Night – The Hidden Cellar Beneath Old Velsor Chapel, Outskirts of Hwon
The cellar was buried beneath crumbling stone, its entrance hidden behind brambles and a hollowed tree stump no longer marked on any royal map. Velsor Chapel had long since fallen out of memory—abandoned, deconsecrated, and half-swallowed by the forest. But tonight, it breathed again.
A dozen torches flickered along the damp stone walls, casting long, snarling shadows. The air was thick with dust and betrayal. At the center of the room stood Lord Maren, draped in a dark velvet cloak, circles of fatigue carved under his eyes. Around him, ten nobles, men and women, sat or stood in tight clusters, whispering, worrying, waiting.
Maren's voice cut through them like a blade.
“They protected the King again. That halfblood mutt wears a crown forged by deceit, and not a soul dares strip it from him.”
One of the younger lords, pale and sharp-nosed, nodded eagerly. “The queen silenced you with that tongue of hers. That wasn’t politics—it was warcraft.”
“She’s dangerous,” muttered Lady Hestein, tall, grim. “Clever. The people listen to her. And she’s rallied the other kingdoms behind her charm.”
Maren slammed a fist down onto the old wine barrel they used as a table. The sound echoed like a shot.
“She won’t hold them forever.”
The others quieted. Somewhere above them, a crow cawed once. The torches hissed. Wind rolled over the ruin and rattled the rotted timbers.
Maren straightened. “We strike at the rot beneath this kingdom. We show the nobles what he truly is. A beast wearing a crown.”
He leaned over the barrel, voice low and fervent. “We burn the myth of the noble werewolf.”
The others nodded. Plans were made. Times whispered. Allies named.
And then—
A chill.
Something moved.
Just past the archway—a flicker of motion too fast to follow. A shiver in the light. One of the nobles glanced back, brow furrowed.
“Did you—?”
A pause. A silence thick as breath before a scream.
Then it began.
A shriek erupted as a blur of motion struck from the dark. One man was lifted into the air, his spine crushed with a sickening snap before his body was thrown against the stone like rags. Blood splattered. Steel was drawn, but it was already too late.
They weren’t fighting soldiers.
They were facing a predator.
“Werewolf!” someone shouted, but it didn’t help.
Claws tore through armor. One of the nobles tried to run, only to vanish into a blur, dragged into shadow. Limbs flailed, then fell still. The walls shuddered with the force of bodies slamming against them.
Maren, wide-eyed, stumbled back toward the stairs. He saw shapes—more than one? Or just one too fast to be real? A cloaked figure walked calmly through the smoke of torches now sputtering to death. Not lunging, not growling.
Just watching.
Then it stepped into the light, and Maren saw—not a monster, but a man. A tall silhouette. Broad shoulders. A glint of metal swaying on his chest—
A pendant.
His breath hitched.
And then the shadow was upon him.
Morning – The Ruins of Velsor Chapel
The sun hung pale over the trees, a pale ghost behind gray clouds. The birds did not sing. A team of royal investigators and soldiers stood amid the ruins, their boots wet with dew and blood. The scent of death lingered like smoke.
Twelve bodies.
Maren. His ten loyal nobles. One guard.
Ripped open. Mutilated. The markings unmistakable.
“Werewolves,” the commander whispered.
“No survivors?” asked a younger scout, pale.
The older man just shook his head.
One investigator, moving carefully through the edge of the chamber, paused near a crumbled pillar. Something had rolled beneath it. He knelt, brushing aside dust and ash.
Metal glinted.
He picked it up.
His breath stopped.
“A pendant…” he whispered. “This… this belongs to the King.”
Council Hall, Castle of Hwon – Late Morning
The council chamber was unnaturally still.
The circular hall, ringed by its soaring stained-glass windows, seemed darker despite the rising sun. Nobles murmured among themselves in tight huddles. Several seats, once belonging to Maren’s allies, were now empty.
Everyone had heard.
The deaths had spread through the capital like wildfire. Panic bloomed in the streets. The word werewolf hissed on every tongue.
Siera stood near the main dais, draped in silver and black, her face an unreadable mask.
Gwi was silent.
He sat tall, regal, but not at ease.
His fingers touched his collarbone once.
Something was… missing.
The doors burst open.
A soldier stepped forward and bowed low. His armor was stained with travel and dirt, his face pale.
“Your Majesties,” he said, voice tight. “We’ve confirmed the identities. Lord Maren. Ten noblemen. Slain outside the ruins of Velsor Chapel. All killed in the same method—claws. Their bodies were… shredded.”
Gasps. Cries. Lord Jerhan swore under his breath. Lady Trielle pressed a hand to her lips.
“Werewolves?” One of the council member asked.
“Yes, my lord. Likely more than one. Or one… extremely skilled.”
