The forest of Duskreach trembled beneath an unnatural silence. Not even the wind dared whisper as the figure in the long black cloak stepped through the brambles. The trees—old and twisted—seemed to recoil from his presence. Animals burrowed deeper into their dens. The earth itself groaned beneath his feet.
Kaelen, the Betrayer, had returned.
Though the world believed him long dead—torn apart in the Battle of Broken Stars, where the original Oath had been severed—he had survived. Worse, he had thrived. Not in the way the world would understand, for what Kaelen had become was no longer fully wolf. He had merged with something ancient, something forgotten by even the most devout of the Moon Priests.
And now, he was ready.
Ready to claim what had once been promised.
Atop a cliff that overlooked Blackmoon Hold, Kaelen stood motionless, his pale eyes trained on the citadel below. The barrier—once radiant with protective runes—now flickered, wounded from the recent attack. The walls were strong, but they were walls built for the last war, not for what was coming.
He closed his eyes.
And she was there.
Elara.
Her essence, so bright, so chaotic, called to him like a siren song. He could taste her fear, her defiance, her confusion. She was waking up, piece by piece, becoming what the stars had written her to be.
But the stars lied.
Kaelen knew the truth. He had seen it in the shattered mirror of time, in the blood-soaked visions granted by the Obsidian Grove. The prophecy was not about salvation.
It was about correction.
And he was the one to deliver it.
Back inside the Hold, Elara stood in the Hall of Echoes, the central chamber of the oracle tower. She gazed at the ancient mosaic beneath her feet, the one that depicted the original pact between the Moon Goddess and the first High Alpha.
It shimmered faintly.
Familiar runes pulsed beneath the surface—ones she now recognized instinctively, as though they had always been a part of her. Her power had grown exponentially since the last attack. And yet, it terrified her.
Every time she reached for it, she felt something else reaching back.
Something not of this world.
Something that called itself Selene… but wore a stranger's face in her dreams.
"I'm losing myself," she whispered.
Aiden stood beside her, his presence grounding as always. He touched her shoulder, gentle but firm. "You're not. You're evolving."
She turned to him, her eyes gleaming silver. "But into what?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because even he didn't know.
The Council was in shambles.
A meeting had been called in the middle of the night. Elder Mira, usually poised and wise, now clutched an ancient scroll with trembling hands. Elder Thorn paced like a caged beast.
"This symbol," Mira said, pointing to the blood-red serpent that had scorched itself into the sky days ago, "has not been seen since the last days of the Twilight War. It marked the rise of the Betrayer."
The room fell silent.
Aiden folded his arms. "Kaelen."
Elder Thorn's lips curled into a snarl. "He died. We saw the blood rites. We buried what was left."
"No," Elara said, stepping into the circle. "You buried his shell. But his soul... something darker took hold of it. I've seen it."
The Elders looked at her with a mix of awe and fear.
"You're suggesting the prophecy has returned?" one of them asked.
"No," Elara replied. "I'm saying... it never ended."
Later that night, Elara wandered into the temple archives. The scent of aged parchment and candle wax filled the space. She trailed her fingers over ancient volumes until her hand stopped on a single black-bound tome—its title etched in forgotten script.
When she opened it, her breath caught.
A portrait.
Of Kaelen.
Before the fall.
Young, golden-eyed, powerful. The image radiated pride, ambition, and something deeper—resentment.
She turned the page. More images. More symbols. And then... a prophecy.
Written not in language, but in visions—painted like nightmares across the parchment.
A woman, glowing like the moon, falling from the heavens.
A wolf, cloaked in shadow, rising from the pit of the earth.
And blood. So much blood.
The last page was torn.
But a single line remained.
When the Oracle awakens and the moon turns red, the Betrayer shall rise... and claim the bond that was stolen.
Elara's hands shook.
"What bond?" she whispered.
From the shadows, a voice answered.
"Yours."
She whirled, power crackling around her fingertips.
But no one was there.
Just shadows. And echoes.
But the voice—deep, male, and intimate—had been real.
Aiden rushed into the archive moments later, sensing her distress.
"Elara?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on the torn prophecy.
He approached her slowly. "What happened?"
"He spoke to me."
"Who?"
She met his gaze. "Kaelen."
Aiden stiffened. His instincts flared, wolf pushing to the surface.
"We need to move you to the inner sanctum. If he's reaching you, he's closer than we thought."
"No," she said, voice firm. "I need to find him. I need to know what he wants."
"Revenge," Aiden growled. "Destruction. That's all Kaelen has ever wanted."
Elara looked back at the tome.
"Then why does he sound like someone who once loved me?
Outside the Hold, in the forest's cursed edge, Kaelen stood before the Mirror Tree—an ancient, hollowed stump that bore a silver core. He placed his bloodied hand on the trunk.
"I'm here, Mother," he whispered.
The tree groaned. Then opened.
From within, a woman stepped out—her eyes silver, her body shifting between spirit and shadow.
Selene.
The goddess.
Or what remained of her.
"My son," she said with pride. "The last of my chosen."
Kaelen knelt before her.
"You have awakened the Oracle," she said. "And soon... she will remember everything."
Kaelen looked up.
"And when she does?"
Selene smiled—a cruel, beautiful thing.
"She will choose you. Or she will destroy everything trying not to."