Moonlit Prophecy: A Witchs Curse A Wolfs Redemption

The forest canopy thinned as Lyra and Fenris crested the final hill, revealing a vast clearing bathed in the eerie glow of a waning moon. At the center stood a circle of ancient standing stones, their weathered surfaces etched with symbols that seemed to writhe in the flickering torchlight. A sense of foreboding washed over them as they took in the scene below.Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

“We’re too late,” Lyra whispered, her voice tight with dismay. “They’ve already begun.”

Fenris’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the clearing, his enhanced senses picking up details invisible to human eyes. “Not quite,” he murmured. “The ritual hasn’t reached its peak yet. We still have a chance to stop this.”

In the center of the stone circle, a group of robed figures moved in a slow, rhythmic dance around a raised altar. Upon it lay a still form, though whether it was a person or some kind of effigy, Lyra couldn’t tell from this distance. The air thrummed with an unnatural energy, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“What’s the plan?” Lyra asked, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her sword.

Fenris’s expression was grim as he considered their options. “We need to disrupt the ritual before they complete it. If we can scatter the participants or destroy their focus, it should be enough to unravel whatever dark magic they’re weaving.”

Lyra nodded, her mind racing through possible strategies. “We could try to sneak in, use the shadows to our advantage. Or make a direct assault, counting on the element of surprise.”

Before Fenris could respond, a familiar voice spoke from behind them. “Or you could accept some help from an old friend.”

They whirled to find Caden emerging from the shadows, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. Fenris immediately tensed, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “What are you doing here, Shadowclaw?”

Caden held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Easy, old friend. I’m here to lend a hand, just as I offered before. It seems you could use all the help you can get.”

Lyra glanced between the two werewolves, feeling the tension crackle between them. As much as she distrusted Caden, she had to admit they were outmatched. “He has a point, Fenris,” she said reluctantly. “We’re outnumbered down there.”

Fenris’s jaw clenched, but after a moment, he gave a curt nod. “Fine. But know this, Caden if you betray us, I’ll tear you apart myself.”

―

Caden’s smile widened, revealing sharp canines. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Now, shall we discuss how we’re going to crash this little party?”

The three of them huddled together, quickly outlining a plan of attack. As they spoke, Lyra couldn’t help but notice the way Caden’s eyes kept darting to her, a hunger in his gaze that had nothing to do with the impending battle. She pushed the discomfort aside, focusing on the task at hand.

With their strategy decided, they began making their way down the hillside, using the sparse cover of trees and boulders to mask their approach. As they drew closer to the stone circle, the chanting of the robed figures grew louder, the words in a language Lyra didn’t recognize but that sent shivers down her spine.

They paused at the edge of the clearing, hidden behind a fallen log. Fenris turned to Lyra, his eyes filled with a mixture of determination and concern. “Are you ready for this?”

She managed a small smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Just… be careful out there, okay?”

He nodded, bringing her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “You too. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back.

Caden watched this exchange with poorly disguised disdain. “If you two are quite finished, we have a ritual to stop.”

With a shared nod of determination, they sprang into action. Lyra darted to the left, using her agility to weave between the outer stones undetected. Fenris and Caden, their werewolf strength and speed giving them an advantage, charged straight into the fray from opposite sides.

The robed figures, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion, scattered in confusion. Lyra used the chaos to her advantage, making a beeline for the altar at the center. As she drew closer, she could see that the form lying upon it was indeed a person – a young woman, unconscious or perhaps drugged, her skin pale in the moonlight. Lyra reached the altar just as one of the cultists lunged for her, a wicked-looking dagger in hand. She ducked under his wild swing, her own blade flashing out to catch him across the midsection. He fell with a cry, and Lyra turned her attention to the bound woman.

As she worked to undo the ropes, she heard the sounds of battle raging around her. Fenris and Caden were tearing through the cultists with terrifying efficiency, their partially transformed bodies a blur of claws and fangs. Despite their past animosity, they moved together with a fluid grace born of their shared heritage.

Just as Lyra freed the last of the woman’s bonds, a piercing shriek cut through the air. She looked up to see the leader of the cult, distinguishable by his more elaborate robes, holding aloft a pulsing crystal. The very air seemed to warp around it, and Lyra felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

“The ritual is nearing completion!” she shouted to Fenris and Caden. “We need to destroy that crystal!”

Fenris, locked in combat with two cultists, couldn’t break free. But Caden, hearing Lyra’s call, disengaged from his own fight and sprinted toward the leader. With a mighty leap, he tackled the robed figure to the ground.

The crystal flew from the cultist’s grasp, arcing through the air. Time seemed to slow as Lyra watched its trajectory, knowing that if it shattered upon the ground, the consequences could be catastrophic.

Without thinking, she dove forward, her hands outstretched.