The night the moon shattered, the world forgot how to howl.
It began as a whisper — a low, quivering tremor across the forests of Lycaria. Trees bent their heads, rivers slowed their rush, and even the wind held its breath as though waiting for the world to break. Wolves across the kingdoms raised their muzzles toward the bleeding sky, their eyes reflecting a light that wasn't there.
And far from the cities, beyond the reach of any pack or god, a lone boy stood beneath the dying moon.
Kael Draven had never feared the dark. It had raised him. It had hidden him from his father's wrath and the cruel laughter of the pack. It had swallowed his tears when his mother died — burned alive for birthing a son with no wolf.
But tonight, even the darkness trembled.
He stared at the moon, wide and broken as if a giant hand had crushed it. Splinters of white flame fell like rain, hissing as they touched the ground. The forest glowed in ghostly firelight, and for a heartbeat, Kael thought he saw something in the sky — a shape vast and living, wings made of silver flame, circling above the world.
Then came the sound.
A scream, old as the first dawn — something between pain and birth. The earth split beneath him, light gushing from the cracks like molten veins. Kael stumbled, clutching a tree as the world convulsed. The river nearby turned black, trees withered, and from deep within the soil came a pulse — a heartbeat that wasn't the earth's.
The voice followed.
"The seal has broken."
It wasn't human. It wasn't sound at all, but a thought that clawed its way into his mind.
Kael dropped to his knees, pressing his hands to his ears though it did nothing. Visions burned across his eyes — wolves of fire and bone tearing at the sky, a goddess in chains, and seven gates burning across endless worlds.
"Who are you?" Kael gasped.
"The one your blood remembers," the voice answered. "The wolf that should have been yours."
His chest seared with pain. A mark he had carried since birth — a faint, pale scar across his heart — began to glow. His breath came in ragged gasps as light poured from his skin, threads of black and silver dancing around him like storm winds.
Then the light coalesced into a shape.
A wolf — vast, shadow-born, eyes like dying stars — stood before him. Its presence made the forest bow, its fur rippling like smoke.
"You were not meant to awaken yet," it said, voice rumbling through the ground. "But the Moon has fallen, and the Realms bleed."
Kael could only stare. "You're my wolf?"
The creature tilted its head. "I am your curse."
The air shuddered. The forest behind them screamed as shapes burst through the mist — wolves with glowing eyes, fur crawling with crimson veins. They moved unnaturally, as if their bones belonged to something else. Kael recognized them — members of his former pack, the same ones who had cast him out.
But their scents were wrong. Dead.
"The Corrupted," the shadow wolf growled. "The first of many."
The nearest one lunged. Kael's instincts screamed, but his body froze. The corrupted wolf was mid-air when the shadow lunged past him — a blur of darkness — and the creature exploded into ash.
Kael stumbled backward, the world spinning. "What's happening?"
"The Realms are awakening," the wolf said, lowering its head. "And you are the breach through which they bleed."
The ground split open again. Light — not gold, not silver, but something older — poured from the fissure, revealing a vast pattern of sigils beneath the soil. Kael's vision blurred as symbols glowed along his arms, spiraling across his skin like living tattoos.
"Stop—! What are you doing to me?"
"Binding you."
The shadow wolf's voice deepened, becoming many voices. Kael screamed as the sigils burned into his flesh. Images flashed through him — endless worlds, gates made of moonlight, a crown of bone and flame, and a name whispered by a thousand souls:
"Alpha of the Forgotten Realms."
The words seared into his soul like a brand.
The light died as suddenly as it had come. The corrupted wolves lay in ashes, and the forest fell silent except for the soft dripping of molten moonlight from the sky. Kael fell to his knees, chest heaving, his body trembling with something between agony and rebirth.
When he looked up again, the shadow wolf was gone. Only a single black feather remained — if it could be called that. It shimmered with the same strange glow as the sigils on his arms.
Kael picked it up. It was cold. Too cold.
And somewhere in the distance, beneath the ruins of a dying moon, a woman screamed.
The sound pierced him — human, desperate, terrified.
He turned. Through the burning trees he saw light — a silver radiance, pure and fragile, trapped in the midst of fire. Without thinking, Kael ran. His body moved faster than it ever had, muscles surging with a power that wasn't his own. The ground blurred beneath his feet as if the world itself wanted him to reach her.
He broke through the treeline and froze.
A figure knelt among the flames — a girl, no older than him, hair white as frost, eyes glowing with the same shattered light that fell from the sky. Chains of light wrapped around her wrists, dragging her down toward a fissure pulsing with black energy.
She looked up. Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, Kael forgot to breathe.
It wasn't beauty that held him — it was recognition. As if he had seen her before, in dreams, in echoes, in some life long buried.
"Help me," she whispered. Her voice was soft, trembling — but beneath it lay a power that made the air hum.
Kael didn't think. He leapt forward, grabbing the chains. The moment he touched them, pain flared through his arms — the same sigils on his skin blazing to life. The chains hissed, then shattered into dust.
The girl fell against him, weak, trembling. Her skin was cold as moonlight.
"You shouldn't have done that," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because now you're bound to me."
A pulse of light erupted between them — blinding, consuming everything. Kael felt himself falling, not through space, but through something deeper. Memories, voices, forgotten worlds rushed past him. He saw a silver throne cracked in two. He saw wolves kneeling before a woman with Lyria's face.
And then — nothing.
The world went dark.
When Kael opened his eyes again, dawn had come. The moon was gone — only shards of light floated in the morning sky like broken glass. The girl lay beside him, unconscious, her hair tangled with dew and ash. Around them, the forest was silent — too silent.
Kael touched her hand. "Who are you?"
She stirred, whispering a single word that made his blood run cold:
"Lyria."
The name echoed inside him like a forgotten song.
Then the ground trembled again. Far in the east, beyond the river and the cliffs, a great howl rose — deep, endless, filled with rage. It wasn't the call of any living wolf. It was older. A call from something that had slept for millennia, now awakened.
Kael stood, lifting his gaze to the ruined sky. The last fragment of the moon drifted apart, vanishing into mist.
The world he had known — the packs, the gods, the balance — had ended.
And in its place, the Forgotten Realms had begun to stir.
"To awaken what was lost," the voice returned faintly in his mind, "you must first become what you fear most."
Kael clenched his fists, feeling the shadow burn inside him, alive and waiting.
"Then so be it," he whispered. "If this world wants an Alpha… it will have one."
As dawn broke across the dying forest, the first true howl of the new age rose to meet it — deep, raw, and endless. It echoed across mountains and rivers, through cities and ruins, a sound that made even the gods turn their heads.
And so began the legend of the one who would unite what time forgot —Kael Draven, the Alpha of the Forgotten Realms.