The throne hall of Frostfang Castle was a monument to ancient pride. Silver wolf busts guarded every arched column, their obsidian eyes catching the flicker of braziers whose flames cast a ghostly glow across pale marble floors. Sunlight, thin and cold, filtered through stained glass windows depicting legends of the first Lycan Kings, and in that otherworldly light, Aldric Alaric Moonbane stood alone — the rightful heir of a line betrayed.
His cloak of wolf-pelt shifted as he moved. Each footfall echoed in the hush, an alpha's presence too powerful to be ignored.
Behind him, the great doors had opened to a reluctant assembly: nobles who once praised his father, lords who had now bent knee to the usurper, forced to return after hearing of Aldric's return. Their expressions showed all the suspicion and envy they still held, thinly masked by uneasy loyalty.
Aldric looked across them, eyes like polished onyx, reflecting their cowardice and their shame. His aura crackled with Luceris's power — the beast within him restless, tasting their fear.
"My father ruled with honor," Aldric began, voice iron-strong yet smooth as riverstone. "My mother carried the wisdom of ten generations. And what did you give them? Betrayal."
Gasps rippled through the court.
"You let them die," he continued, tone calm, too calm, "so you could scurry for crumbs under another's table. You call yourselves wolf-blooded, yet you bare your throats to any tyrant who offers you gold."
An old lord in purple rose, voice shaking. "We were deceived—"
Aldric cut him off with a gesture as cold as moonlight. "Spare me your excuses. I have bled, starved, hunted through exile while you dressed in silk and feasted in their palaces. My parents died by your cowardice. Yet you still live. You still hold power."
He paused, letting the silence crush them, before drawing Luceris — the ancestral sword — from his belt. Its silvery blade shimmered like a sliver of night sky.
"I stand here, not as a beggar," he thundered, "but as the Lone Lycan King of prophecy. The Moon Goddess herself anointed me. I will no longer ask for loyalty — I will command it."
A single spark of defiance stirred among the nobles, but they read his face and knew better. Their knees dropped, one by one, cloaks rustling on the marble, until the entire court knelt before him. The silence turned to a low murmur, a chant of submission:
"Lone Lycan King... Lone Lycan King…"
Power, hot and bright as a star, rushed through Aldric's veins. Luceris pulsed with ancestral magic, responding to his bloodline. He lifted the blade over their bowed heads, claiming them, binding them, even if their hearts held secrets.
Hours later, Aldric retreated to the tower's highest parapet. The winds howled there, fierce and pure, tugging at his white hair. Far below, the city of Frostfang unfurled: a sprawl of twisting lanes and stone houses roofed with deep winter thatch. Snow flurries danced over its roofs like phantom feathers.
He should have felt triumphant. Instead, a raw hollowness gnawed at him.
Rowena found him there, her steps as light as a falling petal. She wore a flowing cloak of star-blue, clasped with a sigil of the Moon Goddess. Her scent — fresh pine and faint lavender — reached him before her voice.
"You should be resting," she murmured, stopping beside him, leaning against the rampart's ice-flecked edge.
Aldric didn't look at her. "There will be no rest," he said, watching the wind scatter ash over the rooftops where the grain fires had burned the day before. "Not while our enemies remain."
Rowena placed her hand on his. Warm. Steady. "They fear you now."
"They should," he replied, eyes dark as a winter storm. "But fear alone is not loyalty. And they have lost the meaning of wolf-kin."
Rowena tilted her head, gentle yet commanding, a Luna in her own right. "Then remind them. Show them what a true wolf king does."
His heart ached at the words. A true king. How many times had he heard that from his mother, long ago? Before her blood soaked the marble floors of this very hall.
Aldric lowered his head, letting the memories wash through him like ice water. "I will," he promised hoarsely. "But I will not forgive them."
Rowena's eyes glimmered like the first star in dusk. "Vengeance can keep you alive, Aldric. But don't let it poison you."
He closed his eyes. The wolf inside him — Luceris — growled, unwilling to let go of that rage.
That night, the Frostfang castle slept uneasily. Guards stalked the corridors with swords drawn, lanterns flashing. Shadows twitched behind every pillar, a reminder that the Shadow Court still moved in secret, feeding poison to the realm.
Aldric had barely closed his eyes when a frantic knock shook the chamber door.
"My King!" cried a guard, bursting through. "The water gates have been sabotaged again. They mean to flood the granaries!"
Aldric rose instantly, fury sharpening every edge of his mind. "Sound the alarm," he ordered, already striding to the hall.
Rowena tried to follow, but he caught her arm. "Stay here," he demanded, voice grave. "If they strike again, you are their true prize."
Her eyes flashed with reluctant acceptance, but she nodded.
Aldric leapt from the window — truly leapt, his form shifting as he fell, fur exploding over muscle and bone. White as fresh snowfall, the Luceris wolf landed in the courtyard, leaving a crater where his paws struck.
Every sentry around froze at the sight — the true Lycan King, the one of prophecy, moon-marked, unstoppable.
He bared his fangs, and the howl that rose from his throat seemed to break the night itself:
No more hiding. No more running.
He tore through the city, muscles coiling like storm-forged steel, his eyes glowing molten gold. Citizens scattered before him, bowing, praying, terrified yet awestruck.
Reaching the water gates, he found half a dozen men with pitch barrels and flint, trying to ignite the flood channels. The Shadow Court's mark burned bright on their shoulders — a black serpent coiled around a wolf's head.
"Traitors," Aldric growled, voice deep and echoing from the wolf's throat. "You will not have this kingdom."
One of the saboteurs drew a crossbow, his hands trembling. "We do not fear you, Lone Lycan!"
"Then you will die."
Aldric lunged, white fur flashing, claws rending steel, teeth tearing through armor as if it were cloth. Blood sprayed across the ice, steaming in the cold air. The second assassin screamed, trying to flee, but Luceris was faster, a moonlit specter of judgment.
One by one, they fell, until only the leader remained, pinned against a wall, Aldric's claws pressing into his throat.
"Who sent you?" Aldric demanded.
The man spat blood, defiant. "The Shadow Court will break you. Your own allies will betray you."
Aldric's fury boiled over. He smashed the traitor's head against the stones, silencing him forever.
Then he turned to the watching guards, his muzzle stained crimson.
"Clean this filth," he commanded, voice laced with ice. "And find every one of their kin. If they raise a blade against me, erase them."
Hours later, Aldric shifted back to human form, exhausted, leaning against a stone column, breathing ragged.
Rowena appeared, bringing a thick cloak. She placed it gently around his shoulders, fingers lingering on his cheek.
"They'll keep coming," she whispered.
Aldric nodded, eyes dark with promise. "Then we'll keep killing them."
Rowena's hand trembled as she held his. "How many more must you bury before your heart is too heavy to lift?"
He met her gaze, raw honesty in his words. "As many as it takes."
For a moment, they stood there, surrounded by silence. Rowena leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his.
"I'll stand with you," she vowed.
And for a second, Aldric allowed himself to rest. Just a second.
By dawn, the city was recovering, though the smoke of burned sabotage still clung to the air. Children peeked from doorways, terrified yet hopeful, seeing their true king walking through the streets, sword drawn, cloak whipping behind him like the wings of a fallen angel.
Every villager fell to their knees as he passed, murmuring prayers, invoking his name like a talisman.
Aldric, their Lone Lycan King, walked among them with a heart heavy as stone, carrying the burden of vengeance and hope alike.
The weight was crushing. But for the first time, he understood why it must be.