from Arclion—or Umbravine will act.”
Seraphine’s stomach dropped.
Three nights.
Damian’s voice was steel. “If they cross our borders—”
“They won’t,” Kaelthorn interrupted. “Not yet. They’ll send something quieter.”
Seraphine felt it then.
A cold awareness.
“They’re already moving,” she whispered.
Kaelthorn’s gaze sharpened. “You sense it?”
“Yes.”
Darius glanced at her. “How sure?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Certain.”
The room shifted.
Kaelthorn exhaled slowly.
“Then the council must decide,” he said. “Protect the Witch—and invite conflict. Or remove her—and preserve the realm.”
Damian turned to the council.
“You fear war,” he said. “Understand this: giving her up will not prevent it.”
A pause.
“It will only change where it starts.”
Silence.
Kaelthorn studied him for a long moment.
Then—
“The council will deliberate,” he declared. “Until then, the Witch remains confined to the Citadel.”
Seraphine bristled.
“Confined?”
“For her safety,” Kaelthorn said.
Damian’s eyes flashed.
“No,” he said again.
Kaelthorn met his gaze. “Alpha… do not force my hand.”
Darius stepped closer to Damian, voice low. “This is how they break us. Slow. Civil.”
Seraphine looked between them.
“This is my problem,” she said quietly. “Stop making it yours.”
Damian turned to her, expression fierce.
“That is not how resonance works.”
The council dismissed itself amid uneasy murmurs.
As the chamber emptied, Kaelthorn paused beside Damian.
“Choose carefully,” he said. “History will remember what you protect.”
He left.
The gates sealed behind him with a thunderous finality.
Seraphine exhaled shakily.
Three nights.
A Witch hunting her.
A kingdom deciding whether she was worth burning for.
Darius broke the silence first.
“Well,” he said grimly. “That went poorly.”
Damian didn’t smile.
“They won’t wait,” he said. “The Ashen Sister will come.”
Seraphine’s blood ran cold.
“You know her?”
Damian nodded. “By reputation.”
Darius’ jaw tightened. “And if she reaches Seraphine—”
“She won’t,” Damian said.
Seraphine met his gaze.
“And if protecting me costs you Arclion?”
Damian didn’t hesitate.
“Then Arclion adapts.”
The words were absolute.
The mountain rumbled faintly beneath their feet.
Far away, in the shadowed east—
Something began to move.
The ultimatum had been delivered.
And the clock was now bleeding time.
- Writer
