The night sky hung heavy over the untamed lands where the werewolf clans ruled. The wind howled, carrying whispers from the north—rumors of the Umbra Clan's downfall and Theron Nyx's fatal plunge into the abyss. The story spread faster than wildfire, igniting both ambition and fear among the other clan leaders.
In a dimly lit chamber at the heart of the Vareth Clan's territory, a gathering of Alphas and their advisors spoke in hushed yet scornful tones.
"Theron Nyx? Dead?" A tall man with a scar slashing across his face—Alpha Zareth of the Vareth Clan—let out a mocking laugh. "I expected as much. He was always weaker than his father."
A nearby advisor nodded, smirking. "Yet, some whisper that he still lives, hiding in the shadows. Perhaps waiting for the eclipse to return and take his revenge."
Zareth scoffed. "And you believe that nonsense? If he were alive, why hasn't he shown himself?"
From the corner of the room, a silver-haired woman spoke up, her eyes sharp—like a wolf ready to strike. "Because Theron Nyx isn't a fool," said Seraphine, leader of the Duskbane Clan. "If he's still alive, he won't come back empty-handed. He'll wait. He'll gather his strength."
Zareth stepped closer, his tone taunting. "You sound as if you want him to return, Seraphine."
She offered a slight smile. "I just want to see whether this story ends in tragedy… or a surprise."
Elsewhere, deep in the dense forests ruled by the Noctari Clan, an old man in black robes sat cross-legged, surrounded by his followers. The flickering glow of red candles illuminated his lined face as his voice echoed through the cave.
"The eclipse draws near, and with it, the fate of the Alphas will shift," he whispered. "Theron Nyx is not dead. He still breathes, and with that breath, he carries the ruin of those who betrayed him."
A young woman with golden eyes, reflecting the candlelight, spoke hesitantly. "If he's alive… why hasn't he revealed himself?"
The old man looked at her, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Because a hunter never shows himself before it is time."
At the borders of the Zevra Clan's land, inside a tent lit by torches, Alpha Kael Zevra lounged in his seat, surrounded by his best hunters and advisors. Before him, an informant knelt, breathing heavily from a long journey.
"Theron Nyx has fallen," the informant said, his voice unsteady.
Kael leaned back, his sharp gaze piercing into the man. "And you swear on your blood that he is truly dead?"
The informant swallowed hard. "No body was found, Alpha."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Then he's still alive."
A nearby advisor interjected, his tone certain. "No one survives a fall like that, Kael. And even if he did, he's no longer a threat."
Kael gave a small, cold smile. "No longer a threat? A man who has lost everything is the most dangerous kind of man."
Meanwhile, inside the Umbra Clan's fortress, Orion Nyx stood on the tower balcony, staring into the distance, lost in thought. The cold wind brushed against his face, carrying the scent of destruction he had so carefully orchestrated. He had sent the Umbra Clan's best warriors to find Theron's body—or to ensure his death. Yet deep down, he knew his brother wouldn't die so easily.
A commander clad in black armor knelt before him. "We've searched the ravine, but there's no sign of his body."
Orion let out a quiet exhale, his expression unreadable. "Keep searching. I want certainty. I want his head."
The commander bowed and swiftly left, leaving Orion alone with his dark thoughts.
But Orion was not relying solely on his own warriors. In secret, he had struck a deal with the Vareth Clan—their finest hunters would aid in tracking and eliminating Theron. If his soldiers failed to find the body, then Vareth's hunters would become the shadow stalking Theron's every move.
Somewhere far from the reach of those who hunted him, Theron Nyx lay inside a small cabin at the edge of the border. His chest rose and fell, his breath still heavy, but his eyes were open. Their sharp gaze cut through the darkness.
He had heard the whispers—of his death, of the enemies who celebrated, of those who doubted.
But they were all wrong.
He wasn't dead.
He was waiting.
***
Theron Nyx lay motionless on the hard wooden cot, his body barely moving except for the ragged rise and fall of his breath. The lantern in the corner flickered, casting long shadows across the cold stone walls. The air inside the cabin was thick with the scent of herbs—some of which had already begun to seep into his wounds.
Lysandra Draven sat in a chair across the room, watching him with a scrutinizing gaze. Her loose black robe shifted slightly as she crossed her legs, hands busy stirring a mixture in a wooden bowl. Her crimson eyes glowed like embers lurking in the dark.
Theron tried to move, but pain gripped every inch of his body. The deep gash along his abdomen was still raw, and the wound on his shoulder pulsed with agony. Every breath felt like a blade carving through his lungs, forcing a low growl from his throat.
Lysandra's gaze swept over him from head to toe before she raised an eyebrow, her expression laced with amusement. "The Umbra Clan is famous for their extraordinary healing abilities, aren't they?" she mused, pouring a thick purple liquid into another bowl. "And yet here you are, half-dead like any ordinary human."
Theron exhaled sharply, his eyes flashing with irritation. "I was just thrown off a cliff after being betrayed and hunted down. Natural healing takes time."
Lysandra smirked, holding out a steaming cup of the concoction toward him. "Or maybe," she said mockingly, "you're not really the son of the former Alpha. That would explain why you're not as strong as you should be."
Theron's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. He knew arguing with Lysandra would only drain what little energy he had left. With reluctance, he took the cup and drank. The bitter taste spread across his tongue, making him grimace.
Lysandra chuckled, leaning back in her chair. "Welcome to hell, wounded Alpha. You're going to need more than slow regeneration if you want to survive what's coming."