And the night was finally on them
The night of the crescent moon came without any indication.
No breeze
No wind chimes
You could say even the wolves, having finely tuned instincts, moved in an odd way too. Much softer and slower, but not due to uncertainty. Instead, due to respect. It is like Earth has stated silence as a shield, or cape to cover and protect itself.
Mia was positioned on the northern ridge, the Silverpine territory's zenith. From this place, sight reached almost to the mountain border and, on exceptionally clear days, to the blurry cusp of the neutral divided lands where the Ferrowind had been concealed for years.
This day wasn't like that.
Only gloom.
The month was gone before its due date, and the stars that glistened above seemed reluctant to shine heitfully. The block of light, best known as "moon", had cycled to the far side.
There was no brightness of sorts.
Like a protective dome, placed by the sky itself, filled with the ignorance of the world below.
Only a dark cloak and her twin blades, secured at her sides, each hilt bound in worn leather. Around her neck, she still wore the token Lucas had given her months ago—not a Luna's mark, but a choice. A symbol of balance, and of the love that had grown, scarred and imperfect, into something deeply real.
Below, movement stirred among the tree lines.
Symbols of scars, marred love that evolved into an advanced embodiment of genuine relationship.
To her left and right, activity began at the base of trees.
The three squads moved in perfect silence. No barkes, no drums were played, and no banners waved. Cade took the western flank. Ember held the center. And Renna, newly promoted to field captain, commanded the Omega Defense Circle. She was now reinforced with wolves of all ranks who chose to fight not out of obligation, but out of conviction.
Lucas and Mia stood side by side, and Lucas's gaze was fixed on the horizon. The dark shadow enhanced his age, making him look older than younger, and rendering his face more roughened than sculpted. Not just an alpha. A sentinel. A conviction.
"They'll come when they think we've let our guard down," he said.
"They'll come no matter what," Mia replied. "The only question is whether they come for blood or for conquest."
Lucas's eyes narrowed. "And your question?"
Mia took a slow breath. "Whether they understand what we've become."
__________________________________________________________
There was no sound preceding the attack.
One midnight scout had not returned from the relay.
The secondary scout was sent and went missing too.
When the third came limping back bruised and bleeding but still alive, it did not carry a warning.
But it did carry a name.
"Coren," the scout hissed through cracked lips. "He's here."
The first strike hit the eastern barrier—a sharp burst of flame and movement. Not brute force, but sabotage. Smoke bombs. Fire glass. Shadows darting between trees. Wolves leapt into formation with practiced efficiency, extinguishing the flames before they could spread.
The second wave followed.
North ridge.
Accelerated. Precise.
Faster. Sharper.
An absolute breach attempt.
But Silverpine didn't break apart.
It consolidated.
Mia was the first to meet the fog as it was clearing off the edge, as figures began to materialize - tall, ethereally elegant, half-melted their forms half-shifted, their limbs fluid and unnatural. The Ferrowind.
She didn't move to attack him, blades unsheathed and pointed downward as if placidly ready to stand—a decisive, and unmistakable stand.
A pause, then a faint hiss, "You speak of peace."
Mia said, "I speak of truth," and "And you fear it."
A pivot to the left revealed a blur aimed at her midsection—not the worst of odds as long as he was quick. One hybrid lunged. She ducked, pivoting low. Not intending, but catching a sweeping kick. A clash of metal into the soft ground ensued beside his neck. That will do. A warning, not a kill.
"Change your course," she told the man, "You still possess the option."
The surreal figure remained face down, the whispering teeth permanently bound on his words hissing gently, "No reason to hate."
The third wave commenced.
They advanced from the south.
They flanked.
An order ripped out of the bond as Lucas roared, shifting mid-sprint as he rallied the line. A clear and commanding voice followed, Cade. Just in time, Ember's team intercepted, creating a crescent wall of defense.
The fight began in earnest.
--
Mia was moving like a force of nature.
Not fast, more deliberate.
She did not cut wildly. She did not roar.
She struck with purpose.
With memory.
For every scout taken. For every silence forced upon her. For every name spoken as a caution instead of a promise.
Her blades found air and bone, her wolf rising beneath her skin with power and grace.
And then—
Coren appeared.
He didn't announce himself.
Stepping into the field like a shadow wearing a crown, his presence like cold smoke across the land as his silver-black coat sat unmarked. Across the chaos, his eyes found hers.
No words were exchanged.
Only a synchronized slow walk filled the silence—slowly, with gravity, as though the world bent below them in recognition of what was destined to happen.
It must happen!
At the base of the old ash tree, they met.
Once for binding oaths.
Now bearing witness to a reckoning
Coren tilted his head, "You built something."
"I restored something," Mia said.
He pointed at the area where battle raged. "Built on blood."
He gestured to the fighting behind them. "Built on blood."
"Built on refusal. To accept a future shaped by fear."
He nodded once, almost approving. "But you are alone."
"No," Mia said, and stepped aside.
Lucas emerged from the tree line, flanked by Ember and Cade, and behind them, wolves—Silverpine wolves—lined the field, shoulder to shoulder.
Omegas.
Betas.
Elders.
Scouts.
All.
Staring, Coren muttered.
"You changed the pack," he said.
"No," Mia answered. "They changed themselves. I just gave them space to remember who they were."
A pause.
Then Coren whispered, "Pity."
And shifted.
Their duel was swift.
Mia had expected it to be slower, given the circumstances.
Moving like a phantom, Coren fought with a precision that was silent and almost artistic. But Mia hadn't been trained to fight like a wolf.
She trained like Mia.
Every lesson accompanied a strike, every decision a dodge.
Finality came as a lunge; fangs bared, claws extended. She dispersed, ducking below him, using her shoulder to catch his weight before he could take a swing and slamming him into the ground with the force of his momentum.
Mia hovered over him, her weapon in hand.
And with many heavy seconds, she did not stab.
He looked up to her, blade in a feeble gaze of the trembling hands too steady to tremble, recognition settling over him like dusk.
"You're not like the others."
"I was never trying to be," she said.
And stepped back.
____________________________________________________________
The Ferrowind was completely still.
Watching.
Waiting.
And then—for the first time—they began to retreat.
Not out of fear.
But because the story had changed.
Mia did not chase them.
She turned towards her pack instead.
They lifted their heads high under the moonless sky,
And howled.
And howled.
Not for victory.
But for what they had defended.
And for what they would now become.