Seraphine’s Trap
The howls of Crimson Fang warriors echoed into the night as Draven and his strongest fighters clashed with Tobias’s forces at the southern border. The air was thick with the acrid scent of blood and scorched earth. Wolves shifted mid-leap, claws tearing into rogue flesh, the battlefield a symphony of snarls and yelps. Draven’s amber eyes burned as he led the charge, his wolf form a massive blur of muscle and fury.
Unbeknownst to him, the true attack was already underway.
Back at the stronghold, Isla stood in the courtyard, her silver hair shimmering like liquid moonlight. The younger wolves and those too injured to fight rallied around her, their fear barely contained beneath wide eyes and twitching ears. Isla’s voice was steady, commanding as she directed the defenses.
“Secure the gates. No one gets through. Keep your backs to each other,” she instructed, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade.
Above, the moon hung low, bathing the courtyard in an ethereal glow. Isla’s presence was unyielding, a picture of strength amidst the chaos. But the unease in the air only deepened, a chilling omen carried on the wind.
Then the shadows shifted.
The courtyard fell silent as Seraphine emerged, her crescent mark gleaming faintly in the darkness. The mark, carved into her cheek by dark rituals, was a cruel mimicry of Isla’s divine connection to the Moon Goddess. Where Isla’s glow inspired hope, Seraphine’s presence radiated venomous beauty and malice.
“How quaint,” Seraphine drawled, her voice a silken mockery. She stepped into the moonlight, her movements as fluid as a snake’s. “The Luna playing commander. You should stick to looking pretty.”
Isla turned sharply, her blade flashing in her hand. Her silver eyes burned as she faced her sister. “You’ll regret stepping onto this land, Seraphine.”
Seraphine smirked, her gaze dragging over Isla with predatory disdain. “Regret? No, sister. I’m here to correct a mistake.”
Wolves emerged from the shadows, Seraphine’s warriors—dark and feral, their snarls low and menacing. They moved as one, encircling Isla and the remaining fighters.
“Form ranks!” Isla shouted, but it was too late. The first wave struck with brutal precision, overwhelming the younger wolves. Isla fought valiantly, her blade cutting through the onslaught with practiced efficiency, but the sheer numbers were against her.
Seraphine circled her like a vulture, her smirk never wavering. “You’ve grown stronger,” she remarked as Isla parried another attack. “But not strong enough.”
A warrior struck Isla’s blade from her hand, sending it clattering across the courtyard. Another wolf forced her to her knees, claws digging into her shoulders. The pain was sharp, but Isla didn’t flinch.
Seraphine approached slowly, her dagger gleaming in the moonlight. She knelt in front of Isla, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Goodbye, little Luna.”
