Chapter 823

The Ritual Begins

As the wolf moved through the forest, Virelops tried to attack her. Their small white bodies lunged from beneath the snow, their red eyes gleaming as their sharp teeth snapped toward her legs. But they never reached her. Arrows came from the trees.

One Virelop dropped.

Then another.

A Skylur suddenly burst through the branches, its massive body charging directly toward the wolf. But warriors attacked it immediately.

The wolf never slowed.

The archers in the trees were relentless. Even through the blizzard, their aim remained true, protecting every wounded warrior being carried away from the battlefield.

And she wasn’t alone.

Other wolves moved through the forest around her, each carrying an injured pack member on their backs.

Some warriors were bleeding heavily. Others were unconscious. A few were barely hanging on. But they kept moving.

Their paws dug into the snow as they pushed forward, carrying their packmates toward safety. There was no hesitation. No wolf stopped because the burden was heavy. No one abandoned anyone. They simply kept moving.

Finally, they reached the area that had been prepared for the healers. It was a flurry of activity, the air thick with the scent of blood, herbs, sweat, and damp fur. Warriors lay across blankets and makeshift beds, some groaning in pain while others remained completely still. Healers moved between them, their hands steady despite the chaos. One stitched a deep cut across a warrior’s shoulder. Another crushed herbs into a paste and pressed it against a wound. A third healer held pressure against a warrior’s abdomen where the bleeding refused to stop. There was no time to rest. No time to breathe. Every time a wounded warrior was carried in, another was being treated.

Lysander had just finished tying a strip of cloth around an injury when he noticed the wolf approaching. His gaze immediately fell upon Jeffrey, and his eyes widened.

“Fuck.” He rushed forward.

The wolf lowered herself, allowing Jeffrey to slide from her back. Lysander caught him with the assistance of another healer.

“Careful!” He said.

They laid Jeffrey down and Lysander immediately grabbed his arm. The wound was worse than he had expected. The skin around the bite had darkened considerably, the veins beneath it almost black. The poison was spreading.

Meanwhile, the wolves were already leaving. They disappeared back into the storm to bring more wounded warriors. There would be more. Lysander knew that. Everyone knew it. The battle was nowhere near finished. And the healers would continue working until there was no one left to save.

—

Selith frowned when she received the news that Cindy was dead. Dread crept slowly up her spine. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Things were not unfolding as she had expected. The Nightshade Pack was stronger than she had anticipated. The beasts were not responding properly. And now Cindy—one of the key members of the Black Circle—was dead.

Selith stared through the carriage window. Snow pressed against the glass, blurring the battlefield beyond it. They were running out of time.

She turned toward the warrior who had delivered the message.

“Tell the Luna that it must happen now. She will understand my words.”

The warrior bowed then he turned and walked out of the carriage, disappearing into the storm.

—

Meanwhile, where Daniel fought, another battle was unfolding. A Doomcaw had appeared. They had managed to kill one earlier, but another had shown up. And this time, it wasn’t alone. A Trihydra was with it. Its three heads hissed as it moved through the trees.

The squad immediately tightened their formation. Their numbers were small, but that didn’t mean they would back down. Rhea and Daniel focused on the Doomcaw. Daniel’s sword flashed through the air, parrying the creature’s attacks. Rhea’s arrows followed. One. Two. Three. Each found its mark. They knew the Doomcaw now. They knew its speed. They knew how it attacked.

Dren, Cat, and the others focused on the Trihydra. They moved carefully. A single mistake against a beast like that could mean death.

Rhea and Daniel took down the doomcaw but before anyone could celebrate, something changed. The other beasts had stopped. The Virelops that had surrounded them turned and then ran away.

Dren frowned. “What the hell?”

Just then the ground trembled. Not violently, but enough to be felt. Trees bent suddenly, their trunks groaning. Snow fell from the branches. The archers perched above them immediately climbed down, bows still in hand.

Another tremor shook the forest.

A caw sounded in the distance too.

Daniel turned toward the archers. “What’s going on?”

One of them shook his head. “We don’t know. We suspect a beast is in the trees.”

Cat’s eyes narrowed. “And in the sky too.”

Daniel looked up. There was nothing. Then he heard it—a faint thrum, like wings beating somewhere above them. The sound grew louder. The air itself seemed to vibrate. Then something descended. It was a small bird. At first glance, it looked almost like an owl. Almost. Its eyes were far too large for its face.

It stared at them. Its head tilted slowly. Then it flew upward. The ground shook beneath them.

Daniel’s eyes widened then. “Run!”

Everyone froze.

He screamed again. “Fucking get away!”

They immediately obeyed. The warriors shifted as they ran, their bodies contorting as they transformed into wolves. Just as the ground trembked again.

Something was beneath them. Something was burrowing through the earth. The tremors. The bending trees. The fleeing beasts. They were all signs. Whatever was coming was forcing even the other creatures of Nirvana to flee. And this was one beast they had never seen before.

—

Meanwhile, the warrior who had carried Selith’s message finally made his way back to Victoria.

He bowed. “It must happen now.”

Victoria’s expression remained unreadable. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she lifted her head.

She raised her voice. “Krath’vun mor’eth shal’kra! Veth’rin dor’eth val’sun!”

The words were strange. Ancient. They echoed through the air, seeming to hang within the storm rather than disappear into it. One warrior repeated them. Then another. Then another. Soon, several warriors were muttering the words beneath their breath. Their voices were low. Rhythmic. Almost hypnotic.

The ritual had begun.