Siera’s voice came calm and sharp: “How did they get inside the city unnoticed?”
“We don’t know yet, Your Majesty. We’re searching every forest edge and sewer tunnel. But we did find—”
He hesitated.
Gwi raised his eyes.
“What did you find?” Siera asked.
The soldier slowly unwrapped a cloth bundle.
And held it up.
A glint of silver. A familiar shape.
A pendant.
A hush swept the chamber.
Gwi’s breath caught in his throat.
He knew it.
So did Siera.
Every noble turned toward him. Whispers turned to stares.
Gwi’s hand rose instinctively to his neck—
Empty.
The chain was gone.
Siera blinked once. Her lips parted.
Shock. Confusion. Fear.
A hollow silence echoed in her chest.
The soldier’s voice was barely audible now. “It was found beneath a stone pillar. Bloodstained.”
No one moved.
_______________
The long corridor was lit by morning light spilling through arched windows. Guards straightened as the Queen stormed out, but none dared stop her.
And waiting there, just beyond the pillars, was Eros.
He stepped forward instantly, reading the anguish on her face.
“Siera?”
But Gwi was only a heartbeat behind her.
“Siera, I didn’t—! That pendant, I didn’t lose it. I don’t know how it got there!”
She stopped.
Her back still to him.
His voice broke now. “You’ve seen me. Every day. I never took it off. That pendant… you gave it to me. You know what it meant.”
Her shoulders tightened.
“I would never… never kill Maren or the others that way. Even if they hated me. Even if they tried to take the crown. That’s not who I am.”
She turned slowly.
And her eyes met his—full of confusion, fear, and something deeper: a desperate need to believe him.
And she did.
She still did.
But her heart was not ready to fight against what her eyes had just seen.
“That pendant,” she said softly, her voice hollow, “was always there.”
Gwi took another step closer, his hand reaching for hers.
“I don’t know who or how someone took it. But it wasn’t me. Please, Siera.”
She let his fingers brush against hers.
She didn’t pull away.
But she didn’t grasp them either.
That single thread of hesitation—
—was when Eros stepped between them.
He moved fluidly, protectively, and Siera didn’t stop him. She remained behind him, almost unconsciously. The barrier was silent. Cold.
Gwi stared.
“Get out of my way,” he said quietly, dangerously.
Eros’s jaw tightened. “You don’t decide her safety anymore.”
A long silence stretched between them.
The sunlight slanted across the floor between their feet, golden and unforgiving.
And behind Eros, Siera stood still.
She didn’t step away.
Didn’t object.
Didn’t speak.
Gwi’s breath left him like a punch to the chest.
He looked at her—really looked—and in that moment, the sharpest pain wasn’t the suspicion. Wasn’t even the horror of the murder.
It was the space she allowed between them.
She hadn’t closed it.
“I’ve stood by you through everything,” he said. “I’ve bled for you. Killed for you. And now... you think I would do this?”
Still, she said nothing.
And then—finally—she turned away.
She walked past Eros.
He followed her without a word, his cloak brushing against the marble.
Gwi remained. Alone.
His hand still outstretched.
The morning sun reached him at last.
But it offered no warmth.
-_______________________-
The doors closed behind them with a muffled thud, locking the world outside.
Inside, the chamber was quiet—too quiet.
Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, gentle and golden, brushing across the polished floor and rows of books stacked neatly beside the hearth. Flowers that had bloomed that morning now felt out of place in the heavy air.
Siera stood in the middle of the room, motionless.
Eros lingered at the door, watching her with quiet care, uncertain whether to speak or let the silence settle.
She didn’t cry.
Didn’t scream.
Didn’t even move to sit.
She simply stood, her posture too straight—too still—like a porcelain statue placed in the wrong room.
Her hand, the one that had almost touched Gwi’s, now curled slightly, trembling in midair before she lowered it to her side.
The silence rang louder than any trumpet call.
Then—
Her breath hitched. Once.
She took a step back, reaching blindly behind her for the edge of a small chair, missing it entirely.
The room spun.
Everything—everything—was wrong.
Maren. Murdered.
The nobles. Slaughtered like prey.
The pendant.
That pendant.
The same one Gwi wore so proudly every day. The one he guarded even in sleep. The one she had given him before he left for the first battle as her knight.
That was hers.
That was his.
So how did it end up there? Bloodstained. Hidden. Buried at a murder scene?
The images slammed into her one by one—
Maren’s smug voice.
The hollow thud of the council doors.
The way Gwi looked at her.
Her own silence.
She didn’t know what she’d seen anymore. Or what she believed.
Her legs gave way.
“Siera—!” Eros crossed the room in a heartbeat, catching her just before her knees buckled completely.
Her fingers clutched at the front of his tunic, gripping the fabric like a drowning woman. Then nothing except darkness filled the room.