The moon rose too early that night.
Not full yet—but swollen, white, pulsing.
The sky knew something was about to break.
And so did the blood.
Elara stood atop the ruined walls of Kaduwa Fortress, overlooking the crescent valley where the tents of her growing army stretched like silver moss under moonlight.
The scent of pine and iron filled her lungs.
But beneath it…
Something else.
Fur. Sweat. Hunger.
A primal tension crawled across her skin.
Zela climbed beside her. "The younger ones are shifting earlier than expected."
"It's the eclipse," Elara said quietly. "The moons aren't waiting."
"When the drums change rhythm, even the old dancer must find new steps."
Below, in the shadowed ravines, howls began to rise—not coordinated, not in chorus.
Warning howls.
They were being watched.
Meanwhile, in the royal chambers of the palace, Myra stood barefoot over a map of the eastern provinces, her toe tracing the path from Kaduwa to the Eclipse Circle.
"She means to bring the girl there. Publicly," Myra hissed.
Her assassin—the Bone Wolf, a former palace shifter bound to her by blood-debt—nodded.
"She's protected by two half-blood Alphas. One with firecraft. One with scent magic."
Myra didn't blink.
"I want Caelina dead before she speaks. If the people hear her voice, I lose my grip."
The Bone Wolf grinned, revealing fangs not entirely hidden.
"I'll tear out her throat myself."
"The dog that waits too long to bark wakes up muzzled."
In Kaduwa's lower keep, Caelina sat before a mirror, watching her reflection flicker in the torchlight.
Elara entered, quiet.
"She's going to come for you before the summit," Elara said.
"I know."
"You could hide. Wait. Send a proxy to speak."
"No," Caelina said, eyes flashing.
And then she stood.
And shifted.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Bones lengthened.
Her skin silvered, pulsed, stretched.
Her eyes burned gold.
When she stopped, steam rolled from her skin.
"I was born of moonblood. I'll not speak through another's throat."
Elara felt the truth in her scent: pure line. Firstblood.
And something inside Elara—her own blood, long dormant—shivered in agreement.
Midnight.
The assault came without sound.
Five shadows moved through the silver tents.
Each one marked with a jagged wolf rune—loyal to the Bone Wolf. Palace-trained. Merciless.
They didn't enter through gates.
They climbed down cliffs.
Came through air vents.
One even disguised himself as a wounded scout.
But Sango's patrol had been expecting them.
Because Elara knew Myra's mind.
She just hadn't expected what came next.
The Bone Wolf didn't attack Caelina.
He attacked the younglings.
Shifters too new to fight.
Fangs too small. Limbs too soft.
He tore through the training camp, howling a death song as tents burned.
Sango screamed orders.
Zela threw fire in arcs.
And Elara—barefoot, dressed in nothing but ceremonial cloth—shifted.
Fully.
For the first time since Lycaena's death.
Her body exploded into fur and sinew.
Tall. Lean. Dust-gray with a stripe of silver along the spine.
The Wolf Queen returned.
Elara met the Bone Wolf on the high rocks.
Two alphas. One past. One future.
His eyes were wild, cracked red with old pain.
"Myra raised me from the chains you left me in!" he snarled.
"I freed you from the pit," Elara said. "But you crawled back on your belly."
They clashed like thunder.
Fangs scraping bone.
Claws raking stone.
Blood spilled into the wind.
But Elara had something he didn't.
Loyalty.
The wolves of Kaduwa joined her.
One by one.
Oldbloods. Mixedbloods. Even cursedbloods.
They rose. Howled. Bit.
And when the Bone Wolf faltered, Sango drove a spear through his spine.
The camp burned low.
Bodies were gathered.
Wolves limped back into human shape.
And Elara, still bloodied and half-shifted, looked out at her people.
"Tomorrow, we march to the Eclipse Summit."
She didn't shout.
She promised.
"They tried to kill our truth tonight. They failed."
Her voice echoed in bone and howl.
"We walk not to plead for a throne…"
She stepped into the rising moonlight.
"…but to reclaim the name of wolves."