The night did not end with the arrival of the Shadow Stalkers; it shattered.
The Blackwood Manor, usually a bastion of unshakable strength, was now a house of horrors. The unnatural fog that had swallowed the grounds acted as a conductor for the shadows, allowing the wraiths to slip through the solid stone walls as if they were nothing more than smoke. In the grand hallways, the screams of warriors echoed—not screams of pain from physical wounds, but of the cold, soul-deep agony of having their life force drained by the "Untrue" hunters.
Ava stood at the top of the grand staircase, her hand gripping the cold marble railing. Behind her, Silas stood like a reawakened god of war. His fever had broken, thanks to the dangerous transfusion of energy Ava had performed, but he was still lean and lethal, his eyes glowing with a mixture of silver and newly-forged gold.
"The perimeter is gone," Silas growled, his voice vibrating through the floorboards. He could feel the panic of his pack through the mental link—it was a chaotic, bleeding mess of terror. "The warriors can't touch them, Ava. Their claws pass right through the mist."
"Then move them back," Ava said, her voice sounding unnaturally calm even to her own ears. The Golden Light was no longer a pulse; it was a steady, humming engine within her marrow. "Pull every wolf into the Great Hall. I can't protect the whole forest, but I can protect this house."
"Ava, if you expand your light that far, you'll be vulnerable. Your body can't sustain the output," Silas warned, his hand reaching for her arm.
She turned to him, her eyes burning with a radiance that made him blink. "I am not just carrying your heir, Silas. I am carrying the light you stole for me. Let me use it. Trust your Luna."
For a heartbeat, the Alpha's instinct to cage and protect fought against the realization that the woman before him was no longer a rabbit. He nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. "All units! Retreat to the Great Hall!" his voice roared through the psychic link of every Blackwood wolf. "Now!"
The Great Hall was a scene of carnage. Dozens of wolves lay huddled on the floor, their fur turned grey and brittle, their eyes rolled back in their heads. The Elders were there too, huddled in the center of the room, their previous arrogance replaced by whimpering cowardice.
The high stained-glass windows rattled as the Shadow Stalkers began to congregate outside, their blue, lidless eyes pressing against the glass. The air temperature in the hall dropped until the wolves' breath came out in thick, white plumes.
"They're coming in!" a young warrior cried, pointing at the ceiling.
A shadow, spindly and reaching, began to drip from the rafters like black tar. It formed into a hulking, faceless wraith, its long claws extending toward a wounded wolf on the floor.
"Get back!" Silas roared, shifting mid-air. The massive Black Wolf erupted forward, slamming into the shadow. But just as the scouts had warned, his physical power was useless. Silas passed through the creature, his claws hitting only the cold air. The shadow hissed, spinning around to strike at Silas's exposed flank.
"Move!" Ava's voice rang out, a silver-gold bell in the darkness.
She stepped into the center of the hall. She didn't shift; she didn't need to. She raised her arms, and the golden veins beneath her skin flared with a blinding intensity.
"Sol Invictus!" she whispered—an ancient, forgotten command that had lived in the back of her mind since the Moon Ceremony.
A dome of pure, radiant gold exploded from her body. It didn't expand slowly; it hit the walls of the Great Hall like a physical shockwave. Where the light touched the Shadow Stalkers, they didn't just dissipate—they were vaporized. The psychic shriek that filled the room was deafening as the darkness was literally burned out of existence.
The wolves watched in stunned silence as the necrotic frost on the walls melted away. The warmth returned to the room, a gentle, summer heat that smelled of honey and wild grass. The wounded wolves on the floor gasped as the gold light washed over them, knitting their fractured spirits back together and chasing away the chill of the Abyss.
Ava stood at the center of the dome, her chest heaving, her hair glowing as if it were spun from actual sunbeams. She looked toward the Elders, her gaze sharp and unforgiving.
"Do you still wish to speak of 'forbidden sorcery'?" she asked, her voice echoing through the silent hall. "Do you still wish to sacrifice your Luna to appease a darkness you don't understand?"
The High Elder fell to his knees, his head bowed. One by one, the other Elders and the warriors followed suit. It wasn't just a bow of respect; it was an act of worship.
But the victory was short-lived.
