Every race that walked the world was born beneath the blessing of a god.
The serpents were protected by Lord Urzan, the Divine Guardian whose sacred light watched over every serpent from the moment it drew its first breath.
The Wolves were blessed by Lord Vaelthor, the First Wolf, the Eternal Guardian of the Lunar Moon, and the father of every pack that ever roamed the earth.
Yet before kings wore crowns, before kingdoms carved their names into stone, and before wolves looked to the moon and called her Mother...there was only Darkness.
Not the darkness mortals feared, not the darkness whispered about in frightened prayers, but the First Darkness.
The silence before the first heartbeat.
The endless void that cradled creation before the heavens awakened, for darkness was never the enemy.
Darkness was the beginning.
It was the womb from which all life emerged, the eternal night that embraced the world before the first dawn dared to rise.
Lord Vaelthor.
The First Wolf, the father of every pack and the guardian of the sacred lunar moon. His howl stirred the sleeping heavens; his breath became the wind that swept across the newborn earth.
His divine blood gave birth to wolfkind itself, not as one wolf, but as many clans, and each inherited a fragment of His blessing.
Some became peerless hunters, destined to rule the untamed wilderness. Some became mighty warriors whose claws defended kingdoms and kin alike. Some were chosen as guardians of the sacred forests, where the moon’s first silver light touched the earth.
Every clan carried a piece of their Father’s divine power, and every bloodline bore His blessing.
Yet among all the clans Lord Vaelthor created...there was one unlike the rest. It was never meant to rule, never meant to conquer, and never meant to seek glory upon the battlefield.
It was forged for a burden no other clan could endure, to stand between the mortal world and the endless darkness beyond creation itself.
They came to be known as...
The Ashkarth.
The oldest of wolves, the keepers of the eternal shadows and the guardians standing at the edge of existence, where even the bravest dared not look.
No king commanded them, no empire claimed them but among them, one child became the deity, and that deity is known as...
The Shadow King.
The Lord of Endless Night, the sovereign of all shadows and the deity to whom darkness itself bowed in absolute obedience. His name was...
Lytharion.
Legends claimed that wherever Lytharion walked...kingdoms fell. Clans vanished without a trace. Entire bloodlines were erased as though they had never existed.
It was said that a single breath of his wrath could reduce great cities to ashes...and that no wolf who looked into his golden eyes would ever see another sunrise.
And history remembered him by many names.
The Tyrant King.The Tyrant Deity of Darkness.The Beast of the Ashkarth.
But above every title...above every whispered prayer...there was one name that echoed through the ages with equal measures of terror and reverence.
The Shadow King.
***
[House Vaelric—Empire of Qashmar—Afternoon—Before the claim]
THUD!
The ancient book snapped shut, and silence settled over the chamber.
Kael rested his broad hand upon the weathered leather cover, his amber eyes lingering on the faded crest engraved upon it.
The Ashkarth.
That was all the kingdom knew: a forgotten clan, a forgotten legend, and a forgotten monster. His thumb brushed across the worn pages before a weary sigh escaped him.
"So...this is all that’s left?"
The attendant lowered his head respectfully. "I’m afraid so, my lord. We searched every archive within House Vaelric, every temple record, every royal library. This was the only chronicle that mentioned the Ashkarth."
Kael remained silent; his fingers slowly tightened around the ancient book. "So little, centuries of history...reduced to a handful of pages."
Silence.
"How am I supposed to defeat something...when I don’t even know its weakness?"
He rose from his chair.
Towering well over six feet, Kael carried the powerful frame of a warrior born for the battlefield. Years of relentless training had sculpted every movement into quiet precision.
Broad shoulders supported the crimson mantle of House Vaelric, while the countless faint scars across his forearms spoke of battles survived rather than stories told.
His black hair fell carelessly over his forehead, refusing to obey even after countless attempts to tame it, and then there were his eyes.
Amber, sharp, and steady. The eyes of an Alpha who had learned long ago that hesitation could cost lives, he stepped toward the towering window overlooking the capital.
Below, smoke drifted above distant villages, not from hearths but from funeral pyres.
His jaw tightened. "How many?"
The attendant didn’t need to ask what he meant. "In only sixteen nights...one hundred civilians have lost their lives, my lord."
Silence.
Kael closed his eyes; his breathing grew slow and heavy. Every name, every family, and every child pressed against his conscience like an invisible weight.
"This...cannot continue; this way the entire wolf clan will vanish."
The chamber fell silent once more.
Then—
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
"My Lord, the Grand Duke requests your presence in his office."
Kael opened his eyes; the hesitation was gone; only resolve remained. He reached for the crimson cloak bearing the crest of House Vaelric and fastened it across his shoulders.
"It’s time..."
Without another word, the heir of House Vaelric strode from his chamber; each step echoed through the stone corridors, steady, confident, unwavering, and unaware...that before another moon would rise...his fate would belong to the Shadow King.
