The Pactbeast rose like a mountain, not from the earth, but from the memory of every broken promise etched into the soil of Oshael. Its frame was a grotesque fusion of bone and flame, its ribs carved from the relics of fallen kings. Runes glowed across its skin, pulsing in a rhythm that mirrored the old ancestral chants—songs meant to bind the world, now echoed in defiance.
Jonas stood unmoved at the epicenter of the battlefield, his Hollowbrand glowing bright enough to bathe the ruins in silver fire. Around him, warriors stumbled, flames crackled, blood mixed with mud, and the skies darkened—not with storm clouds, but with moons aligning in eerie silence. It wasn't raining, but the wind whispered names that had been forgotten for generations.
The creature let out a breath, not a roar. With that exhale, the memory of kingdoms long gone echoed across the terrain. Entire battalions stopped mid-fight, stunned by the sheer pressure of its presence. Time itself seemed to hesitate.
Jonas exhaled slowly, not in fear, but in recognition. It wasn't just a beast. It was history, embodied. The reckoning of every pact sealed by the ancestors—every lie swept under royal rugs, every bloodline cursed and buried. The beast bore them all.
Behind Jonas, Elena stepped forward, spear trembling in her hand, eyes locked on the monstrosity. She didn't need words; the look she gave him was enough. This is beyond anything we've prepared for.
"I know," Jonas murmured. "But it's not beyond what we were born for."
Elric, already bloodied and limping, tightened his grip on his twin blades. "Tell me you've got something more than glowing tattoos and hope, Gatekeeper."
"I've got memory," Jonas said. "And I've got you."
Elias, crouched beside the broken glyph circle, shouted over the rising wind, "There's something buried beneath it—an older seal. It's resonating with your brand."
Before Jonas could respond, the Pactbeast moved.
One of its massive bone-laced limbs slammed into the remnants of the western wall, reducing it to gravel and dust. Arrows, both blessed and blackened, shattered against its hide. A dozen elite warriors charged. None made it within ten steps before being swept away like flies.
Jonas whispered the words his mother once sang into his dreams—a lullaby only the old wolves knew. The brand on his chest flared, casting a light that pushed the wind back. His voice wasn't loud, but the moment he began to chant, the ground beneath them hummed.
The Whisperrot stopped snarling.
Elric turned his head sharply. "What the hell is that?"
Elias stood, wide-eyed. "That's not magic. That's a calling."
The runes across the battlefield, dormant for centuries, ignited in sequence, forming a massive sigil that encircled the Pactbeast and Jonas. The beast hesitated, as though something deep within its cursed consciousness recognized the voice.
But recognition didn't stop rage.
The beast launched a flurry of bone spikes, one of which struck near Elena, sending her tumbling. Another flew toward Elric—only for Elias to deflect it with a summoned wall of moonlight, his stave blazing with ancestral fury.
Jonas didn't dodge the third.
He caught it.
The spike melted in his grip, the heat of his Hollowbrand disintegrating it mid-air. He stepped forward, each footfall triggering another rune beneath the stone.
And then—his surroundings shifted.
He stood in the ruins of an ancient throne room, long since decayed. At the center sat a wolf-king, draped in bone mail, hands shaking as he clutched a book of names. It was not a dream.
It was a vision forced upon him by the Pactbeast.
"I made the Pact," the king whispered, without raising his head. "To protect our kind. But it was a lie. We sealed the truth because it terrified us."
Jonas looked around. The bones littering the chamber had names. He could read them. They weren't the enemy. They were the silenced. Wolves who remembered what others chose to forget.
"I know who you are," Jonas said.
"No, boy. You don't," the king replied. "But soon, you will."
The vision ended with a scream—not Jonas's, but the beast's.
He returned to the battlefield just as the moons began to move—slowly, then faster—aligning above him. Elena scrambled to her feet. Elric stood over Elias, shielding him from falling debris. And from the northern hills, another sound broke the chaos:
The rhythmic thunder of hooves.
An army emerged—armor black and gold, banners fluttering with sigils unknown to Oshael. At their front rode a figure on a massive white direwolf, cloak flowing, weapon raised.
Jonas's breath hitched.
"Auron," Elena whispered. Her voice cracked.
Elric turned. "Who?"
"My brother," she said, staring at the rider. "He died years ago. Burned with the rebels of the North."
Jonas narrowed his eyes. "Apparently not."
The rider pulled down his hood.
Auron's face hadn't aged. He was just as Elena remembered, but colder. Emptier. As if whatever humanity had lived in him had been drained and replaced with command.
He raised his hand.
And his soldiers drew their arrows.
Elias rose, face pale. "Jonas—he's aligned with the Dominion."
"The Crestborn?" Elric asked. "That cursed dynasty died centuries ago."
"No," Jonas said, stepping forward. "They hid. Waiting for the day the Gatekeeper would rise… so they could take him."
Auron's voice cut through the storm. "Surrender, Jonas. Let us carry the burden your blood was not meant to bear."
Jonas replied with fire.
Moonlight exploded from his body as he leapt into the sky, Hollowbrand burning across his chest. The Pactbeast roared and lunged again—but this time, Jonas didn't run.
He ran into it.
Straight into its chest.
The battlefield screamed.
And then, silence.
Inside the Pactbeast was not flesh and bone. It was a temple—ancient, hollow, and alive with the songs of the dead. In its heart hovered a single object: a glowing stone, pulsing with memories Jonas had yet to touch.
He reached for it.
And everything changed.
The moons aligned.
The Ancestral Eclipse began.
And across every forgotten kingdom, wolves howled—not in pain, but in awakening.
Jonas exploded out from the beast's chest in a column of silver flame, fire curling around him like a crown. He didn't fall. He descended, gently, as the Pactbeast crumbled behind him into ash and silence.
Elena stared at him like she didn't know him.
Elric dropped his swords.
Elias fell to his knees.
But Jonas didn't speak.
He turned toward Auron, ready for another fight.
And then the earth opened again.
Behind Auron's army, a black gate erupted from the soil, bleeding shadows.
And from it came figures not seen since the Dawn Wars—werewolves stripped of moonlight, twisted by exile and silence.
They had no names.
No brands.
Only fury.
The Moonless had returned.
And with them came the second war.