The night was colder than usual, biting deep into the bones of the encampment nestled in the folds of the Ironclaw territory. Flickering fires cast long shadows, and the distant howls of wolves echoed like distant thunder.
Elira sat alone in a tent, her fingers tracing the worn edge of a silver pendant—a crescent moon entwined with a thorned vine. It was a keepsake from a past she seldom dared to remember.
Her dark eyes reflected a storm of regret and ambition.
The tent flap rustled, and a figure stepped inside.
Damien Thorn's silhouette loomed tall, sharp and commanding.
"Elira," he said softly, closing the distance between them. "You're quiet tonight."
She looked up, voice steady yet cold. "Memories. Ghosts I've kept buried."
Damien's gaze softened just a fraction. "We all have ghosts. What haunts you?"
Elira's lips curled into a bitter smile.
"I was once a child of the lost clans," she began. "Born into exile and scorn. My family hunted for practicing the old magic, for refusing to bow to the Council's cruelty."
Her fingers tightened around the pendant.
"My mother was a seer, like Kael's. She foresaw the rise of the Royal Blood—and warned of the Shadow Fang's betrayal. For that, she was branded a traitor and burned alive."
A flash of pain crossed Damien's face.
Elira's voice dropped to a whisper. "I swore vengeance—not just against those who killed my mother, but against the entire system that forsook us."
Damien knelt beside her, voice filled with quiet resolve. "That's why you joined me. Why you'll help me take back the crown."
She nodded slowly.
"But vengeance comes at a price. Sometimes, I wonder if the darkness inside me will consume everything I once fought for."
Damien's hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Darkness can be a weapon," he said. "If wielded with purpose."
Elira's eyes locked onto his.
"And if it consumes you?"
Damien's smile was grim.
"Then I will burn with it."
Outside the tent, the Ironclaw camp was alive with restless energy.
Whispers of the upcoming siege spread like wildfire, stoking both fear and fanaticism.
Elira rose, her mind sharp and calculating.
"The northern border will fall soon," she murmured. "And when it does, the Alpha Queen's unity will shatter."
She turned toward the camp's edge, where shadowy figures gathered—assassins and spies loyal only to Damien's cause.
"I'll make sure Selene knows what true betrayal feels like."
Meanwhile, far from Ironclaw, Selene stood in the council chamber, surrounded by her trusted allies.
The weight of leadership was tangible.
Korren's voice broke the silence. "Elira is dangerous—more than just Damien's pawn. She has her own agenda."
Saria nodded. "Her knowledge of the old magic and lost clans gives her power."
Jace's eyes darkened. "We cannot underestimate her."
Selene's gaze was steel.
"We will be ready. No betrayal will break us."
Her hand tightened around Moonfire's hilt.
"For my mother, for the Royal Blood, and for all those who believe in a better future."
The council's nods were firm.
Together, they prepared for the storm ahead.
That night, as the moon reached its peak, Elira moved through the shadows, a silent predator.
Her mission was clear—sabotage, subterfuge, and the final strike that would fracture the alliance Selene worked so hard to build.
But beneath her ruthless resolve, a flicker of doubt stirred.
Was vengeance worth the destruction she would leave behind?
Only the coming battle would decide.