The night draped its velvet cloak over Valora, hiding the jagged scars of a city still recovering from decades of betrayal. Faint embers of dying torches lined the great avenues where once-gleaming statues had been toppled, their stone faces shattered by revolution and rot. The palace at the city's heart stood like a battered giant, wrapped in scaffolding and guarded by grim-eyed soldiers who had sworn themselves to a new king.
In the grand audience hall, banners of House Aldric-Moonbane—an entwined silver wolf on a crescent field—were being raised for the first time in nearly two decades. They fluttered, fresh and bold, above nobles who had once conspired to destroy them. Now those same nobles gathered in tight knots, their faces a dance of resentment and fear, knowing their days of hidden power had come to an end.
Luceris, the white wolf reborn, stood at the top of the marble dais that had seen the coronations of a hundred kings. In that moment, he did not wear a crown, but he was more regal than any king who had come before him. His white hair, kissed with faint ripples of silver, framed a face marked by faint but honorable scars that told of a warrior's burden rather than vanity. His eyes were a glacial blue, the eyes of a creature who had seen death and refused to kneel before it.
He did not look at the nobles as a supplicant. He looked at them as their rightful ruler — and the air shifted around him with the raw force of that truth.
Rowena stood at his side, her gown the color of deep ocean at night, trimmed with threads of pale silver. Her presence was gentle yet implacable, her amber eyes as sharp as the blade at her waist. Around her wrists, subtle marks glimmered where the Moon Goddess had sealed her bond with Luceris, a testament to a love blessed by divine powers.
Gavran, loyal as the old stone walls themselves, watched with the predator's stillness of a seasoned general. His left hand rested on the pommel of a sword engraved with the runes of Valora's first kings — a symbol of loyalty recovered from the ashes.
"My lords," Luceris began, his voice resonant, every syllable honed like a spear, "Valora has stood on the edge of ruin for too long. No more. The line of Aldric-Moonbane has returned, and with it, the promise of a kingdom that will never kneel to betrayal again."
The ripple through the court was palpable. Some shifted, uneasy. Others looked away.
An older lord, proud and silver-bearded, took one cautious step forward. "Alpha… if I may," he began, his voice trying for calm, "it was your parents who—"
Luceris's gaze pinned him in place. "My parents were murdered by cowards. Do not stain their memory by twisting their legacy."
The noble's throat bobbed, his courage failing him. Luceris continued.
"I will not allow the corruption that slaughtered my family to fester in these walls. If you stand with me, then you stand for Valora reborn. If you stand against me…" He let the words hang like a blade suspended over their necks.
Rowena's voice, softer but no less potent, followed: "The goddess herself has blessed this bond. If you will not believe a king, then believe the Moon."
Their joined presence burned like twin torches against the dark heart of the hall.
From behind the columns, two guards emerged dragging a prisoner between them — a young wolf, bloodied and shaking, his wrists bound in iron shackles. His tunic bore the crest of House Bryndale, one of the lesser noble houses suspected of treachery since Luceris's return.
The guards shoved him forward, forcing him to his knees.
"Who is this?" Luceris demanded.
Gavran stepped forward. "He was captured while climbing the eastern ramparts with poison on his blades. An assassin."
Murmurs erupted among the nobles. The old conspiracies still breathed, then. Luceris moved with the speed of a striking serpent, coming to stand inches from the trembling prisoner. His white hair brushed the boy's forehead as he lowered himself to eye level, a terrifying calmness in his expression.
"Who sent you?"
The prisoner swallowed, refusing to speak. His heartbeat drummed in the stale silence of the hall.
Luceris raised one pale hand, letting moonlight catch on the scars that mapped his knuckles. "Speak. Or I will see your memories myself."
The boy's eyes widened. Every wolf knew what a Lycan could do, digging into a mind like claws into soft earth.
"Please," the prisoner gasped, voice cracking. "I… I was paid… told to kill you before you could ascend… by the Blooded Ones."
Gasps rose from the hall like startled birds.
Luceris stood, his cloak swirling like storm clouds. "The Blooded Ones again. Those cowards think they can poison what is already purified by flame."
He turned on the gathered council, every ounce of regal fury in his bearing. "Hear me. There will be no shadow court in Valora. No knives in the dark. No more murder of the innocent. Your loyalty is to this kingdom, or your loyalty is to the grave."
No one dared challenge him.
He ordered the prisoner to be taken below to the dungeons, where no torchlight ever reached. Gavran saluted with a glint of savage pride before carrying out the command.
When the hall had emptied, Luceris remained by the great hearth, its flames reflected in his unreadable eyes. He was alone with Rowena at last.
She approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. "They fear you," she murmured, soft as falling snow.
He closed his eyes, letting that truth settle in his bones. "They should."
"But they will also love you," she said, voice edged with faith. "You will give them a kingdom worth loving again."
Luceris took her hand in his, tracing the marks left by the Moon Goddess's blessing. "They would destroy you to break me," he confessed, quiet and raw. "They will try."
Her smile was like sunrise breaking over a war-torn field. "Let them try."
Above them, the high stained glass caught a pale shaft of moonlight, setting it aglow as though the goddess herself watched. Somewhere beyond the palace walls, a wolf howled — not in mourning, but in promise.
---
In the days that followed, Luceris made his presence known through Valora's winding streets. He walked among the merchants whose coin had been stolen by corrupt lords, among the children who had learned to beg rather than dream. His power, though undeniable, did not live only in his fists or his fangs. It lived in the way he spoke to a boy with torn boots and told him he had a future; in the way he promised a widow that no one would steal her bread again.
Rumors spread like wildfire. The Lone Lycan King, they whispered, had returned to break chains and heal wounds. Some feared him, calling him a wolf risen from legend to exact vengeance. Others knelt in secret prayers, grateful for deliverance from a nightmare that had seemed endless.
But not all were content to surrender.
In shadowy halls beyond the city, in castles where treachery still burned hot, the old conspirators gathered. Among them was Raegar's father, Marcan, a lord with murder in his heart and poison on his tongue. He raged against Luceris's return, gathering allies who had once plotted with him against House Aldric-Moonbane.
"He is a usurper," Marcan snarled, voice curdled with hate. "He will erase us all if we do not crush him now."
Others, cowards dressed in velvets and jewels, nodded agreement. The old poison still pulsed in their veins.
But they had not reckoned with prophecy — the one that told of a Lycan king who could not be slain, whose line would rise to unite all packs beneath the Moon.
Marcan's eyes glittered with malice. "Prophecies can be broken," he spat. "If we break his heart, we break the king."
He turned to the others, a cruel smile stretching across his face. "Find the girl," he ordered. "Find Rowena, and end her. That is how we end him."
Far from their plotting, Luceris stood at the highest tower of the palace, the night wind tangling through his white hair. Rowena joined him there, her cloak snapping against the stones, and laid her hand upon his arm.
"Something is coming," she whispered, her gift of moon-sight warning her.
His jaw tightened, wolf-born instincts sharpening. "Then let it come," he answered. "They will learn, Rowena. They will all learn."
Down below, the wolves of Valora howled into the night, answering the call of their king — a sound that rolled over stone and forest, unbroken, unconquerable.
Luceris watched the stars and felt his heart steady, for no matter how many shadows gathered, they could not eclipse the light of the Moon. And as long as he drew breath, no force on this earth would steal his destiny again.