The storm broke just before dawn.
Lightning cracked like a whip across the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged peaks of the Blackthorn Mountains. Rain came down in sheets, hammering against the stone walls of the keep and rattling the iron shutters. The scent of damp moss and earth filled the air, mingling with something far subtler.
Blood.
Kael smelled it before he heard the knock.
He had not slept. Not since the wedding. He stood at the far end of the war room, where maps of forgotten realms and troop deployments lined the walls. Candles burned low, casting wavering shadows that danced like spirits along the stone.
The knock came again—three short, deliberate taps.
Kael strode to the door and opened it.
Queen Elenara stood in the corridor, soaked through. Her hair hung in wet tendrils around her face, and her silver eyes—so like the moonlight she was named for—held a wild, almost frightened gleam.
"Mother?" he whispered.
She brushed past him without a word and shut the door behind her.
"Where have you been?" he asked. "You missed the wedding."
"I know," she said. Her voice was low, hurried, clipped. "There's no time for apologies, Kael. Something is happening."
His muscles tensed. "What do you mean?"
She moved to the fireplace, shivering slightly. Her royal garments clung to her like torn banners, the embroidery at the hem muddied. She was rarely so disheveled. Never so afraid.
"I went to the Oracle of the Old Forest," she said. "Against your stepfather's orders."
Kael stiffened. "The Oracle is forbidden."
"I had to know if what I sensed was true." She turned to face him fully now. "Kael, there is a storm coming—worse than anything our kingdom has seen in centuries. The bloodline of the wolf is… faltering."
Kael's brow furrowed. "You mean Rourke? Or—?"
She shook her head. "All of them. Your brothers. Your stepfather. Even I feel it. Our power—our magic—is thinning, breaking apart. But yours…" Her gaze burned into him. "Yours grows stronger."
He said nothing.
"You've always been different, Kael. Even before you could speak. Before you could shift. The shadows bent around your cradle like they feared you. You healed faster than anyone. You spoke to crows. Do you remember?"
"I remember hiding it."
Elenara stepped closer. "You are not like them. Not even like me. The Oracle confirmed what I've long suspected."
He looked at her sharply. "What did she say?"
"That your father is alive."
Kael's breath caught.
Elenara took his hand. "He was never from this world. He came through a gate, from the Ashen Plane. He was a demon lord, exiled, yes—but noble. He left when the Keep began to whisper against you. To protect you. And now…"
"And now?" Kael pressed.
"She said your blood will burn this world or heal it. That the wolves will turn against you soon. They already have."
He stepped back, heart pounding, the room tilting on its axis. "You always told me he died. That he was a traveler. A wanderer—"
"I lied to protect you."
Kael turned away, fists clenched. "And what now? You tell me I'm not even half-wolf, not even one of them—and you expect me to pretend it changes nothing?"
"It changes everything."
A gust of wind tore against the windowpanes. Elenara's eyes flicked toward the door, then lowered her voice to a whisper.
"Your stepfather suspects. So do your brothers. He's been gathering allies—demon-hunters, war priests, mercenaries. Something is coming, Kael. I tried to stop it. But…"
She trailed off.
Kael's breath turned cold. "But what?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"They've already begun."
Later that morning, the rain ceased—but the chill remained.
Kael sat beside Seraphine at the small table in their chamber, neither of them speaking much. She sipped her tea slowly, hands wrapped around the warm porcelain. Her gaze kept drifting to him.
"You look… heavier today," she said gently.
"I had a visitor," Kael replied.
"Your mother?"
He nodded.
"She's all right?"
"For now." He hesitated. "She told me things. Things about myself."
Seraphine waited, not pressing, only listening.
"I'm not… who I thought I was," he said at last. "I'm not even who they think I am."
She tilted her head. "Do you want to tell me who you are?"
"I'm still figuring it out," he said, half a smile tugging at his lips.
"Whatever you are," she said softly, "you were kind to me. And I've had precious little kindness in my life. That's enough for now."
Kael looked at her, searching for any sign of pity, fear, or doubt. There was none.
Just calm strength.
Just Seraphine.
He exhaled and whispered, "Thank you."
That night, Kael paced the northern battlements, watching the sky.
Crows circled above the Keep again—dozens of them. More than he had seen in years. They perched on the parapets and watched him in silence, their black eyes gleaming with ancient memory.
He extended a hand. One crow flew down and landed on his forearm.
"Go south," Kael whispered to it. "To the Burning Wastes. Find any who bear my blood."
The crow tilted its head, then launched into the sky.
He sent another to the Vale of Whispers.
Another to the Jagged Expanse.
He did not know if they would return.
He did not know who, if anyone, remained of his kind.
But the seed had been planted.
If this was to be war, he would not be caught blind.
Meanwhile, in the bowels of Blackthorn Keep, King Alaric stood in a torch lit chamber carved into the bedrock. Around him stood nine men and women in hooded cloaks—members of the Eclipse Court, a secret alliance older than the crown itself.
"The wolf queen is compromised," Alaric growled. "And her son… is no longer a boy."
"What do you command?" one of the figures asked.
Alaric turned to the map behind him—a bloodstained relic from the Age of Embers. His finger stabbed a point in the center.
"Tomorrow, during the Feast of Moons," he said. "We strike."