Fated to Fall

Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The Winds of War

The tension in the Silver Claw stronghold was palpable, as though the air itself had thickened with impending disaster. Every corner of the fortress felt charged with the uneasy awareness that something was about to break. The rival packs were closing in—testing their borders, sending scouts, and gathering forces. Every day that passed brought them closer to the inevitable clash.

Virella stood in the dimly lit hallway, peering through a crack in the door to the council chamber. Her mind raced as she overheard Draven’s voice, deep and commanding, as he strategized with Rynar and the other pack leaders.

“Prepare the defenses,” Draven’s voice rang out like thunder. “The northern packs are moving. We need to be ready for a full assault.”

Rynar’s voice was equally grim. “We’ve already lost ground in the west. The packs sense weakness, Sovereign. We can’t afford to let them think we’re divided.”

The whispers of weakness, Draven’s faltering strength—it was spreading like wildfire. Virella had known it was only a matter of time before their enemies would smell blood. And now, Draven’s growing vulnerability was a call to action for every pack that had once feared him.

But Virella wasn’t interested in their battles. She was playing a different game now. Draven’s weakness was her chance.

Virella's Manipulation: The Weapon She Holds

In the quiet moments between the chaos, Virella began to make her moves. She had been biding her time, learning everything she could about Draven’s curse—about the mutation in his bloodline that had weakened him. Her research into the ancient prophecies and Draven’s history revealed something chilling: his power was tied to a rare and dangerous mutation that could only be stabilized by a mate who was willing to bond with him. But without love, without a genuine connection, that bond would only drain him further.

She had become the key to his survival, whether she wanted to be or not.

Her gaze flickered to the hallway as Arwen approached, the woman who had been assigned to assist her with the preparation for the child—Draven’s heir. But lately, Arwen had become more than just an ally. She had become a possible ally in her manipulation of Draven’s curse.

Arwen stepped into the room with urgency, her usual calm demeanor now tinged with something darker. There was fear in her eyes, though it was masked by a calm, practiced exterior.

“Virella,” Arwen began, her voice low and urgent. “You need to submit to Draven. You need to accept him, for the pack’s sake.”

Virella’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“I am,” Arwen said, her voice trembling with the weight of her words. “We are losing people. The rival packs are preparing to invade, and Draven is weakening. We cannot afford a divided pack. You know this as well as I do.”

“I will not submit to him,” Virella replied, her voice firm. “Not out of duty, not for the pack. I refuse.”

Arwen took a step closer, her expression softening, almost pleading. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about the pack. It’s about Draven’s survival. If you don’t accept him as your mate, his mutation will consume him. And not just him—it will consume the entire pack. His power is unstable without you.”

Virella’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t want to hear this, but she couldn’t look away. “What do you mean?”

Arwen’s gaze flickered with hesitation, but she steeled herself and spoke the truth Virella had only dared to consider. “Draven’s bloodline is cursed. His wolf form is mutated, and only a mate who truly bonds with him—who willingly accepts him as her mate—can stabilize the mutation. Without you, without the bond, he will weaken further. And when his power collapses, so does the pack.”

Virella’s breath caught. “And what happens if I accept him?” she whispered.

Arwen lowered her voice, her tone almost reluctant. “You’ll be tied to him. But you will also become his lifeline. His strength will depend on you. If you want to, you can heal him, but—” Her eyes darkened. “You can also destroy him.”

Virella took a step back, her mind reeling. “You mean I can kill him?”

Arwen nodded, her expression grim. “Yes. You can either heal or harm him. You hold his life in your hands.”

Virella’s mind raced as the weight of this new revelation crashed over her. This was a weapon. A weapon she could wield.

She had the power to save Draven—but more importantly, she had the power to destroy him. To take his life at will. The thought was tempting, a dark thought that stirred something inside her. But there was more to it. She could control the situation. If she wanted to, she could use Draven’s weakness to her advantage.

But there was something else that tugged at her conscience. Arwen didn’t care. Arwen wasn’t concerned about Draven’s survival. She was simply trying to protect him because of some debt to his family.

The truth was clear—Arwen was trying to manipulate her into saving Draven because she didn’t want him to die.

“You want me to save him, don’t you?” Virella asked, her voice cold.

Arwen hesitated before answering. “I don’t want anyone to die. But I owe Draven. I owe his family. The debt is more than just loyalty. If you help him, I can help you control his curse. But you must make the choice.”

Virella looked away, the implications of Arwen’s words settling into her chest like a heavy stone. Control his curse. Control Draven’s fate.

She had been given the ultimate weapon, but she had no idea what price it would exact.

In the coming days, the atmosphere in the fortress grew more tense. The pack’s scouts had reported that the rival packs were gathering in force. The northern and western packs were preparing to invade, seeing Draven’s vulnerability as their opening.

Word of his weakness had already spread. The cracks in his rule were visible to everyone—even those who had once feared him.

Draven’s response was swift—he called his generals to arms, prepared defenses, and strengthened the borders. But Virella could see it in his eyes. He was no longer the same man who had ruled with unyielding authority. The weight of the curse had worn him down, and now, with the threat of war looming, he had no strength left to fight.

The pack whispered behind his back. They no longer saw him as an invincible leader. He was becoming a symbol of failure.

Draven’s soldiers remained loyal, but their hearts were torn. They had once followed a king without question. Now, they were unsure if they still had a king to follow.

Virella stood by the window, her eyes scanning the distant horizon as the wind howled through the trees. The time had come.

She had the power to make Draven stronger, to stabilize him and his bloodline—or to let him fall, to let the curse claim him once and for all.

She thought of Arwen’s pleading face, of the pack’s uncertain future, and of the twisted bond that had tied her to Draven.

If she healed him, it would be out of necessity, not love. But if she allowed him to fail, everything—the pack, the territory, her freedom—could slip through her fingers.

Virella clenched her fists, her mind made up.

She would use the weapon she held in her hands—but it would be on her terms.