***
[Grand Duke Lior’s Office—House Vaelric—Later]
Grand Duke Lior Vaelric stood before a massive map carved into the stone wall, his hands clasped behind his back. His sharp amber eyes never once turned toward his son. Instead, they remained fixed upon the western frontier, where crimson pins marked villages that had already fallen.
One pin after another and one funeral after another.
"The beast has grown bolder," Grand Duke Lior said at last, his voice calm... almost emotionless, and his finger traced the border separating the Empire of Qashmar from the vast desert beyond.
Then it stopped.
"Sah’rumeh Village, the last settlement before the mountains and the closest village to the Zahryssar Empire."
Only then did he glance over his shoulder.
"You will leave before sunset."
Kael stepped forward. "I understand."
His amber eyes shifted toward the border drawn across the map, and after a brief silence, he spoke. "If the attacks continue should we seek assistance from Malik Zeramet—"
"We will not." Lior’s voice cut through the room like a blade; he slowly turned to face Kael, his expression as cold and unyielding as carved granite.
"I would sooner watch this empire burn...than kneel before a serpent."
Silence settled between them.
Kael lowered his gaze for only a moment before giving a respectful nod. "As you command, Father."
Grand Duke Lior returned his attention to the map.
"The reports suggest the creatures retreat toward the eastern mountains after every attack; the mountains once belonged to the Ashkarth, and they still do. They should have remained buried with the rest of that cursed clan."
His eyes narrowed.
"Before those beasts descend upon our empire again...hunt them, destroy them, and leave nothing behind."
Kael remained silent, and something about those words unsettled him. Every report he had read described the Ashkarth as legends long forgotten, yet his father spoke of them as though they still lived.
Grand Duke Lior folded his hands behind his back once more.
"This is more than another campaign. It is your proving ground."
His gaze met Kael’s with neither warmth nor pride.
"One day you will inherit House Vaelric, but inheritance is not granted by blood alone. It is earned. If you cannot secure a single border village...then you are unworthy of the Grand Duke that awaits you. Did you get that, Kael?"
The words carried no encouragement, only expectation and only judgment.
Kael held his father’s gaze without flinching; his voice remained steady. "I understand, Father. I will not fail House Vaelric."
Grand Duke Lior gave the slightest nod. "See that you don’t, and you leave within the hour."
The meeting was over, with no blessing, no farewell, and no words wishing his son a safe return. Only another order. Kael bowed respectfully before turning toward the doors.
As they closed behind him...Grand Duke Lior’s eyes lingered upon the mountains marked on the map, his expression darkened.
"So...the Ashkarth have returned, and if the legends are true, then the Shadow King may not be far behind, and if the Shadow King truly walks again..."
He slowly clenches his fist.
"...then the other wolves’ clan is already too late."
Then...
"Prepare my carriage. I ride for Emperor Tharzek."
[Outside House Vaelric—Later]
The great gates of House Vaelric slowly creaked open; soldiers stood in disciplined rows, and servants lowered their heads.
No one spoke.
Kael tightened the reins of his black stallion before guiding it forward. The old butler stepped out from the line of servants, his aged hands trembling ever so slightly, and he bowed deeply.
"Please...return safely, my lord."
Kael remained silent for a brief moment...his amber eyes lingered upon the home he had known since childhood. Then, without another word, he urged his horse forward.
CLACK.
CLACK.
CLACK.
The sound of iron horseshoes echoed across the stone road as he rode toward the Sah’rumeh village. Toward the mountains and toward a destiny he could never have imagined.
He never looked back, not once. The old butler watched until Kael’s figure disappeared beyond the city gates; only then did he whisper beneath his breath,
"I pray, Lord Vaelthor, that nothing goes wrong."
A cold voice answered from behind. "Do not waste your prayers."
The butler immediately lowered his head. "Grand Duke."
Grand Duke Lior stood upon the palace steps, his hands folded behind his back as he watched the empty road stretching toward the distant frontier. "He is a warrior, and more importantly...he is the heir of House Vaelric."
His expression never changed.
"If he wishes to inherit my name, then he shall earn it through victory."
The old butler hesitated. "My lord...Lord Kael is still young at his age; if anything happens to him, then—"
Grand Duke Lior’s gaze remained fixed upon the horizon.
"So?"
The single word carried no emotion. "No wolf becomes a legend beneath the shelter of his father’s roof. Fourteen-year-olds have marched to war; they bled, they died, and they earned their place in history."
His eyes settled upon the old servant. "My son shall do no less; if he has to sacrifice, then he will do it."
The butler lowered his head once again. "Yes, Grand Duke."
A knight hurried across the courtyard before dropping to one knee. "Your grace, the carriage awaits."
Grand Duke Lior gave a single nod, and without another glance toward the road Kael had taken, he climbed into the carriage of House Vaelric.
The doors closed.
THUD.
The horses surged forward, not toward Sah’rumeh Village but toward the Imperial Palace. As the carriage disappeared into the distance, dark clouds gathered above the western mountains. Far beyond the reach of the empire...beyond the forests and beyond the ancient peaks where no wolf dared tread...
Something stirred, something that had slept for three thousand years.
The Shadow King...was about to awaken.