Blood on the Wind
North of the Moonborn Border – Village of Vire Hollow
The village of Vire Hollow had always been quiet—tucked into the hills with its cobbled lanes and flower-laced windows. Farmers, tanners, a blacksmith. Simple people. Most didn't know much of wolves beyond the old tales—howling songs sung by firelight.
But on that night, the stories came alive.
The attack began without warning.
The sky tore open with howls—piercing, guttural, unnatural. Ironfang warriors surged from the trees like shadows ripped from nightmares, eyes glowing gold and red with twisted hunger.
Homes burned. Thatched roofs fell inward as fire turned peaceful dwellings into charred pyres. Screams rose, but they were choked by the sounds of tearing flesh and splintered bone. Mothers clutched children, but the beasts gave no mercy. A young boy—no older than ten—ran to the village bell tower to ring the warning.
He never made it halfway up the ladder.
One of the beasts—a massive female with runes carved into her fangs—caught him mid-leap and crushed his spine with a single bite.
She smiled as she dropped his body at the door of the chapel.
It was not war. It was spectacle. Designed to terrify.
And it worked.
By dawn, only ashes and silence remained.
A child's doll, soaked in blood, sat alone at the village gates.
---
Moonborn Camp – Same Morning
Kael arrived breathless, the ribbon and claw in hand.
Alaric read the unspoken message instantly. His face remained still, but fire flared behind his eyes.
"What happened?" he asked, voice low.
Kael swallowed. "Vire Hollow. Gone. Civilians. No survivors. Burned to the ground."
The tent fell silent.
Then Mira, cold and furious, said, "They want to draw you out. They want the monster."
"They're framing us," Lira added. "The humans will hear of this and assume it was Moonborn retaliation."
Alaric's knuckles cracked.
"They want fear? Then let them learn what fear truly is."
He turned, cloak swirling like a storm, and called out:
"Gather the warband. I ride for Vire Hollow."
---
Later – The Ashes of Vire Hollow
The air stank of soot and blood.
Alaric dismounted slowly, walking through the ruins like a phantom, each step heavier than the last. The wind caught fragments of burnt paper and blackened prayer flags.
When he found the bell tower—and the child's broken body—he fell to one knee.
Mira stood beside him, eyes wet but hard.
"They left this for you," she whispered.
Alaric touched the claw, rage shaking his frame.
"I should've moved sooner," he muttered. "I tried diplomacy while they plotted massacre."
Seris approached. "We need vengeance, Alaric. Tonight."
"No," he said, rising slowly. "We need justice. Not just fire. Not just fury. We strike—but not blindly. We crush them where it matters. We dismantle them from within."
He looked back at the remains of the boy.
"I swear it," he growled. "This ends with Warrick's head on a spike—and Ironfang erased."
Then he turned to Kael.
"Send your fastest runners. I want Thorne—if he's still within Ironfang—activated. Now. Tell him it's time."
Kael nodded and vanished into the trees.
---
That Night – Ironfang Camp
Thorne stood in the dark, staring at the blood on his hands. The horror of Vire Hollow echoed in his bones.
And then, a whisper on the wind.
A runner had come.
The Moonborn were ready to burn the lie away.
And he would help them from inside the den of monsters.