Outside the manor, the fog did not lift. Instead, it began to coagulate, spinning into a massive, towering vortex in the center of the lawn. From the heart of the vortex, a figure stepped forth—the Herald of the Deep.
He was taller than any man, his robes made of the very darkness Ava had just fought. He held a staff of blackened bone, and as he struck it against the earth, the ground beneath the manor began to tremble with a rhythmic, subterranean thud.
"The light-bearer is strong," the Herald's voice whispered, penetrating the stone walls and the golden shield. "But the gold is a loan, and the interest is paid in blood. Give us the Alpha, or we shall tear this mountain down until not a single stone stands upon another."
Inside the hall, Silas shifted back into his human form, his face grim. He walked to Ava's side, his hand finding the small of her back. The gold flecks in his eyes were pulsing in time with hers.
"He's not going away," Silas muttered. "The Stalkers were just the scouts. This... this is the executioner."
"I can't hold the shield forever," Ava admitted, her voice trembling with exhaustion. The output was draining her faster than she had expected. The baby was kicking fiercely now, as if trying to warn her of the approaching void.
"You won't have to," Silas said. He looked at the gathered warriors, his voice rising in a commanding roar. "Blackwood wolves! You have seen the power of your Luna! You have seen that even the shadows can bleed! Are you going to sit here and wait to be slaughtered, or are you going to help me hunt a god?"
A thunderous howl erupted from the hall—a sound of renewed hope and bloodlust.
"We need a distraction," Silas whispered to Ava. "The Herald is anchored to this realm by that staff. If I can get close enough to break it, the vortex will collapse."
"You can't get close, Silas. He'll drain you before you're within ten feet," Ava argued.
"Not if you coat me," he said, looking at her with a desperate, brilliant plan in his eyes. "Use the Blood Tether. Pour the gold into me. Make me a wolf of light for just one minute. I can handle the rest."
"Silas, that will link our souls even deeper. If you fail, the feedback will kill me and the child instantly."
Silas grabbed her face, his thumbs wiping away a stray tear. "I won't fail. I have a family to protect. Now, give me the fire, Ava."
Ava took a deep breath, reaching deep into the reservoir of power she had discovered. She placed her hands on Silas's chest, right over his heart. She didn't just push the light; she wove it into his very atoms.
Silas let out a roar of agony and triumph as his skin began to glow like a star. His fur, as he shifted into his wolf form, was no longer midnight-black—it was a shimmering, incandescent white-gold. He was a creature of myth, a Solar Wolf.
He didn't use the door. He crashed through the high window, a streak of golden lightning diving straight into the heart of the vortex.
The battle on the lawn was a blur of light and shadow. The Herald raised his staff, unleashing waves of necrotic energy that would have withered any ordinary wolf. But Silas was a comet. He tore through the shadows, his golden jaws snapping, his claws leaving trails of fire in the air.
Ava stood at the window, her hands pressed against the glass, her eyes closed as she funneled every ounce of her strength through the tether. She could feel Silas's heart beating in her own chest. She could feel his rage, his love, and his absolute refusal to die.
"Now, Silas!" she screamed in her mind.
The Solar Wolf leaped, his body a golden spear. He bypassed the Herald's guards and slammed his weight into the bone staff.
The explosion was blinding. A shockwave of pure energy leveled the trees for a hundred yards in every direction. The vortex collapsed in on itself with a sound like a dying star, sucking the Herald and his shadows back into the Abyss from which they came.
When the light finally cleared, the fog was gone. The moon shone down, pure and silver, on a devastated lawn.
Silas lay in the center of the crater, his golden fur slowly fading back to black. He was gasping, his body battered, but alive.
Ava collapsed in the hall, her strength finally spent. But as she fell, she felt a pair of hands catch her. It wasn't Silas—he was still on the lawn. It was the High Elder.
"We are yours, Luna," the old man whispered, his eyes filled with tears. "The Blackwood pack belongs to you."
Ava looked out the window at the man she had saved, and who had saved her in return. The contract was a distant memory. The lie had become a legend.
But as the sun began to peek over the horizon, she saw a single, black feather floating down from the sky—a sign that while the Herald was gone, the "Deep" was far from finished with them.