Chapter 5: The Ruins Remember
The forest thinned as the sky darkened, and the Moon Shrine came into view.
Not as a beacon.
But as a wound.
What had once been a sacred sanctuary — silver stones arranged in harmony, vines of moonleaf trailing from archways, an altar of crystal bathed in light — was now broken, blackened, and twisted by a darkness that should not have survived time.
Varric whispered, "This place feels... wrong."
"No," said Amoga, stepping forward. "This place feels woken."
The air around the shrine was colder than the forest behind them. Not the chill of wind or winter — but the hush before a scream. A pressure that pushed on their lungs, on their bones.
Draven scanned the area. His voice was quiet, but commanding.
"Varric, Lys — perimeter."
The twins vanished into the treeline.
"Thorne, guard the east slope. Amoga, with me. Kira, stay with Fenra."
Fenra frowned. "You're splitting us?"
Draven nodded. "If he's awakened the Well… then we need to move carefully."
He stepped toward the ruins. The others followed.
🪨 The Heart of the Shrine
The central altar was cracked clean through. The pool beneath it — once filled with moonwater said to grant visions to the worthy — was dry. The runes along the stones flickered, like dying stars.
But something still pulsed beneath the surface.
Amoga knelt and placed his palm to the stone.
His eyes rolled back.
"Blood magic," he hissed. "Twisted into the roots. Old rites... reversed."
He slammed his staff against the stone. A wave of silver light burst outward, revealing what had been buried beneath:
A glyph of the Black Moon — the mark of the Shadow Alpha.
Fenra's blood went cold. "He's rewriting the laws."
"He's bleeding the land," Amoga said. "Using it to fuel his army."
Kira cursed. "We're standing in a graveyard, aren't we?"
"No," said Draven. "Worse."
He knelt, brushing ash from the stone. "We're standing in a womb."
A Monster Unbound
A howl shattered the silence.
Not from the trees.
From below.
The ground cracked beneath the altar — and from the earth rose a creature twice the size of any normal werewolf. Its limbs were plated in black bone, its mouth stitched with golden wire. Its eyes burned not with rage — but with worship.
Amoga whispered, "A Watcher. A guardian turned abomination."
Draven drew his obsidian blade. "He's set one of the old spirits against us."
The creature lunged.
The battle was chaos.
The Watcher moved with impossible speed, slamming into Thorne and sending him crashing through stone. Amoga cast a shielding ward that shattered on impact. Kira darted around its legs, slashing with twin blades, while Fenra and Draven moved as one — circling, attacking, drawing its focus.
"Go for the jaw!" Fenra shouted. "That's where the soul binding is!"
Draven vaulted over a broken pillar, driving his blade into the beast's throat. It roared and slammed him into the altar, cracking it further.
Fenra leapt onto its back, plunging her silver dagger between the stitched wires around its mouth. The creature screamed — a sound that split the air like thunder — and thrashed wildly.
Blood sprayed. Not red.
Silver-black.
It threw her off and charged again — but Draven caught it mid-leap, twisting with a primal roar, and drove his sword through its chest.
The creature collapsed, twitching, eyes wide with something like... relief.
Then it was still.
Aftermath
The pack stood in silence, catching their breath.
Kira wiped blood from her cheek. "What the hell was that?"
"A soul-bound," said Amoga. "A guardian who willingly gave his spirit to Rauthar."
"Why?" Fenra asked.
Draven answered. "Because Rauthar is promising them something. Something bigger than power."
He turned to face them all.
"He's promising them immortality."
A Quiet Moment
That night, they camped near the edge of the shrine.
Fenra sat beside the fire, sharpening her blade, lost in thought.
Draven approached, silent as ever.
"You fought well today," he said.
She glanced at him. "I don't need praise."
"It's not praise," he said. "It's respect."
She paused, then nodded.
"I've never seen a pack fight like this," she admitted. "You trust each other. Even when things get ugly."
He sat beside her. "We earned that trust. Through blood."
"And what about me?" she asked.
Draven met her eyes. "You're not just part of the pack now, Fenra. You're part of the war."
They sat in silence, the fire crackling between them. Something soft settled in the air — not quite peace, but something close.
Then Kira whistled from the treeline.
"Draven. You'll want to see this."
🕳 The Forbidden Map
She led them to the side of the shrine, where Lys had uncovered a stone slab.
Etched into it was a map — one none of them recognized. Ancient roads, ruined towers, the shadowed outline of a forgotten city.
And at its center: a well. Surrounded by moons carved in reverse.
Amoga whispered, "The Well of Origins. It's real."
Draven ran his fingers over the sigils.
Fenra asked, "What is it?"
"It's where the first werewolf was born," Amoga replied. "And where the curse was sealed."
Draven stood slowly.
"That's where Rauthar is going."
And then, beneath the map, they saw the words — carved in bloodstone:
The moon gave us form. The Well will make us gods.
[END OF CHAPTER]