They moved on four legs now.
Moonlight couldn't reach this deep, but they didn't need it. Five Lycans, fangs bared, fur streaked with ash, slipped through the carved-out tunnels like shadows with breath. Their forms were massive, silent, trained for this kind of war.
Dain led the pack, his brown coat bristling, muscles coiled beneath sinew, claws whispering across the stone floor. Not a sound above a heartbeat.
The path had been uncovered by scouts—an old smugglers' artery, long forgotten, winding beneath enemy lines like the skeleton of some buried beast.
It ended at the foot of a Tideborn wardstone. A cursed relic guarding more than just the valley beyond.
For past that valley, through winding rock and root, lay the hidden entrance to the prince's stronghold.
And within its depths… the queen.
Destroying the wardstone wasn't merely strategy, it was the key to clearing that hidden path.
Destroy it, and the Tideborn would lose one of their greatest weapons on land.
The wardstone was actually wood in appearance, and looked like it had grown from the earth itself. Smooth branches of dark wood twisted into a tall oval, bound tightly at the top and bottom with thick cord. But it was what shimmered inside that held the eye.
A ribbon of glowing blue light floated in the center, liquid and alive, like a stream of water caught in midair. It pulsed softly, not just with light, but with magic. The air around it felt cooler, heavier, as if the stone was pulling the moisture from the very air.
Even standing still, the light inside moved, twisting, flickering like fire under water. This was power made visible. Every Lycan who approached felt it hum in their bones, like the moment before a storm breaks.
It was beautiful. It was ancient. And it was deadly.
Then beside it, she appeared.
A woman, barefoot with pale skin, hair falling in damp dark waves down her back. Her eyes were too deep, too still. She looked young. Innocent. Barely dressed and her smile soft and inviting.
But something in her stillness made the Lycans freeze.
A mermaid. A tideborn.
She tilted her head, as if puzzled by their presence. Then she smiled and began to hum a note too sweet to be natural, sliding into their ears like warm water. Her voice was soft, sweet as honey. But the Lycans were ready. Wax stuffed in their ears dulled the sound. The song washed over them like mist, harmless. Their eyes stayed clear. Their minds, unshaken.
When she saw it wasn't working, the siren's smile faded. Her voice changed. She threw her arms wide and called out, not in melody now, but in command. The wardstone answered with a low hum and spirits surged.
The first water spirit came fast, like a whip made of sea spray and rage. Dain dodged low, his black fur brushing the stone, claws flashing. He struck through it, but the thing reformed, liquid sliding back into shape with a hiss.
Then more came.
They poured from the wardstone cracks in the stone, twisting shapes with glowing eyes and long, dripping limbs. They didn't speak they just attacked.
The Lycans met them head-on.
Fangs tore. Claws slashed. But it was like fighting ghosts made of water. Every blow scattered them only for them to pull together again, sharper, faster, colder.
"Now!" Dain's snarl cut through the chaos.
Two Lycans broke from the fight, sprinting toward the wardstone. The siren moved to block them, but Dain was faster. He slammed into her, claws flashing, fangs bared. With a savage snarl, he tore into her shoulder, sending blood and sea-mist spraying. She shrieked, the sound broken and wet, staggering as her illusion faltered.
She tried to command again but Dain struck once more, dragging her down. The melody died in her throat.
The spirits froze. Then, one by one, they collapsed and hit the floor with a hiss. The magic broke like shattered glass and the wardstone stood vulnerable.
Dain stepped forward now in human form, on his neck, he wore a necklace given to them by Ninzu. It's name the Echo of Eldrid, an ancient relic bound in silver root and duskstone. As he raised it, the relic stirred, pulsing in rhythm with the wardstone's flowing water.
The Echo flared with bright light. It drank deep of the wardstone's magic, unraveling its current, strand by strand. The water inside twisted and started to pour out. Then it cracked from within and collapsed in a silent, rippling implosion.
And then stillness.
The way was clear.
....
Silken sheets tangled around their bodies, the air thick with heat and promise. Nyalei arched beneath Valemir, breathless, her hands tangled in his hair. Dawn light spilled through the draped windows, silvering their skin, casting shadows that swayed with every movement.
Then she froze.
Her pupils had dilated and gone utterly black and a tremble rippled through her.
"The wardstone," she whispered.
....
Ruvan and Kael, both in full Lycan form, led hundreds of warriors into the valley, their ranks a tidal wave of muscle and fury. Their paws struck stone and soil like war drums, their eyes fixed on the cavern's mouth ahead.
At the base of the ridge, Thornak and Lara stood ready, flanked by Ninzu and Miri, the battlefield pulsing with tension. Their forms were still, but their presence commanded the storm. Together, they issued commands, watching the horizon, waiting for word from Kael and Ruvan.
Aedric arrived moments later, his stride grim and determined. At his side marched the seasoned captain Laseral, their third assault force fanning out with ruthless precision, moving like a blade honed for a single cut.
The clash shook the earth, but they were not alone. Reinforcements from the Northern Kingdom were already on the move, more Lycans, more fury, bound by blood and alliance, racing to join the battle that would decide the fate of their kingdoms.
Iris and Jasmine had departed weeks earlier for the House of the Moonveil, a secluded academy nestled in the cloud-wreathed hills of Eldwyn. It was a revered institution where noble-born maidens were taught the ancient disciplines—grace, diplomacy, sacred rites, and the old dances whispered down from the Moon Priestesses of ages past. It was said the House stood upon consecrated ground, where starlight touched the earth and the wind carried secrets.
The twins had gone willingly, eager for beauty, ritual, and a breath of freedom beyond the palace walls. The House of the Moonveil had promised them more than education, it offered enchantment, elegance, and the whispers of a world not yet touched by war.
Thornak had not intended to summon them. He would have spared them the shadow of what was unfolding. But it was their mother who was now entwined in the heart of the danger, and duty outweighed his reluctance.
They were expected back soon, summoned not as girls of noble blood, but as daughters of the Queen.
Kael and Ruvan crested the final rise, paws pounding the blood-warmed earth, warriors fanning out behind them like a tide of fangs and fury. The valley narrowed, stone walls rising like jaws on either side, and at its throat stood a single figure cloaked in black.
He didn't move.
The wind should have stirred his robes, but nothing touched him. Even the air bent strangely around him, as though the land itself refused to breathe too close.
Kael slowed. Ruvan snarled low.
Then the figure lifted his head. Eyes like dead stars peered from beneath the hood.
"You've come far," he said softly, voice carrying like a whisper inside a tomb. "But this is where you die. Turn around, beasts. Or I'll peel the fury from your bones and make it sing for me."
One eager Lycan broke formation with a snarl, launching through the air like a thunderbolt of muscle and rage.
The cloaked figure didn't flinch.
He merely lifted a hand.
The Lycan froze midair, suspended, limbs twitching. Then his howl turned to a choking rasp as his body began to wither. Flesh shriveled, fur receded. His eyes went glassy.
In seconds, he was little more than a husk. Dust fell where life had been. Bone clattered to the ground.
The figure lowered his hand.
"I warned you," he said, voice still calm. "But the young never listen."