The air was thick with ash, the blood-red moon a fading wound in Eryndor's sky as dawn clawed its way through the haze. Magnus Varik stood in the shattered courtyard of his burning estate, his massive werewolf form heaving, claws dripping black ichor. The beast's golden eyes locked on Isabella, the silver-eyed queen, her cloaked figure framed by the smoldering ruins. Her vampires—pale, red-eyed horrors—flanked her, their psychic hisses a dull blade in his mind. The ground still trembled faintly from her pulse of power, a whisper of the Key of Destruction's ruinous might. His rage burned, a furnace fed by the corpses littering the stones—Toren, the guards, the servants—yet a shred of his humanity chained the beast, holding back the werewolf pack pulsing in his blood.
Isabella's eyes flickered—human, warm, almost sorrowful, then silver, sharp as a blade. Her smile was a riddle, both lure and threat, her scent of death and roses coiling like poison.
"Magnus Varik," she purred, her voice a velvet blade, "you fight like a god, yet bleed like a man. This is but the first hunt."
She raised a hand, and the vampires stilled, their red eyes dimming as if bound to her will.
"The Key awaits us both—in the Citadel's heart. Find it, or it finds you."
Magnus's snarl shook the air, his claws flexing, the beast howling for her throat. The pack's distant chorus thrummed in his mind, urging him to summon them, to drown her in fur and fang. But Elyon's warning—the rogue sorcerer's cryptic words about the Key and the Forbidden Citadel—held him back. Isabella knew more than she revealed, and tearing her apart wouldn't unmake the curse or save his empire.
"Speak plain," he growled, his voice a guttural storm, "or I end you here."
Her laugh was a shard of ice, piercing his skull.
"End me, and the Key's shadow consumes you. The Old War's sins are not so easily buried."
She stepped back, her form shimmering—human, then vampire, then something else, a flicker of shadow that stung his eyes. The vampires melted into the burning forest, their hisses fading, and Isabella vanished with them, her scent lingering like a curse.
Magnus roared, his claws raking the stone, splitting it like flesh. The beast surged, bones grinding, begging to chase, to kill, but he forced it down, his frame shrinking, fur receding. Pain lanced through him, his human form trembling, sweat mixing with blood. He staggered, one hand clutching the scar on his chest, where the curse's mark pulsed like a second heartbeat. The estate's towers crumbled, flames licking the sky, and the screams of his people were now silent, replaced by the crackle of fire and the stench of death.
Jakob stumbled from the ruins, his face gray, blood caking his arm.
"Magnus," he rasped, eyes wide with fear and grief, "she's gone, but the fires spread. The forest, the villages—they're ash. We've lost too many."
His gaze darted to the sky, where a single raven circled, its black wings slicing the dawn, its caw sharp and mournful.
"That bird… it's been there since the attack. No carrion, yet it stays."
Magnus's eyes narrowed, the raven's presence prickling his instincts. His father's journal had mentioned omens—ravens tied to the Old War, harbingers of the curse that birthed the Key of Destruction. The bird's eyes glinted, unnatural, as if it saw through him. Another caw, joined by a second raven, then a third, their wings a dark chorus above the wreckage. The curse stirred, a molten tide in his veins, and he felt the pack's distant howls, their power a heartbeat away. He crushed the urge to call them, his rage now a cold, sharp blade.
"Lock the gates," Magnus ordered, his voice rough, human but edged with the beast. "Bury the dead. We rebuild what we can."
He turned to Jakob, amber eyes burning.
"And find Elyon. That sorcerer knows more than he's said—about Isabella, the Key, the Citadel."
Jakob hesitated, his gaze flickering to the ravens.
"Magnus… you transformed. I saw it. The beast—it's stronger now. Can you control it?"
The question was a knife, cutting deeper than Magnus would admit. He remembered the battle, the intoxicating rush of claws and fangs, the ease of slaughter. Each transformation eroded the man he'd been, leaving only the alpha, the monster. His father's voice echoed: Power is survival. But Jakob's fear, his loyalty, was an anchor.
"I have to," Magnus said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the empire. For you."
Jakob nodded, but his eyes held doubt. He limped toward the estate, shouting orders to the surviving guards. Magnus lingered, his gaze on the ravens, now a dozen, circling tighter, their caws a discordant hymn. The air grew colder, the curse's hunger clawing at his bones.
He prowled to the estate's heart, where the study's ruins lay, half-collapsed under fallen beams. The journal still rested on the shattered desk, its pages singed but intact. He seized it, his father's words a wound reopened:
The Key of Destruction is no mere relic—it is a pact, forged in the Citadel's blood, binding the First Howl to the pale drinkers' queen. The Suldari, our ancient kin, fell to its power, their wolves twisted into horrors. Ravens mark its stirring. Magnus, your blood is the key's echo. Guard the pack, or all is lost.
Magnus's breath caught, the ravens' caws louder now, as if summoned by the words. The Suldari—werewolf kin, not vampires, yet tied to Isabella's quest. His rage flared, mingled with dread. Was his curse the Key's echo, a weapon she sought? The Citadel loomed in his mind, a fortress of black stone from Elyon's warning, its secrets a blade poised over Eryndor.
A shadow moved at the study's edge, too graceful for a guard. Elyon stepped into the flickering torchlight, his pale skin glowing, eyes glinting like a wolf's.
"You read the truth, yet see only shadows," he purred, his voice a cold hum. "Isabella hunts the Key, but she is not its master. The Citadel hungers, Magnus, and your blood—your curse—calls to it."
Magnus's claws lengthened, his rage a living thing.
"Speak plain, sorcerer, or I tear your secrets from your throat."
Elyon's smile was all teeth.
"The Key is a fragment of the First Howl, bound to the Citadel's heart. Isabella's vampires are but pawns—her true power lies in her duality, a bridge between human and horror. You, too, are a bridge—man and beast. The ravens see it."
He gestured to the sky, where the birds swirled, their eyes unnatural, red as blood.
"They are the Old War's eyes, watching the curse's heirs. Find the Citadel, or it finds you."
Before Magnus could lunge, Elyon melted into the shadows, his laughter a fading echo. The ravens' caws grew shrill, their wings a storm above the estate. Magnus's vision sharpened, the curse searing his blood, the pack's howls louder in his mind. He crushed the journal in his grip, his rage a furnace, but deeper, a flicker of doubt lingered.
Isabella's words—This is but the first hunt—twisted in his gut. The empire was his cage, the curse his chain, and now, the ravens marked him as prey.
Jakob's shout broke the haze.
"Magnus! The western gate—something's moving in the ash!"
A chilling hiss followed, not vampire, but older, hungrier.
The ravens screamed, diving toward the forest, and Magnus's scar pulsed, the beast stirring. Whatever Isabella had unleashed, it wasn't finished. The Citadel's shadow loomed, and the Key's hunger was only beginning.