The moon hung like a silver eye above the frostbitten forest, unblinking, cold, and watchful. Gwi's boots crunched against hardened soil as he followed Lyn into the deepest stretch of the northern wilderness. Here, no maps held names, no paths bore markings. This was old land of Hwong. Land that whispered.
A strange warmth bloomed the further they went, unnatural for a place kissed by snow. Pine needles shivered in windless air. Gwi could hear his own breath—steady, but shallow. Lyn walked ahead with measured steps, cloaked in silence as much as in wool. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.
He knew what this was.
The clearing revealed itself like a wound in the forest. Trees fell away in a perfect circle, and in the center lay a ruin—ancient, moss-covered, and sunken into the earth. Stone pillars jutted from the ground at crooked angles like the bones of giants. A jagged archway crowned the entrance to the den.
As they crossed it, torches lit on their own, one by one, casting flickering amber light on worn stone and the shadows beyond.
They were not alone.
Figures emerged from the dark, silent as mist, their eyes glinting gold and silver in the firelight. Werewolves in human shape, tall and lean, their presence humming with threat. Gwi met every gaze with one of his own. His stance was poised, hands free, no blade at his side—only the sharpness in his eyes served as his weapon tonight.
They stood in a circle—ten of them at least, maybe more—men with eyes too pale, pupils too thin, and hunger just barely tucked beneath their skin. Gwi didn’t flinch as they prowled behind him, but he felt every movement, every inhaled breath that tasted his scent like meat.
And then he stepped into view.
Lycaon.
Barefoot, with snow melting where his feet touched. His coat draped over one shoulder, shirt half-open, silver-streaked hair tumbling like wind-torn silk. He descended from the stone platform as though it were a throne, smiling like a god who had waited too long to be worshiped.
“King Gwi,” Lycaon said, voice rich and almost amused. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. But you brought her…”
"The loyal dog has finally come... with a wolf at his side." Lycaon's voice curled with meaning as he glanced at Lyn, his eyes narrowing in amused recognition. He didn’t address her, but the look lingered just a heartbeat too long—not enough to betray allegiance, but enough for the air between them to hum with a shared, veiled history. A smirk ghosted his lips as he turned back to Gwi. “How fitting.”
Gwi’s jaw tightened. “You sent threats to my doorstep." Gwi said. His voice was ice over embers.
Lycaon made a gesture of mock offense. "A call to a long-lost brother. I worried you’d forgotten your roots."
He stepped closer, each movement deliberate, like a lion circling a cage. The others watched silently. Tension thickened.
"Say what you came to say," Gwi said.
"I’ve already said it. I just wanted to see what you looked like when you realized you had no choice but to return to your kind."
Lycaon's eyes glinted. He tilted his head.
"But now that I see you... I can’t help but wonder."
He stepped closer.
"Why does the Queen still choose you?"
Gwi's face remained unreadable, but his fingers curled tighter.
"She’s seen the beast in you, hasn’t she? The blood. The claws. The fire in your eyes when you fight. She’s seen it all... and still she keeps you close."
Lycaon walked slowly around him now.
“Does she love the man, or does she just keep choosing him… out of duty? Or pity?”
Silence.
Gwi’s blood surged, not with the fury of insult, but with something colder—older. Each syllable that dripped from Lycaon’s mouth had been forged to wound, not with weapons, but with truths half-wrapped in venom. That he would speak of Siera—of her strength, her solitude, her love—with such possessive curiosity made Gwi’s jaw ache from restraint.
She had seen him shift, bled beside him under the same moon, held him when the wolf was more visible than the man. She knew. And still, she stayed. Still, she looked at him not with fear, but with that unbearable, unwavering faith. Gwi clung to that memory like a shield now.
The silence between them burned louder than words.
Lycaon stopped, gaze intense. "I watched her at the palace. The fire in her. That rage she wore like a crown. Do you know what it did to me? It made me curious. It made me hungry."
Gwi's jaw tightened.
Lycaon smiled, sharp and slow.
“Siera…”
The way he said her name made something primal twitch in Gwi’s throat.
“She wears her crown like a blade. I can smell her power… and her loneliness.”
He met Gwi’s eyes.
“I wonder, if she stood between us, whose name she would whisper before the kill? She carries your child, doesn’t she?"
The words echoed.
A shift rippled through the surrounding werewolves. Lyn remained still, but her shoulders tensed.
Lycaon leaned forward.
"I wonder... would she carry mine just as fiercely? Or would she tear me apart first, and ask for more afterward?"
Gwi moved.
One step.
Close enough to strike. Close enough to kill. The werewolves stirred. Lyn's eyes flicked to the shadows, calculating.
"Say her name again like that," Gwi growled, "and you won’t walk out of this forest."
Lycaon met his eyes, unfazed, almost delighted.
"I only wonder," he said softly, "if you can protect her from what’s coming. Or from yourself."
"Enough."
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t touch her without invitation. But I would wait. For the moment she’s ready to see what kind of kingdom I could offer her.”
He smiled.
"Or a child."
Gwi’s fist shot forward—pure instinct, fury unleashed—but it never landed. Lycaon caught it mid-air, his fingers wrapping around Gwi’s knuckles with effortless strength. Their eyes locked, breath mingling in the charged space between.
Lycaon’s smile didn’t falter. "I’ll be patient," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Just this once."
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he released Gwi’s hand and turned to the shadows.
"Prepare the trial circle," he commanded. "If he wants answers... let him earn them."
The werewolves dispersed into the ruin, into the corridors of stone and smoke.
Gwi stood rooted.
Lyn turned without a word, her cloak trailing behind her. But as she walked, Gwi saw it—her fingers twitching beneath the fold of her sleeve, a sign of unease she rarely showed.
He watched her a moment too long.
Something didn’t feel right.
And the moon, high above, watched on in silence.