CHAPTER: 94
******
NARRATOR'S POV
A WEEK LATER
It was late—midnight. The only sounds that broke the stillness were the rhythmic chirping of crickets and the low croaking of frogs. The Crescent Moon Pack had always dwelled in the high, misty regions of the mountains—remote, ancient, and cloaked in secrets. And tonight, those mountains felt more alive than ever.
The peaks loomed above like ancient sentinels, sharp-edged and unforgiving, their jagged silhouettes tearing through the night sky. They cast long, crooked shadows over the frozen earth below, as if nature itself were bracing for what was to come. The wind howled through the ridges—wild, restless, and cruel. It carried a whisper in its breath—something old, something unnatural, and laced with quiet menace.
The wizards moved like wraiths through the pass, drifting soundlessly over the rocky path. They were barely visible, their forms cloaked in magic, cloaks whispering without a flutter, feet never stumbling despite the treacherous terrain. The earth seemed to mold itself to their steps, yielding where it should've resisted. It was as though the mountain feared them, or worse, served them.
Not a single word passed between them, yet the air around them pulsed with power, purpose, and doom. Their silence was more terrifying than any battle cry.
Though the path was perilous—even for wolves who had known it since birth—it posed no threat to these intruders. They weren't climbing to survive.
They were climbing to conquer.
At the heart of their formation, untouched by the cold or the altitude, walked a lone figure draped in shadows darker than night. Her steps were almost soundless, yet every stone she passed blackened and cracked underfoot.
Lilith had arrived.
With her presence, the sky seemed to dim. Birds abandoned their roosts. Even the lingering snow that had settled upon the craggy rocks began to melt, then sizzle, turning to ash. Nature recoiled.
This wasn't just a passage through the mountains—it was a declaration.
A warning.
The mountain, once silent for years, was now clearing its throat... for war.
Suddenly, the sharp sound of armor clinking echoed through the cold night. The soldiers assembled with quiet precision, forming a line at the edge of the path. They were close now—just outside the city limits of the Crescent Moon Pack.
The line formed swiftly, a coordinated act of discipline and readiness.
At the very center of the army stood three figures—Liam, Lilith, and Alexis. Each one different, but bound by the same thread of destiny.
As Liam stood among the ranks, a wave of emotion surged through him. Nostalgia hit hard, cutting deeper than any blade.
This place… this was home.
His home.
The mountain air, the scent of pine, the feel of the ground beneath his boots—it was all achingly familiar. He had grown up here, trained here, lived a life he once believed in. But now, he wasn't returning as a son of the Crescent Moon Pack. He wasn't coming back to find peace.
He was coming to conquer. He was coming to destroy the very place that had made him.
And that thought—no matter how justified—gnawed at something deep within his chest.
Things had gotten worse.
He hadn't received any message from that strange book—nothing at all. The same book that had always guided him, the one that had shown him everything he needed to know about the war… was now silent. Completely silent.
He wasn't feeling well. In fact, whatever it was coursing through him now felt heavier than any pain or sickness. It was tension—crippling, suffocating tension. The kind that coils in your chest and makes you question everything. He didn't know what to do, or how to go about any of it. His instincts, once sharp, were dulled by confusion.
It had all started that night—that night—right after he had fainted. Ever since then, something had shifted. Something had broken. He felt… hollow. Like a part of him had gone missing. He couldn't even bring himself to suspect Lilith, Kaelith, or Alexis. They seemed genuinely unaware of whatever was happening to him. But that only made it worse.
"They will kneel," Lilith whispered, her voice echoing with quiet power as she traced a glowing sigil carved beside the Tribrid's name. "Or they will perish."
Her voice snapped him back to reality.
And then—it began.
A thunderous roar erupted as the soldiers responded to her words. Their cries echoed through the mountain, shaking it to its roots. Witches screamed from above, flying toward the city in a frenzy, and the pack responded in kind. It was chaos waiting to unfold.
Then came the sound—the ancient horn. A deep, resonating blast that rolled through the valley like thunder. It was the signal. The werewolves were alerting themselves: War had begun.