The battle field that once belonged to the proud Gozzand Clan was now a wasteland of blood and fire. The clan's defenses had crumbled under the relentless assault of their invaders. The air was thick with smoke, the stench of death clinging to every breath. Bodies lay strewn across the muddy ground—wolves, witches, vampires alike, caught in the chaos of battle.
Lord Kanzel, leader of the Gozzand Clan, stood atop a broken wall, his once gleaming armor now stained with blood and ash. His eyes burned with anguish as he surveyed the carnage below. Their warriors were falling one after the other. Even their best efforts were nothing against the well-coordinated assault that had caught them off guard.
With a guttural growl, he raised his sword and bellowed across the battlefield, his voice amplified by the desperation of defeat.
"Fall back! Fall back! Everyone retreat!"
His command echoed across the battlefield, but the enemy gave no pause. The invaders surged forward, determined to wipe out every last member of the Gozzand resistance. Women and children, who had only just begun to flee to the safety of the woods, screamed as they were targeted. The remaining warriors, though weary and wounded, tried to form a protective line—but it was failing, fast.
Just when all hope seemed lost—
A mighty howl pierced the air.
It shook the earth, a thunderous sound that rolled across the valley and sent a momentary tremble through the invaders' ranks.
From the eastern ridge, the sound of galloping paws and war cries burst through the trees. A wave of warriors—werewolves in full armor—poured into the battlefield like a tide of vengeance. And at the front of them, radiating an aura of untamed power, was Alpha Kaelin.
His eyes were blazing gold, his wolf barely contained beneath the surface. With a roar, he joined the fray, cutting down foes with unmatched ferocity. His warriors followed suit, turning the tide of the battle almost immediately.
Steel clashed. Bones shattered. Howls and cries of pain filled the air once more—but this time, it was the invaders who began to falter.
The moment Alpha Kaelin sensed a lull, he unleashed his Alpha tone, the powerful voice that compelled obedience from all wolves within range.
"ENOUGH!" he commanded, and the battlefield fell into a tense silence, broken only by the groans of the injured and the crackling fires nearby.
Everyone froze.
Even the enemy wolves bowed their heads slightly, instinctively submitting to the power of their king, though they bore him no loyalty.
Out of the quiet stepped Elder Alberto, one of the few surviving elders who had opposed Kaelin's decisions from the beginning. His robes were torn, his face streaked with soot and blood, but his pride remained untouched.
"Alpha Kaelin," he began, voice tight, "stop this madness while you still have time. This is not the way."
Kaelin looked at him, his lips curling into a half-smile, half-sneer.
"Madness, Elder Alberto?" he said, voice calm but cold. "What is madness is how blind you and the others have become. This clan—this haven—was created for those who believed in unity. For those who dared to dream that wolves, vampires, and witches could coexist without bloodshed."
He took a step forward, his golden eyes glowing.
"If that doesn't align with your interests, then by all means—leave."
Another elder, Ballaro, stepped forward, face twisted with disbelief. "You are our Alpha King! Do not forget the throne you sit upon, or the consequences of forsaking your duty!"
Kaelin laughed, but there was no humor in it—only exhaustion.
"It's amusing," he said slowly, "how you all fight so fiercely against the very prophecy given to us by Nyxoria, our creator. Have you not noticed it yet?" He looked each elder in the eye. "The signs are all around you. The unmated high-ranking wolves... all finding mates outside their clans."
He fixed his gaze on Alberto.
"Elder Alberto. Your daughter—did she not claim to be visiting her grandparents in the Bloodmoon Pack? Has she returned? No. Because she found her mate—a witch. And she chose to stay."
The elder's face paled, but he said nothing.
Kaelin turned to another. "Ask Elder Randell how his son died. Go on. Ask him. Because he forced his son to reject his vampire mate—an act so violently unnatural that it shattered his wolf from the inside out."
A hush fell over the crowd. No one dared speak.
"The bond now is stronger than ever. Have you not felt it? Have you not seen how painful rejection has become? The prophecy is unfolding whether you like it or not."
He turned away, walking through the wounded with care, pausing only to nod at Lord Kanzel, who had now knelt out of respect.
"Leave now," Kaelin said without turning back. "Return to your packs, your broken ideas, your dying ways. But when the time comes—and it will—I'll be waiting."
Elder Ballaro stepped forward with a growl, still clinging to arrogance. "If you value your life, do not return. We will not be merciful next time."
Kaelin paused, looked over his shoulder, and gave a small, amused smile.
"Oh, I will return," he said. "And when I do, tell your councils this—I won't be coming to ask for my throne back…"
His eyes gleamed, his voice low with promise.
"I'll be coming to take it."
With that, he shifted into his massive wolf form—a beast of black and silver—and howled once again. His warriors howled in return, and the sound echoed across the forest like a vow carved into the bones of the earth.