The forest woke to cries of despair — sharp, human, fleeting — before fading into a chorus of howls that tore through the dawn.
Dhruv froze mid-stride, the cold river water dripping off his hands. Myra, Rishi, and Sonu stood a few paces away, their easy chatter dying as the forest fell unnaturally still. No rustle of birds. No buzz of insects. Only the heavy, pulsing quiet of fear.
Something was wrong.
Dhruv's amber eyes flicked toward the thicket ahead — the bushes shifting, but not with wind. The scent in the air changed — metallic, raw, wrong.
"Stay alert," he murmured. His voice, low and steady, carried command born of instinct.
They moved as one — silent shadows slipping through mist and half-light. It took them five minutes to reach the source. Five long, tense minutes that felt like wading through dread.
And then they saw them.
Two bodies lay sprawled near the roots of an old banyan, their limbs twisted at odd angles. Pale — too pale. As if all warmth had been drained from them. The faint breeze stirred their hair, but the forest held its breath.
Myra gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. Rishi crouched beside one of the corpses, inspecting with trembling fingers.
"No wounds," he whispered. "No claw marks. Nothing…"
Dhruv knelt down, his expression carved from stone. His gaze found the faint twin punctures along the neck — almost delicate, like a lover's mark. But the eyes staring back at the sky were glassy, frozen in terror.
He drew in a sharp breath.
Not possible. Not again.
Sonu's voice shook. "They didn't bleed out from a wound. They were drained."
Dhruv rose slowly, his pulse pounding in his ears. "A simple bite doesn't kill one of us. Our blood heals faster than it spills. This—" he looked around, scanning the shadows "—this wasn't done by wolves."
Myra's voice was barely a whisper. "Then who?"
"The cursed ones are back."
The forest held its breath.
When Dhruv, Myra, Rishi, and Sonu found no further trace of their enemy, they returned to the clearing where the bodies lay — pale, drained, and still.
The four knelt, forming a circle around their fallen kin. They pressed their palms to the earth, bowed their heads, and murmured the ancient prayer — the one that sent the souls of wolves safely into the Moon's embrace.
Their final note broke into a chorus of grief and fury, their howls carrying far into the mountains.
Within minutes, the rest of the pack began to arrive — drawn by the sound, by instinct, by sorrow. Soon the foothills echoed with sobs and growls alike. Family members clung to one another beside the riverbank, their wails slicing through the misty dawn.
Dhruv stood nearby, chest bare and heaving, droplets of river water still sliding down his skin. In his human form, he looked both raw and unyielding — broad shoulders flexed beneath tensed muscles, veins standing sharp along his forearms. His expression was a storm barely contained.
A middle-aged woman broke from the crowd, eyes red and furious. "Until when will this continue?" she cried, glaring at him as though her grief needed a target.
Dhruv's head bowed under the weight of helplessness, but rage flickered beneath the surface, tightening his jaw and his fists. When he finally looked up, his voice was low, hoarse, and steady.
"We haven't found the murderer. But the intentions…" His amber gaze swept over the crowd. "…are known to us all. We're trying to uncover the truth. Until then, stay alert. Report anything strange to me or my team. No one walks alone after dusk."
A derisive snarl cut through the murmurs.
Bhairav stepped forward — a massive man, scar slicing across his face like lightning through storm clouds. His broad chest and bulging eyes lent him a menace that had long kept others silent.
"What do you mean by that?" he growled, closing the distance until his breath hit Dhruv's face. "Whose intentions are clear? And to whom? Speak straight, boy, instead of circling words like a frightened pup!"
Dhruv's jaw flexed, but before he could speak, Rishi shoved Bhairav back.
"Who are you to question him?" he snapped, eyes blazing. "He's doing what the Alpha should have done months ago! Or have you forgotten your own duties as Beta?"
The air vibrated with hostility. Myra stepped up beside her brother, her tone sharp as steel. "Yes, Bhairav. Maybe ask your Alpha where he's been hiding while the rest of us bleed. Or are you too busy stumbling behind him, drunk and useless, to notice your pack falling apart?"
