The battlefield was quiet in that eerie, stunned way that only comes after something cataclysmic.
The air still burned faintly — a mix of blood, ash, and silver dust.
The last of the creatures were falling, torn apart by the pack that had come out of the north like shadows of old legends.
Jacob, stood at the front — a massive beast of silver-black fur, his eyes glowing gold.
Behind him moved his warriors — the Moonlight Pack, ancient protectors of the Guardian. Their arrival had turned the tide.
Among them were two familiar wolves, smaller but faster — Kazen and Juno, both streaked with blood and smoke.
And clinging to their backs like a pair of unsteady sacks of spellbooks—
Felix and PP.
When the smoke cleared enough for William to see them, he froze mid-strike.
For a heartbeat, even Magnus and Alexander stopped.
Then, as one, the front line blinked at the ridiculous sight.
William's voice came out flat, incredulous.
"...Are they riding wolves?"
Magnus burst out laughing, deep and rough, the sound cutting through the tension.
"By the gods, they are."
Alexander snorted, wiping blood off his cheek.
"Never thought I'd live to see a witch on a wolf. What happened, broomsticks out of order?"
Kazen rumbled lowly, an unmistakable growl that meant watch your tongue, while Juno tossed his head with a disdainful huff that nearly unseated PP.
PP glared, clutching a handful of fur.
"You try running five miles through demon guts on foot, and see if you wouldn't accept a lift!"
Felix, who looked barely conscious, muttered dryly.
"For the record, I was invited. He said, get on or get left behind."
PP scoffed.
"That was my invitation. You just copied me!"
"I'm a survivalist," Felix countered, eyes narrowing. "You're just dramatic."
"You're both idiots," Kazen growled through his teeth without stopping his stride.
Even William's mouth twitched despite the exhaustion dragging at his bones.
"This is what the great ancient pack sends me for backup? Two half-dead comedians on borrowed wolves?"
Est came running up then, his coat flapping behind him, antidote vials clinking in his arms. He stopped short at the sight — Felix and PP riding wolves like royalty.
"What the hell—are they riding wolves? Is this what I missed while I was running for my life?"
William, without looking at him, murmured,
"Apparently, we've entered the comedy phase of the apocalypse."
Felix gave him a grin that was equal parts triumph and madness.
"Jealous? They don't let humans ride them."
"Oh please," Est huffed. "If I wanted fur all over my jacket, I'd date Bilkin's wolf form."
Bilkin choked on his own breath while Joss and Gawin exchanged a look — half horror, half amusement.
"He's not joking, is he?"
"Nope," Gawin murmured. "He's definitely not."
Joss gave a soft laugh from where he leaned against Gawin, his fangs flashing briefly.
"It's not the worst thing to see before dying again."
Gawin arched a brow.
"You always did have strange tastes, Joss."
Est ignored them all, handing a vial to William.
"Here — Felix's enhanced formula. Supreme said to mass-produce this before everything went to hell."
William took it with a grim nod. His eyes softened for just a second when they met Est's, a flicker of warmth in the bloodstained night.
"You did good, Est."
Est exhaled, half relief, half irritation.
"Then maybe don't get yourself killed before I can yell at you properly."
Magnus let out a low whistle.
"Ah, young love in the middle of carnage. Touching."
Est didn't even glance his way.
"You want a dose too? I can throw it at your face."
Magnus barked another laugh, clapping Alexander on the back.
"He's got fangs, this one. I like him."
Alexander gave a faint, tired grin.
"He's not wrong, though. We could use the antidote spread now, before more of those things crawl up again."
PP straightened in the saddle, eyes narrowing as he felt something pulse in the air — an energy that hummed faintly beneath the ground.
"Felix. The Guardian's blood. It's still resonating."
Felix blinked, then reached into his satchel, pulling out a small vial — within it, a single glowing drop of silver-red blood.
The pulse of it sent ripples through the dust, the faint sound of a heartbeat echoing across the silence.
PP's grin turned sly but reverent.
"Let's give this battlefield a second chance."
The witches stepped down from their wolves, their boots hitting the dirt at the same time. Kazen and Juno flanked them protectively as they began to chant — ancient, flowing words that shimmered with moonlight and blood magic combined.
Silver light spiraled outward, sinking into the ruined earth. The glow spread like roots, weaving through shattered stone and fallen bodies.
The ground breathed again.
And then—healing.
Soldiers stirred, wounds closing. The stench of rot lifted. Even the burned patches of land began to bloom faint white flowers — ghostly blossoms that only grew where Guardian blood had fallen.
William's jaw tightened, watching the light crawl toward the ward.
"That's no ordinary spell."
Felix looked up, his face pale but proud.
"It's built from the Guardian's blood. His magic doesn't just shield—it mends."
PP added softly,
"And it remembers mercy."
