The Altar of the White Wolf Palace.
Valeria marched toward the altar's center, her white-gold gown trailing behind her like a regal wake. Heavy ranks of guards kept pace at her sides, their armor gleaming.
A perfect smile was etched onto her face, yet her eyes glittered with a manic, delirious thrill.
"Today, I carry forward the legacy of our late King to to ensure a reign of peace that lasts for generations!" Valeria's voice boomed across the entire island via the PA system, triggering waves of hollow, orchestrated cheering.
In the shadows of the crowd, Charlotte stood silently beside Ragnar. Her fingers danced across her mobile terminal, her eyes cold and unreadable.
[Interference program initiated: 10%... 45%... 90%!]
Watching the progress bar for the city defense override hit 99%, a cold smile touched Charlotte's lips.
With the final strike of code, the mercenary wolf-soldiers Valeria had hired to crush dissent suddenly found their headsets filled with nothing but ear-splitting static. Even the automated defense turrets, originally locked onto the crowd, pivoted with an eerie mechanical hum to point directly at the heart of the altar.
Just as Valeria was drawing a breath for her grand oath, an earth-shattering howl erupted from the direction of the prison behind the altar.
"What the hell is going on?" Magnus's face went pale. He bolted upright.
Elena appeared, clad in battle armor, leading a charge of former loyalists from the flank. Though scarred and battered, their pent-up rage fueled a savagery that made them look more like demons than men.
"With me! For the King! Take back our honor!" Elena's war cry tore through the pomp and circumstance of the coronation.
Chaos broke loose. The three shared a brief nod, their alpha auras exploding outward in unison. Ragnar's hands shifted into razor-sharp claws as his Black Wolf elites began their transformation, locking into a tense standoff with Valeria's personal guard.
Ragnar hijacked the airwaves via the Brown Wolf Clan's network, forcing the feed onto every screen in the square, projecting a litany of evidence linking Valeria and Magnus to the Old King's assassination.
Surveying the collapsing situation, Valeria didn't panic. Instead, she reached into her robes and pulled out an ancient, weathered ring—the Ring of the True King.
"All of you, stand down!" she shrieked, her face contorting as she held the ring aloft. "I have the ring! It has sensed my bloodline! The throne is mine! By blood and by law!"
Edric spoke up then, his voice cutting through the din. "Since Lady Valeria claims to be the True King, then by all means—put it on in front of us. If the ring accepts you, the Great Clans will have nothing more to say."
Ragnar and Rowan stepped forward, their combined presence smothering the clearing. Valeria's guards recoiled in the face of such raw power.
Valeria looked possessed, her gaze frantic with the desperation of a gambler betting it all. "Fine! I'll show you exactly who the chosen one is!"
She shoved the ring onto her finger. In that heartbeat, the ring didn't emit a holy glow. Instead, it turned into a searing brand, white-hot and merciless. It tore into her flesh.
A raw, jagged shriek tore from her throat, a sound so primal it silenced the entire square. Her body convulsed violently as the finger wearing the ring charred to a blackened husk. The stench of burnt flesh drifted through the air.
"This... this is impossible! Arthur! You lied to me!" Valeria wailed in agony, lunging to fling the ring off her mangled hand.
The ring arched through the air, but it didn't hit the ground. As if answering a divine summons, it hovered mid-air, vibrating with a low, rhythmic hum that felt like a song.
Amidst the dead silence of the crowd, Charlotte stepped out. She began to ascend the stairs, her pace steady and deliberate. Every footfall seemed to sync with the very heartbeat of the White Wolf Clan.
"You... you bitch! What do you think you're doing?! Kill her! Kill her now!" Magnus snapped out of his shock, frantically gesturing for the guards to charge.
But the "Unholy Trinity"—Ragnar, Edric, and Rowan—formed a wall at the base of the steps. Ragnar tore through the front lines, his roar throwing the formation into chaos.
The ring didn't just fall; it claimed her. It streaked toward Charlotte in a blur of silver, and as it settled, a shockwave of lunar light detonated from her center, forcing everyone to their knees.
Charlotte slowly pulled away her mask.
Exquisite. Cold. Radiating the absolute authority of someone who held the fate of everyone in her grasp.
"Long time no see, Valeria. Hope I didn't keep you waiting." Her voice was crystalline and sharp, echoing over the entire island.
The crowd was stunned.
"It's Charlotte... she's alive!" "The ring... it chose her! She's the True King!"
Charlotte stood at the summit of the altar, bathed in a celestial silver light that made her look like a goddess descended to earth.
"You!" Valeria stumbled, collapsing onto the marble floor, her magnificent robes stained and tattered. "How... how are you still alive?!" Her maimed hand trembled uncontrollably, her eyes filled with a mix of incomprehensible terror and pure vitriol.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Valeria." Charlotte took another step, each step pinning Valeria down like a physical weight. "Not only am I alive, but I've brought back every blood debt you owe this clan."
The ring hovering above her seemed to pulse in agreement, its silver light bleeding into a fierce, vengeful crimson.
"Your reign ends here, Valeria. Every stolen scrap of it."