A ripple of murmurs ran through the gathered wolves. The crowd that moments ago scowled at Dhruv now turned their suspicion toward Bhairav.
Dhruv lifted his chin, his voice cutting through the noise — calm but commanding.
"As you know, we've lost pack members on every new moon. These killings aren't random. My friends and I are doing what we can, but four wolves alone can't stand against an unseen enemy."
He turned deliberately toward Bhairav. "We don't know who they are or how many. Their scent fades before we reach the ground. They leave no trail. No trace. That's not natural — it's deliberate. I request the Alpha to reinstate the fighter force immediately and recruit new trainees. We need more eyes, more claws, more discipline. And until then — no panic. No rumours."
His gaze hardened. "And since you're the Beta, Bhairav, I expect you to increase sentinel patrols at every border."
The title hit Bhairav like a slap. His nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Around him, wolves exchanged disdainful glances — the kind that stripped away dominance faster than blood ever could.
One by one, the pack began to disperse, leaving Bhairav standing in the trampled grass, fury simmering under his skin.
Dhruv watched them go, chest tight, the weight of responsibility pressing heavy on his shoulders.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint metallic tang of blood and something older — darker.
He clenched his fists. The cursed ones were close.
And this time, they wouldn't stop at blood.
After the crowd had dispersed and when just the four of them remained, they sighed and jumped into the stream. They swam until they felt relaxed and returned to their playful selves. "I think its time you take up your title as Alpha like the Grand Seer said." Sonu patted Dhruv's back. While walking back home, Dhruv cussed, "That God damn Grand Seer. His predictions have only brought me trouble. I bet he cant quite see whats coming into his life. Because next thing I am going to do is kick his b***."
"Save me, Goddess Moon," came a whimper. Dhruv froze, blinking down at the old man he'd just sent sprawling.
The figure straightened with a groan, brushing moss from his dark robes. Silver strands of hair clung wetly to his temples, and a faint shimmer of moonlight traced his outline — too steady, too real to be a trick of reflection. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. His eyes — cloudy with age, yet gleaming with something ancient — met Dhruv's.
"By the stars," Sonu whispered. "It's the Grand Seer."
Dhruv's jaw went slack. "You've got to be kidding me."
The Seer lifted a brow. "Careful, young Alpha. The Moon has long ears, and she tends to favor irony." His tone was mild, but his voice carried like distant thunder rolling over water.
Dhruv stammered, "I— uh— was just—"
"Yes," the Seer said dryly, rubbing his hip. "You were just threatening to kick my butt. Consider it done." He straightened to his full height, and for an instant the air pulsed with power. The water rippled outward, forming delicate circles that glowed faintly blue before fading.
The others stepped back instinctively.
Then the Seer's expression softened — like a candle guttering in a breeze. "You have your mother's defiance," he murmured. "And your father's temper. Fitting traits… though dangerous for one destined to wear the Alpha mark."
Dhruv stiffened. "You talk like you already know my story."
"I do," the Seer said simply. "I knew it before you were born." He tilted his head toward the sky, where the moon hung pale and broken among the clouds. "But tonight, perhaps, the Moon wishes to change its script."
A faint wind stirred. The forest around them seemed to lean closer, the cicadas stilling mid-song.
"What do you mean?" Sonu asked, uneasy.
The Grand Seer didn't answer at once. He turned his eyes toward the horizon, where silver mist gathered between the trees. "It begins again," he whispered. "You have met your mate." He whispered, his eyes sparkling and expectant. "Blood, moonlight, and the curse of the Alpha King. The wheel turns — and the Goddess stirs."
He faced Dhruv once more. "Come. The prophecy waits, and your time is shorter than you think."
Dhruv's throat went dry. The water lapped gently at his ankles, now cold as fear.
He had wanted to kick the old man's butt.
Instead, he had just kicked fate into motion.