The new ward rose around them, humming — a luminous veil that pulsed with life instead of fire.
Inside it, for the first time in days, everyone could breathe.
But above that fragile calm, the sky still burned red, and far in the distance, two godlike auras clashed — one of silver light, one of crimson flame.
---
The ground still trembled from the echoes of gods.
Mara's roar split the sky like thunder.
He moved with an impossible weight — the air bent and screamed around him. Every strike carried death, each blow enough to tear mountains apart.
But none of it touched them.
Sky and Kieran stood at the center of a sphere of light, unyielding — the Guardian's shield, soft as breath, strong as creation itself.
Each impact dissolved into harmless sparks, falling like dying stars around them.
Kieran didn't flinch under the force. He simply stood still, his hand braced at Sky's back, eyes burning with the war god's fire.
But it wasn't anger now — it was fear.
Fear of losing him.
Sky turned slightly, his voice low, almost lost to the chaos.
"He's angry because we're ignoring him."
Kieran's mouth twitched — that dark, restrained half-smile he used only for Sky.
"Then let him rage. I've ignored worse things than gods."
Sky huffed a breath that might've been a laugh, even now. He placed a hand on Kieran's chest, right over the scar where bloodfire had burned through him. The pulse beneath his palm was erratic — half divine, half broken.
"Let me do this," Sky whispered. "Trust me."
For a moment, the god of war hesitated. His hand caught Sky's wrist, trembling from the effort to hold back his own power. His voice cracked like dry stone.
"If you fall, I'll follow."
"Then we both burn," Sky murmured, meeting his eyes. "And everything ends again."
Something softened in Kieran's expression then — the fury, the curse, the ache of a thousand years.
He bowed his head slightly, the smallest gesture of surrender, and let go.
Sky turned back toward Mara.
The creature — no, the Demon king — was already gathering darkness in his palm, the essence of ruin itself. His laughter was wild, hysterical, but there was something beneath it — grief.
Sky's light flared in answer. It wasn't harsh like fire — it was warmth, moonlight made flesh.
He took a single step forward.
Then another.
The world bent under the force of it.
Mara screamed — not from pain, but from recognition.
Where Sky's light touched him, the dark flesh burned away, revealing fleeting glimpses of a face — sorrowful, human, beautiful in its ruin.
Sky's voice carried through the storm, quiet but cutting through the chaos like a bell underwater.
"It's a pity... Dew's soul is almost gone. But I can still feel something pure inside you. A love that refused to die."
Kieran froze behind him, eyes darkening. The light around them pulsed with his heartbeat.
Sky turned his head slightly, still watching Mara.
"Who is he, Kieran?"
For the first time since the war began, Kieran's tone was not steel or flame — it was grief.
A whisper.
"Teeradech."
The name fell like ashes.
"He was Dew's devotee. The one who killed Niran — your predecessor. The last Guardian."
Sky blinked, his breath catching.
Niran.
That echo in his dreams, the one who always reached out with bloodstained hands — now he knew.
Mara's snarl broke the silence. He lunged forward, power erupting in a spiral of black mist.
Kieran instinctively stepped up, crimson fire flaring along his arm —
but Sky raised his hand.
"No. Let me try."
Kieran's growl was low, dangerous.
"He'll destroy you."
"Then I'll burn with him if I must," Sky said simply, and walked forward.
The light around Sky intensified until it became unbearable — silver, white, gold, blending into something that no mortal eye could look upon.
Each step he took toward Mara peeled away the layers of darkness that cloaked the battlefield. The air hissed as if alive, and the earth beneath him turned to glass.
Mara howled, his monstrous form fracturing. His claws melted under Sky's light, his shadow retreating like water under fire. But he didn't stop. He kept swinging, again and again — each blow disintegrating before it could reach.
Sky reached out a hand, and the world seemed to pause.
"Teeradech," he called softly, "you loved him. Even when he could not love you back."
For a second — just one — the storm faltered.
Inside Mara's many eyes, a flicker of something human returned.
Tears, not blood, slid down a ruined cheek.
Then came the low, thunderous growl.
Behind Sky, a massive wolf stepped into the light — Jacob, fur glowing with the silver of a thousand moons. His eyes fixed on Mara, primal and ancient. The ground bowed beneath his paws.
Mara stopped moving. His expression shifted — horror, recognition, fear.
Because Jacob wasn't just a wolf.
He was the Guardian's shadow — the protector of the Wongravee bloodline.
And his presence meant only one thing.
Sky was the true heir.
The reincarnation of the first moonfire.
The last blood of Wongravee.
The light around Sky flared, merging with Jacob's silvery aura.
The moon above them seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heart.
For the first time in millennia, the balance of creation and destruction stood side by side — the Guardian and the God of War — against the thing they once unleashed.