"War does not begin with the first kill.
It begins with the first moment both sides believe they can win."
— Commander Halem, First Captain of the Silver Order
The forest was no longer a place of silence.
It screamed.
Torches flared and arrows hissed through the mist. Shadows leapt from the trees—wolves, larger than any natural beast, their eyes burning gold. The Silver Order met them with a flash of silver fire and steel.
The world dissolved into light and blood.
Lin Wuji crouched among the chaos, half-shifted, his claws digging into the soil. The stench of burning fur and silver filled his lungs. Every sound tore through him—the cries of men, the snarls of beasts, the crack of rifles. His mind split between two hungers: to fight beside the pack, and to protect the humans who had once called him one of their own.
The moon hung full and pitiless above them all.
"Formation! Hold the line!" Captain Elira's voice cut through the noise, sharp as drawn steel. Her soldiers obeyed without hesitation, locking shields rimmed with silver, raising their crossbows in precise rhythm.
Bolts rained toward the dark shapes between the trees.
Two wolves fell. A third leapt through the barrage and struck a soldier from behind, jaws closing on armor. The scream that followed was brief.
Elira swung her blade in a bright arc. It met fur and flesh. The beast fell, its golden eyes dimming to pale gray. For a heartbeat, Elira stood over the body, breathing hard. The wolf's face looked wrong—almost human in its dying expression, almost mournful.
Then the next came.
"Reload!" she shouted, parrying another strike. "Keep the fire steady!"
The air shimmered as the alchemists released more silver dust into the wind. The particles glowed like frost in the moonlight, biting into the wolves' hides. Elira's soldiers cheered—too soon.
The cheer died when Fangxin arrived.
He came like a storm given shape—black fur streaked with ash, scars shining faintly as though burned from within. When Fangxin howled, the earth itself seemed to tremble. His pack surged with renewed fury, a living tide of claws and fangs.
Wuji saw him descend the ridge in a single bound, scattering men like leaves. A spear of silver fire struck Fangxin's shoulder. He barely flinched. His jaws closed around the weapon and snapped it in two.
Elira saw him too. For a heartbeat, she forgot to breathe.
"That's no ordinary beast," Garran shouted, eyes wide. "Captain, what in the Saints' name—"
"Focus fire!" she barked. "Bring him down!"
Silver bolts streaked through the air, but Fangxin moved with impossible grace—each arrow slicing only mist and fur. He landed among them, claws raking metal, crushing a shield like paper.
A soldier screamed as the Alpha's roar sent him sprawling. Another fell to his knees, clutching at his chest as the sheer pressure of Fangxin's presence forced the air from his lungs.
Elira charged.
Her sword met his claws. Sparks erupted between them. The impact drove her back several paces, boots carving trenches in the earth. Fangxin advanced, eyes glowing brighter than the moon itself.
"You hunt shadows, woman," his voice rumbled—not aloud, but inside her skull, a vibration that made her teeth ache. "And now the shadow hunts you."
Elira steadied herself, blade trembling in her grip. "If you can speak," she said through clenched teeth, "then you can die."
Wuji couldn't move.
The battlefield around him was a blur of motion—wolves lunging, humans shouting, silver dust swirling like smoke. He saw both sides bleeding, both sides screaming, both sides believing they were right.
Then he saw a young soldier fall—no older than he'd been when this all began. The boy's face was pale with terror. A wolf lunged for him.
Wuji didn't think. He moved.
He intercepted the strike midair, slamming the wolf aside. The soldier scrambled away, unaware of who had saved him. Wuji turned, chest heaving, eyes wild. The wolf he'd struck rose again—it was Scar-Left.
The older beast snarled. You protect prey?
"They were children once," Wuji growled. "Just like us."
Scar-Left bared his fangs. Then you are no pack of mine.
He lunged. Wuji met him, claws locking in furious struggle. The air burned around them with silver fire. When they broke apart, both were bleeding. Wuji's claws dripped red that wasn't his own.
"Enough!" Fangxin's roar thundered across the field. The sound froze every living thing.
Even Elira halted mid-swing, chest heaving, sword poised.
The Alpha stood at the center of the chaos, his fur matted with blood, eyes molten gold. The Silver Order raised their weapons—but something in his presence rooted them to the ground.
"Leave this forest," Fangxin said, voice layered with something more than sound. "This is not your hunt."
Elira's reply came like steel striking stone. "Everything cursed is ours to end."
Their gazes locked—predator and executioner, mirror reflections of belief.
Then the ground shook.
The Moon's Fury
The silver dust hanging in the air suddenly ignited. A wave of light burst across the clearing, throwing men and wolves alike to the ground.
The shrine's ancient runes—buried deep beneath the soil—had awakened.
Wuji felt it before he saw it: a pulse of cold fire that lanced through his spine. The moon above flared white, swallowing the stars. Shadows twisted, forming shapes—wolves without flesh, ghosts of the first curse. They moved between both armies, neither friend nor foe.
Elira staggered, shielding her eyes. "What—what is this?"
Fangxin looked skyward, his expression unreadable. "The forest remembers."
The ghost-wolves howled, their voices carrying grief instead of rage. The sound tore through every living heart—wolf and human alike. Soldiers dropped their weapons. Wolves crouched low, whimpering.
Wuji pressed his palms to his ears, but the sound was inside him now.
He could feel their memories—the blood, the binding, the betrayal that had birthed this endless war.
When the light faded, the battlefield lay in ruin. Smoke and frost clung to every branch. The dead were few, but the fear was absolute.
Neither side moved for a long while.
Then Elira raised her hand. "Fall back," she ordered quietly.
"Captain?" Garran protested. "We had them—"
"Fall back," she repeated, voice harder. "Before the forest decides otherwise."
The soldiers obeyed. The Order retreated into the fog, their torches dimming one by one.
Fangxin watched them go, chest rising and falling. His eyes shifted toward Wuji, who stood shaking, his half-shifted form wreathed in pale light.
"You see now," Fangxin murmured, almost gently. "There is no mercy left between our worlds."
Wuji met his gaze. "You still think this war can be won?"
Fangxin turned away. "No. But it can be remembered."
By dawn, the field lay silent again. The river ran red only where the moonlight touched it.
Wuji sat beneath a fallen tree, his body trembling from exhaustion. The pack tended to their wounded in silence. No one spoke of victory.
Scar-Left limped past him without a word.
Above, Fangxin stood on a ridge, staring toward the human camp's smoke on the horizon. He looked tired—not in body, but in soul.
Wuji rose and approached. "You could have killed them."
"I could have," Fangxin said.
"Then why didn't you?"
The Alpha's answer came slow, deliberate. "Because even the moon hesitated once, before it cursed us."
Wuji frowned. "You sound almost human."
Fangxin's lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. "Perhaps that's the worst curse of all."
He turned to leave, his shadow merging with the mist. The sun began to rise—a thin, blood-red line cutting through the fog.
Wuji looked toward it and whispered, "The next dawn won't wait long."
Far behind him, Elira stood at the edge of the forest, her armor scorched, her sword uncleaned.
Mairen approached quietly. "We live to fight again, Captain."
She didn't answer at first. Her eyes lingered on the smoke curling from the trees.
"Yes," she said at last. "And next time, we don't retreat."