The forest was still again.
Vaelrion stood among the shadows, a towering silhouette against the faint glow of the distant campus lights. The night air curled around him, heavy with damp earth and pine.
At his side, the ash-furred scout knelt, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. "We could have ended him," he said, voice low but edged with frustration.
Vaelrion's crimson gaze never left the horizon. "Not yet. You don't butcher the stag before the hunt begins. You let it run. Let it grow strong."
The scout's claws twitched. "And then?"
A slow, predatory smile curved Vaelrion's lips.
"And then… you break it."
For a moment, silence reigned. Only the creak of trees and the distant hoot of an owl marked the passing seconds.
His eyes narrowed, the crimson glow deepening. "The Moon thinks it can choose without me. We'll see how long its chosen lasts when every shadow he walks through belongs to me."
The wind shifted, carrying Ryan's faint scent back to them. Vaelrion inhaled deeply, letting it coil in his mind — sharp, raw, untamed.
The game had begun.
And Vaelrion never lost a hunt.
He turned to the scout. "You will keep to the edges of his world. Watch him. Test him. If he falters…" His smile sharpened, revealing the gleam of his fangs. "We'll know the mark was wasted."
The scout dipped his head. "And if he doesn't falter?"
Vaelrion's gaze returned to the distant glow.
"Then I will take the mark for myself."
The alarm clock's shrill beep yanked Ryan from a restless sleep. He groaned, rolling over, his muscles stiff from the fight in the woods. The mark on his arm pulsed faintly under his skin, a quiet reminder that last night hadn't been a nightmare.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. The faint scent of pine lingered in his room, carried in from his clothes. He checked his side where the smaller rogue had slashed him. Not even a scar.
Fast healing. Great. Now if only my brain could recover as fast.
A faint chime echoed in his head, crisp and mechanical.
[Quest Reminder: Identify the White Alpha before the next Blood Moon.]
[Timeframe: 20 Days.]
Ryan exhaled through his teeth. "White Alpha… Vaelrion," he muttered, tasting the name for the first time. He didn't know how he knew it, but it felt like the name had been waiting in the back of his mind since the moment he saw those crimson eyes.
He needed answers. The elder had given him pieces of the prophecy, but not the whole thing. And if this Vaelrion was as dangerous as he seemed, then waiting until the Blood Moon was suicide.
He pulled on his hoodie, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and headed for the campus library.
From the cover of a rooftop across the quad, Vaelrion crouched low, watching. Ryan moved through the waking campus like any other student — hands in pockets, earbuds in, expression neutral. But Vaelrion could see the way his shoulders tensed when footsteps passed too close, the way his gaze flicked to every reflective surface.
Good, Vaelrion thought. The prey is learning to look over its shoulder.
The ash-furred scout landed beside him silently. "Orders?"
"Follow him. Keep the pressure light. Let him feel hunted, but never see you."
The scout grinned, fangs catching the morning light. "And if he catches me?"
Vaelrion's crimson eyes gleamed. "Then you weren't worthy of the hunt to begin with."
The library was nearly empty at this hour, the smell of old paper and coffee seeping through the aisles. Ryan headed straight for the basement archives — the one place on campus where he could dig without drawing too much attention.
He found a dusty stack of folklore collections, some dating back a century. He scanned titles until one caught his eye: Lunar Sovereigns: Legends of the Blood Moon.
The pages were brittle, the ink faded, but the words burned into his mind.
In times when the Moon's light burns red, one shall rise, unbound by blood or lineage, chosen by the wild itself. But the Moon's choice shall not go unchallenged, for there will always be another — the Shadow Alpha — who seeks the mark for his own reign.
Ryan frowned. "Shadow Alpha… White Alpha… same thing?"
Before he could read further, his phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:
You're not ready for him. But he's ready for you.
Ryan's skin crawled. He scanned the library windows, but the quad outside was empty.
Or so it seemed.
From the edge of the rooftop, Vaelrion watched Ryan's head snap toward the window. His lips curled in amusement. The text had been bait — nothing more than a ripple in calm water to see how fast the fish would dart.
"He's alert," the scout murmured beside him.
"Yes. But alert doesn't mean prepared." Vaelrion's claws tapped lightly on the stone. "He'll make mistakes. They all do."
The rest of the day blurred — classes he barely listened to, meals he didn't taste. By nightfall, he was back in his dorm, pacing. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Finally, he grabbed his jacket and stepped outside. The campus was quiet again, the air heavy with the promise of rain.
He walked toward the edge of the quad, every sense stretched thin.
That's when he heard it — a faint rustle in the hedges to his right.
"Come out," Ryan said, his voice steady but low.
Silence. Then a blur of movement.
The ash-furred scout burst from the shadows, claws flashing. Ryan barely dodged, his instincts kicking in. The fight was quick, brutal — the scout was fast, but Ryan had learned from the last encounter. He landed a solid strike to the creature's ribs, sending it sprawling.
The scout hissed, recovering quickly, but didn't press the attack. Instead, he backed away, eyes locked on Ryan's.
"Not bad, little Alpha," the scout said, smirking. "Let's see if you can keep that up when he comes for you."
Before Ryan could respond, the scout vanished into the shadows.
Ryan's heart pounded. He didn't need to ask who "he" was.
Far away, on the rooftop, Vaelrion's crimson eyes gleamed in the dark.
The test had been passed — barely.
The hunt was only beginning.