As Iván slept soundly in his bed, the full moon rose high in the sky, its silver glow washing over the land. Unlike before, he no longer suffered beneath its light—not after everything that had happened.
Yet, beneath the surface, truths remained hidden.
Far from Beacon Hills, wolves from across the world began their sacred monthly gathering—an ancient rite known only to those born of old bloodlines.
Families arrived one by one, forming tight-knit groups beneath the Moon. All eyes turned to the ancient tree at the center of the clearing—its bark etched with runes, its roots deep in forgotten magic.
The largest among them, the Alpha, stepped forward. His presence alone silenced the murmurs.
With a low, powerful voice, he chanted sacred words passed down through generations. The tree groaned and shifted, its bark parting to reveal a glowing gateway—one that could only be opened under the full moon.
The Alpha threw his head back and howled, a signal to all.
"Tribe," he declared, "our laws must be upheld."
Every wolf bowed their heads in respect.
He turned to a young wolf near the edge of the gathering. "Jacob," he said, "this is your first full moon gathering. Keep to yourself, observe, and if you speak to any females—be respectful."
"Yes, Alpha," Jacob replied, his voice steady but unsure.
The Alpha gave a solemn nod and led his pack forward. Behind him, the other families followed—some unfamiliar with the ancient chant, yet instinctively drawn to the ceremony's power.
They journeyed through a realm hidden from the eyes of mortals. A narrow cave opened before them, its walls shimmering with glowing blue crystals that bathed the path in a soft, ethereal light.
More wolves emerged from other tunnel entrances, all converging toward a single destination. At the end of the cave lay a shallow pool. One by one, the wolves stepped through the water—its surface rippling as they passed, dampening their fur before leading them into a lush, untouched grove.
There, the grass was vibrant green, wild and sacred. Towering at the heart of it all stood an ancient tree, roots knotted into the earth like veins of time. And atop a stone boulder below the tree stood a group of wolves—each one silver-coated, regal in presence.
A hush fell over the crowd.
The Adrastus.
The only bloodline known to walk this realm freely, even without the full moon.
And a noble family thought dormant—five long years had passed since anyone had last seen them.
One of the silver wolves stood tall atop the stone and leapt down with graceful power. It was far larger than any ordinary Alpha, its presence alone commanding silence. With measured steps, it moved onto another boulder, standing proudly before the gathering.
"Welcome, wolves from distant lands," it said, voice deep and resonant.
In this sacred realm, they could speak freely—no longer bound to the silent bonds of the mind. The magic that cloaked this place gave form to their voices, allowing them to be heard in words.
"Alexander," came a voice from the crowd. It was Sam of the Uley Pack, his tone cautious yet respectful. More and more wolves continued to arrive, hundreds of them. The Alphas gathered in the front, their eyes sharp and watchful, while the Betas remained toward the back, murmuring among themselves.
But before another word was spoken, Alexander let out a thunderous roar that echoed through the grove. His eyes burned crimson, a power ancient and commanding. Though the strength of Lycus did not flow through him, the blood of Adrastus marked him as something more.
All fell silent.
"I know it's been a long time since we last gathered," Alexander began, his voice echoing across the sacred grove. "But I know why you're here. You seek answers."
Before he could continue, several Alphas barked out, their voices sharp with frustration.
"Where is Xavier?" they demanded. "We want to hear from our leader!"
"You have no right to speak in his place!" one growled. The crowd stirred, unrest rising.
Sam stood quietly, his gaze lowered in respectful silence, but tension rippled through the pack.
Then, a dozen silver wolves— of the Adrastus bloodline—stood from their positions around the boulder. Their presence alone was enough to silence even the boldest challengers. Power radiated from them, calm but lethal.
Still, from the shadows of the trees, two elder wolves emerged—each step slow but dignified.
"Father and Uncle," Alexander said, bowing his head in respect.
The older wolf gave a weary cough, age evident in his movements, yet his presence remained commanding.
"There's no need for this posturing," his father said, his voice gravelly but firm. "They will not listen to you, my son… but they will listen to me."
He turned to face the gathered wolves. Wind stirred around him as he stepped forward, his eyes glowing like burning embers—marks of a noble, one who carried the power of Lycus.
"Listen, young and old alike," the elder said solemnly. "My eldest son, Xavier… has passed on."
A collective gasp broke the stillness.
Without Xavier, who would set the laws? Who would enforce them? Murmurs broke out—panic, doubt, disbelief.
Sam stood in stunned silence, recognizing the elder—the one who once ruled over all werewolves in ages past. He lowered his gaze out of respect.
It was true: while many packs had formed their own internal codes, there were greater laws—laws upheld by the Nobles. By their leader. By their king.
He was the one who ensured that no pack spiraled out of control—no senseless turning of humans, no blood-soaked rampages that threatened the fragile balance of the world. And more than that… he had protected them. Protected the wolves from the wrath of the old vampires. It was he who had forged the peace treaty, keeping both species from descending into endless war.
Yes, wolves were powerful. But against the ancient, more formidable vampires? Alone, they would fall. The Adrastus bloodline had always been their shield—and knowing the family still endured brought Sam a measure of relief. Even if Xavier was gone, his family might yet protect them. The vampires would think twice.
As the shock began to fade, Sam looked up. The elder continued, his voice steady but laced with sorrow.
"My son Xavier's death was unexpected… but he left behind a child. My grandson. He is out there, hidden from both friend and foe." The old wolf's eyes glowed faintly.
"But mark my words, once we find him—hold strong, my brothers. The Adrastus line has not ended."
Back in Beacon Hills, Iván slowly rose from his bed, stretching with a groggy yawn. He made his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth—not because he had to, really, but because he liked his breath to smell decent.
After that, a hot shower washed away the last traces of sleep. Iván ran his hand along the cool marble walls, releasing a quiet sigh.
He was just getting ready for school—completely unaware that, far from Beacon Hills, his family was searching for him.